Chapter 5 - Ambush at the EstateDespite my victory at the Commission, I knew a cornered animal like Sal Moretti was at his most dangerous.
I doubled the security detail at the Lake Forest estate, placing my best men along the perimeter and stationing guards at every entry point.
Three nights before our scheduled wedding, a violent rainstorm battered Chicago. Lightning flashed across the sky, and thunder rattled the estate's heavy glass windows.
At 2:00 AM, the power went out.
The backup generators flared up immediately, but within seconds, the distinct crack of suppressed gunfire echoed from the front gates.
I was out of bed instantly, pulling my custom Kimber .45 from the nightstand drawer.
"Preston!" Emma called out, running into the hallway wearing a robe, her face pale with terror as Oliver clung to her waist.
"Stay behind me!" I commanded, shielding them both with my body as Marcus, my head of security, came sprinting up the grand staircase.
"Boss! It's Moretti's men!" Marcus shouted over the sound of breaking glass below. "They cut the main gate wires and bypassed the perimeter guard! There's at least a dozen of them inside the lower floor!"
Moretti had chosen a suicide run—a desperate, scorched-earth attempt to take my life and my family before fleeing the country.
"Take Oliver to the panic room in the basement!" I told Emma, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Marcus, go with them!"
"No! I'm not leaving you!" Emma cried, gripping my arm tightly. "Preston, please!"
"I need you to keep our son safe, Emma!" I shouted over another thunderous explosion from the foyer. "I will come for you! I promise!"
I kissed her deeply, hard and fast, then shoved her toward Marcus. "Go!"
As Marcus led Emma and Oliver down the rear service stairs, I turned toward the grand staircase, racking the slide of my gun.
Five armed men burst into the upper hallway, their weapons raised.
What followed was twenty minutes of pure, unadulterated chaos. The mansion that Serena had built for peace became a warzone. I moved through the dark hallways like a shadow, using every piece of tactical training I possessed. Gunfire tore through silk wallpaper and shattered antique mirrors.
One by one, Moretti's mercenaries fell.
By the time I reached the main foyer, six attackers lay motionless on the marble floor. But as I turned the corner toward the basement entrance, a heavy barrel pressed hard against the back of my skull.
"Drop the gun, Hale," Sal Moretti's raspy voice growled behind me.
I froze, slowly raising my hands.
"You took everything from me," Moretti hissed, his breath hot against my neck. "My territory, my reputation, my future. Now I'm going to take your life, and then I'm going down to that basement to deal with your little maid and your mute brat."
At the mention of Oliver and Emma, something snapped inside me.
As Moretti began to pull the trigger, I dropped my weight low, spinning hard to the left. The gunshot exploded past my ear, deafening me, but my elbow slammed squarely into Moretti's jaw.
He stumbled back, gasping, but raised his weapon again.
Before he could fire, a heavy brass candleholder swung through the air with devastating force, striking Moretti squarely on the side of the head.
Moretti collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Standing behind him, holding the heavy brass candlestick with trembling hands, was Emma.
She stood there, wet from the rain that was pouring through the shattered front doors, breathing heavily, her eyes wide with adrenaline.
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"I told you," Emma whispered, dropping the candlestick onto Moretti's chest. "I'm not leaving you."
I stared at her for a second, then burst out laughing—a loud, triumphant laugh—before pulling her into my arms and lifting her completely off her feet.
