Chapter 4 - The Hunters Knock
The attack was precise, sudden, and lethal.
Richard Vance had not risen to the top of a twenty-billion-dollar empire by being careless. The moment rumors from the Manhattan salon reached his ears—rumors of a homeless girl with a starburst mark being carried away by Dante Serrano—Richard knew his ghost had returned.
He had hired thirty elite foreign mercenaries, equipping them with silenced carbines and night-vision gear, storming the estate under the cover of the thunderstorm.
In the study, smoke and drywall dust filled the air.
Dante lay over Genevieve, his broad body acting as a human shield. He felt her trembling against his chest, but there was no terror in her eyes—only the fierce, stubborn glare of a woman who had refused to die for a decade.
"Mateo!" Dante barked into his lapel radio. "Status!"
"They breached the west gate, Boss!" Mateo’s voice cracked over the static amid the heavy sound of returning gunfire from downstairs. "It’s a strike team! They aren't here to rob us—they're burning the house!"
"Get the men to the main hall," Dante commanded. "Hold the line."
Dante looked down at Genevieve. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, sleek silver revolver, placing it into her small hands.
"Do you know how to use this?" he asked.
Genevieve looked at the cold iron in her hands. "My father taught me to shoot targets at our country house when I was twelve."
"Point it at the door," Dante said, his dark eyes burning with fierce trust. "If anyone comes through that frame who isn't me or Mateo... pull the trigger."
He kissed her forehead—a quick, fiery press of his lips that left her skin tingling—and then he stood up, stepping into the smoke-filled corridor like a demon unleashed from the depths.
Outside the study, two mercenaries dressed in tactical black gear were moving swiftly down the hallway.
Dante didn't wait. He raised his weapon and fired three rapid shots!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The first two mercenaries dropped instantly. Dante kicked the second man's carbine away, taking his tactical knife, moving through his own house with the deadly precision of a predator born in the dark.
He took out three more attackers near the grand staircase, his gunshot wound screaming in pain, but he ignored it. The thought of Richard Vance’s men touching Genevieve filled his veins with pure, burning fire.
Downstairs, the battle raged. Dante’s men, hardened by years of syndicate warfare, pushed the mercenaries back toward the foyer.
Suddenly, a heavy boot kicked through the broken frame of the study door!
Inside the room, Genevieve didn't scream.
A large mercenary stepped through the dust, raising his rifle. He spotted her under the desk.
"Found the little ghost," he sneered, raising his weapon to fire.
Genevieve didn't hesitate. She raised the silver revolver with both hands, locking her elbows, her mind flashing back to the night her uncle shot her off the Montauk pier.
BANG!
The heavy bullet caught the mercenary square in the chest! He gasped, stumbling backward against the broken bookcase!
Before he could recover, Dante materialized out of the smoke behind him. Dante caught the mercenary by the back of his tactical vest, plunging the combat knife deep into his neck, dropping him to the floor.
Dante dropped the knife, rushing over to the desk. He pulled Genevieve into his arms, checking her for blood.
"Are you hit?" Dante demanded, his voice frantic, searching her body. "Genevieve, look at me!"
"I'm okay," she gasped, clutching his bloody shirt. "I'm okay! I shot him!"
Dante let out a long, ragged breath, pulling her close, pressing her head against his chest.
Mateo ran into the ruined study, his gun lowered, smoke rising from his barrel. "The house is secure, Boss. Six mercenaries captured alive. The rest are dead."
Dante stood up, keeping his arm locked around Genevieve’s waist.
"Interrogate the survivors," Dante growled, his voice echoing off the broken walls. "Find out where Richard Vance is hiding tonight."
Mateo wiped blood from his forehead and smiled darkly. "We already know, Boss. Tomorrow night is the Vance International Annual Gala at the St. Regis Hotel. Richard invited the entire city council, the press, and the board of directors to celebrate his formal ascension to the trust."
May you like
Dante looked at Genevieve. Her face was smudged with plaster dust, her dark hair wild, holding a smoking revolver in her delicate hands.
"Then tomorrow night," Dante said, his eyes glittering with lethal anticipation, "we attend a party."
