Chapter 7 - The Trap at the East Gate
At 2:15 AM, the storm reached its peak. Heavy thunder shook the limestone foundation of the mansion, and torrential rain turned the gravel driveways into streams of mud.
Near the east service entrance—a low stone archway obscured by thick ivy and dark pine trees—a black sedan sat idling with its lights off.
Inside the car, Marcus Vance wiped the condensation from the windshield. He was thirty-two, thin, with sharp, fox-like features and greasy blonde hair pulled back into a tight pony. Beside him sat three heavy, scarred men holding heavy bludgeons and suppressed handguns.
“You’re sure the gate is clear?” one of the muscle men grunted, racking the slide of his pistol.
“The PI said the guard takes his break at two,” Marcus hissed, his eyes gleaming with dark greed. “We go in, grab the kid and the bitch, get them into the trunk, and drive straight to the warehouse in Hammond. The Russian crew is paying fifty grand for the kid, and I’ll take whatever cash Elena has saved.”
He grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. “She thought she could run from me. She thought hiding behind a rich guy’s gate would save her.”
Marcus slipped out of the car, pulling a crowbar from his jacket. The three men followed him, crouching low as they darted through the gap in the iron gate.
The estate grounds were dead silent, save for the roar of the rain.
They reached the stone archway of the east service door. To Marcus’s delight, the heavy iron latch was sitting slightly ajar, unlocked.
“Told you,” Marcus whispered smugly. “Easiest fifty grand we’ll ever make.”
He shoved the door open and stepped into the warm, dimly lit hallway of the west wing. The three mercenaries poured in behind him, their boots dripping mud onto the pristine marble floor.
Suddenly, the heavy iron door behind them slammed shut with a deafening hydraulic THUD.
A heavy steel deadbolt slid into place with a mechanical groan.
Marcus spun around, pulling his crowbar up. “What the hell?”
Before any of the men could react, the low amber night-lights along the baseboards cut out, plunging the narrow stone hallway into pitch darkness.
Panic erupted instantly.
“Flashlights! Get the lights on!” one of the mercenaries shouted, fumbling with his belt.
A blinding white spotlight clicked on at the far end of the corridor, illuminating four men standing in tactical formation.
At the center of the line stood Alessandro Moretti.
He wasn't wearing a coat. He wore a dark vest over his shirt, his sleeves rolled up, a heavy, suppressed custom pistol held casually at his side.
“Marcus Vance,” Alessandro’s voice echoed down the stone corridor, vibrating with pure, unadulterated judgment. “You entered my home.”
Marcus stepped back, terrified, shoving one of his hired guns forward. “Shoot him! Shoot him!”
The mercenary raised his pistol.
Pfft-pfft.
Two quiet, suppressed pops echoed through the hall. The mercenary collapsed onto the marble floor before he could even pull the trigger. The other two men dropped their weapons instantly, throwing their hands into the air, falling to their knees in absolute terror.
“We didn't know!” one of them screamed. “We didn't know it was Moretti’s house! We were just hired!”
“Get out,” Alessandro said calmly.
The two mercenaries didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled backward, clawing at the emergency exit release, and burst out into the storming night, leaving Marcus standing completely alone in the bright white light.
Marcus backed away until his shoulders hit the locked iron door. He held his crowbar up with trembling hands, his face slick with sweat.
“Stay back!” Marcus shrieked. “I know who you are! You’re Moretti! If you kill me, the police—”
Alessandro walked forward slowly, his boots crunching on the wet marble. He didn't even raise his gun. When he reached Marcus, he reached out, grabbed the iron crowbar out of the man’s hand as if taking a toy from a infant, and tossed it casually down the hall.
Then, with lightning speed, Alessandro’s hand shot forward, wrapping around Marcus’s throat, lifting the grown man three inches off the floor, pinning him against the wall.
Marcus choked, his legs kicking wildly, his hands tearing uselessly at Alessandro’s iron grip.
Alessandro leaned in close, his eyes burning with an ancient, terrifying wrath.
“You threatened a little girl named Mia,” Alessandro whispered, his voice vibrating against Marcus’s ear. “You thought you could make her bleed to pay your debts.”
“Please—” Marcus choked out, his vision turning black at the edges.
May you like
“No one threatens my family,” Alessandro said softly.
And with a single, sharp twist of his wrist, Alessandro ended the nightmare that had haunted Elena Carter for seven long months.
