Chapter 4 - War in the Gardens
The rain had reduced to a steady, heavy drizzle by the time I stepped out of the greenhouse and melted into the dense shadows of the overgrown courtyard. The estate’s perimeter lights flickered and died, plunging the sprawling gardens into pitch blackness—a tactical advantage for a man who knew every stone, every tree, and every hidden corner of this property.
From the direction of the main courtyard, heavy boots crunched across the gravel.
Flashlights cut through the mist. Three men in matte-black tactical gear, their faces hidden behind reinforced ceramic helmets, moved in a synchronized clearing formation toward the back gardens. They weren't standard street thugs; their movements were disciplined, precise, military-grade.
Corporate cleaners.
The thought clicked instantly in my mind. For years, a rival syndicate known as the Sterling Syndicate had been trying to buy out my shipping lanes, backed by a shadowy conglomerate with deep political ties. If they were hunting Adeline, it meant the Vance family bloodline possessed something far more dangerous than money—they held the cryptographic ledger containing proof of the Sterling Syndicate's illegal arms trafficking and political bribes.
Rosalind hadn't hidden her identity just to protect herself; she had hidden it to keep that ledger out of their hands.
The lead mercenary raised his rifle, sweeping the beam across the glass panels of the greenhouse. "Sector four is clear of targets, but thermal is picking up residual heat signatures near the rose beds," he muttered into his comm-mic. "Moving in to secure the package."
Not on my watch.
I stepped silently from behind a massive stone fountain, moving like a ghost through the wet ferns. Before the second guard could react, I closed the distance, grabbed the back of his tactical vest, and dragged him backward into the dense hedge. A single, swift strike with the heavy steel butt of my Sig Sauer against the base of his helmet dropped him instantly into unconsciousness.
I stripped his suppressed submachine gun and his extra mags in less than three seconds, letting his limp body sink into the mud.
"Kaelen, report," a harsh voice crackled over the downed guard’s shoulder radio. "Status on sector four?"
I pressed the transmit button, mimicking the guard's flat, tactical cadence. "Sector four secure. Moving toward the eastern wing."
"Negative, Kaelen. Thermal scan just updated. There are multiple signatures moving toward the stables. Leave the girl and intercept the extraction vehicle. Boss wants everyone eliminated."
Extraction vehicle. They knew Bernadette was heading for the stables.
My blood ran cold. If they intercepted Bernadette and Adeline out in the open, the baby wouldn't stand a chance.
Without hesitation, I broke cover and sprinted across the lawn, bypassing the formal gardens to cut them off before they reached the stable path. The remaining two mercenaries were jogging in formation past the old oak tree, their rifles raised, scanning the darkness.
I raised the submachine gun, adjusted for wind and distance, and squeezed the trigger.
Puff-puff-puff.
Silenced rounds ripped through the misty air. The rear mercenary staggered and went down hard, his tactical vest absorbing most of the impact but the concussive force dropping him instantly.
The lead operative whipped around, his rifle muzzle flashing in the dark as wild, blind rounds chewed up the dirt inches from my boots. I dove behind the thick stone pillar of the gazebo, returning fire with ruthless precision. A round clipped his shoulder armor, spinning him off balance.
Before he could recover, I vaulted over the stone railing, slammed my boot into his chest, and sent him crashing backward onto the flagstones. I pressed the cold barrel of my pistol directly against his ceramic visor.
"Who sent you?" I demanded, my voice cutting through the hiss of the rain.
The mercenary let out a harsh, metallic laugh through his comms filter. "You think... you won, Falcone? The Syndicate... owns the ports. Owns the judges. You can't protect her forever..."
A sharp, high-pitched beep began emitting from a device strapped to his wrist.
May you like
Dead-man switch.
I didn't hesitate. I struck him hard across the temple, rendering him unconscious, grabbed his encrypted tactical radio, and sprinted toward the stables with every ounce of adrenaline fueling my veins.
