Chapter 14 - The Return to the Nest
We didn't stay in Boston.
Within forty minutes of the phone call, my private jet was roaring back down the runway toward Connecticut. I sat in the dim cabin, staring at the silver-hilted dagger resting on the mahogany table before me, my mind racing through every tactical permutation, every defensive layout, every exit route on my estate.
Viktor thought he had me cornered. He thought threatening my children was the ultimate checkmate against a retired mafia boss.
He didn't understand the fundamental rule of the underworld: Never back a wolf into a corner where his cubs are sleeping.
When the jet touched down at our private airstrip, the convoy was waiting. We didn't drive straight to the estate; we stopped at a secure logistics warehouse three miles away, where Marcus had our heavy tactical gear, encrypted comms, and thermal-imaging drones waiting.
"Boss," Marcus said, handing me a loaded submachine gun and a tactical vest. "If Viktor is using a proxy cell in Providence, this whole thing could be a staging ground. He wants you out in the open so they can wipe you out and take the estate while you're gone."
"I know it's a trap," I said, strapping the vest over my shirt with practiced efficiency. "That's why I'm not going to Providence."
Marcus blinked, surprised. "You're not going? But what about the ultimatum?"
"Viktor thinks I'm a desperate father who will run blindly into a trap three states away," I said, a dark, lethal smile touching my lips. "He’s counting on my absence to make his move on the estate tonight—not tomorrow night."
I looked at my watch. It was 4:00 PM.
"They'll strike tonight under the cover of darkness, believing I'm halfway to Rhode Island," I continued, looking directly at Marcus and the four veteran operators standing around the armory table. "We are going back home. We are going to turn my estate into a killing floor."
When we arrived back at the Connecticut mansion just after sundown, everything looked peaceful, serene, and entirely undisturbed. The exterior lights glowed softly against the cobblestone driveway. The rosebushes rustled in the cool autumn wind.
I walked through the front doors, my heart tightening as I heard the faint, sweet sound of children's laughter echoing down the hallway.
Sophie and Caleb were sitting on the living room floor with Grace, building a towering castle out of wooden blocks.
Grace looked up as I entered the room. One look at my face—hardened, locked in tactical focus—and she instantly understood. She stood up smoothly, dusting off her skirt, and walked over to me.
"The perimeter sensors just tripped on the northern access road," Grace said quietly, her voice devoid of panic. "Three vehicles. No transponders."
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"Take the kids to the panic room," I said, my hand resting on the grip of my Sig Sauer. "Lock the steel door from the inside and don't open it for anyone—even me—unless you hear the three-knock protocol."
Grace didn't argue. She nodded once, her dark eyes flashing with absolute resolve. "Get it done, Evan."
