Chapter 10
The cool evening air swept through the estate grounds, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension inside the ballroom. The natural lighting of the setting sun cast long, dramatic shadows across the manicured lawns. Xavier stood in the darkness just inside the open North Gate, completely hidden by the thick stone pillars. Marcus and Vincent flanked him, their submachine guns raised and ready.
In the center of the driveway, illuminated by the dim gate lights, Julian and Caroline Mercer knelt on the gravel. Their zip-ties had been cut, but they were too terrified to run, knowing perfectly well that snipers had lasers trained directly on their chests from the estate roof.
Two unmarked black vans rolled slowly up the long driveway, their headlights cutting through the dusk. They stopped thirty yards from the gate. The doors slid open silently, and twelve heavily armed men dressed in tactical gear stepped out. They moved with military precision, assuming the estate was secured.
The lead mercenary, a towering man with a scar across his jaw, walked toward Julian and Caroline.
"Where is the drive, Mercer?" the mercenary barked. "And where is Hayes's body?"
Julian was shaking so violently his teeth were chattering. "He... he..."
"I'm right here," Xavier’s voice echoed from the shadows of the stone pillar.
The mercenaries froze. Before they could even raise their weapons, Xavier stepped into the light. He didn't look like a man who had just survived an assassination attempt; he looked like a king standing at the gates of his own fortress.
"Fire!" the mercenary leader screamed.
"Now," Xavier said softly.
The estate erupted. Floodlights blazed to life simultaneously, blinding the tactical team in the driveway. A hailstorm of suppressed gunfire rained down from the roof and the second-story balconies. Xavier’s capos executed a perfectly synchronized ambush.
The New York strike team was decimated before they could fire a single coordinated shot. Bodies dropped against the gravel and the black vans. The few who managed to return fire were quickly neutralized by Marcus and Vincent’s precise bursts from the gate.
Within thirty seconds, it was entirely over. The only sounds left were the hissing of a punctured radiator from one of the vans and the pathetic, terrified sobbing of Caroline Mercer, who was curled into a ball on the gravel next to her husband.
Xavier walked slowly down the driveway, his polished leather shoes crunching on the loose stones. He stopped in front of the dead mercenary leader, staring down at the man’s tactical gear. The message to the Lucchese family was written in blood.
He turned his gaze down to Julian and Caroline.
"You wanted to play games with the big families," Xavier said, his voice cold and hollow in the night air. "You brought war to my front door."
"We're sorry! We're sorry!" Julian wept, pressing his face into the dirt. "Just exile us! Let us go away!"
Xavier looked back at the sprawling, lit estate behind him. Inside those walls, Zariah was safe. The traitors were exposed. But New York would not stop. The Commission would send more men, more assassins, until they claimed the Chicago territory.
"You aren't going anywhere, Julian," Xavier said quietly, signaling to Marcus. "Lock them in the lower vault. They will tell us everything they know about the Lucchese family's operational routes."
"And then, Boss?" Marcus asked, grabbing Julian by the collar.
May you like
Xavier looked past the black vans, staring out toward the dark horizon, his deep, commanding presence vibrating with the promise of violence.
"And then," Xavier Hayes murmured, checking his wristwatch, "we pack our bags. We take the fight to New York."
