Chapter 5 - The Gathering StormBy 2:00 AM, the storm outside had reached its crescendo, howling across the Long Island coastline like a pack of wolves.
Inside the subterranean garage beneath the estate, the engines of three matte-black armored Chevrolet Suburbans idled with a low, predatory rumble.
Vincent Hale stood by the center vehicle, checking the clips of his HK416 assault rifle. Twelve of his most trusted operatives—men who had bled with him in the Balkans and the warehouses of Brooklyn—stood in rigid formations around the vehicles, clad in tactical body armor and night-vision gear.
The heavy elevator doors at the end of the garage chimed.
Dominic stepped out.
He had changed out of his business suit. He was wearing a tactical black turtleneck, reinforced cargo trousers, and a heavy ballistic vest over his chest. A combat knife was strapped to his left calf, and his signature SIG Sauer rested in a custom shoulder holster beneath his left arm.
He looked less like a billionaire businessman now and more like the reaper he had always been in the dark corners of the city.
Vincent walked over, handing him a secure satellite communicator.
“We have eyes on Sterling’s penthouse on Central Park West,” Vincent reported, his voice clipped and efficient. “Private security detail of eight men. State-of-the-art biometrics, private elevator access only.”
“We’re not taking the elevator,” Dominic said coldly, pulling a pair of leather gloves tight over his knuckles. “We’re taking the roof.”
“And Voss?”
“Voss stays in the northern facility until I have time to dissect him piece by piece,” Dominic replied, stepping into the back of the lead SUV. “Tonight, we collect an uncle.”
Before Vincent closed the heavy armored door, Dominic looked out the bulletproof window toward the main residential wing of the estate, where the soft glow of a nightlight still shone from the triplets' bedroom window.
He remembered Lucia’s voice echoing off the kitchen tiles: “Daddy killed Mommy.”
No.
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He hadn’t pulled the trigger. He hadn’t set the trap. But he had been blind, arrogant enough to believe his enemies would only ever come from the outside, never realizing that the knife was already buried deep inside his own family tree, wielded by men who smiled at his daughters’ birthdays.
The debt was going to be paid in full before the sun came up over Manhattan.
