Chapter 4 - The House on Lockdown
I didn't move fast. In my world, moving fast when a gun is pointed at your back gets you killed.
I kept my body wrapped around my daughters, shielding them with my broad torso as I turned my head slowly toward the doorway.
Prescott Hale stood eight feet away. In his right hand, he held a silenced 9mm pistol equipped with a laser sight. In his left hand, he held a tactical detonator hooked into the house's master control grid.
Behind him in the hallway stood four of my own security guards—men I had hired, paid, and trusted to guard my home. Every single one of them had their weapons unholstered.
"Fourteen months, Dominic," Prescott said, his voice flat, devoid of any guilt. "You were supposed to be broken after Isabelle died. You were supposed to step down, hand the family business over to the board, and retreat to Florida with the kids. But you just kept digging."
"You killed her," I said, my voice dead and cold. "You stood outside that school and you shot my wife."
"She found the offshore accounts," Prescott said simply. "She was going to go to the District Attorney to buy a clean life for those girls. She was going to destroy everything we built. I couldn't let her do that, boss. It was business."
"And my daughters?" I growled, feeling my blood boiling like acid.
"They were a bonus," Prescott sneered, his eyes flicking toward Grace. "They saw my face through the rear window of the SUV. I told them if they ever uttered a word, I’d turn this house into a graveyard. They were smart little girls. They stayed quiet. Until she showed up."
He pointed the barrel of the silenced pistol directly at Grace's forehead.
"Miss Bennett," Prescott said with a cruel smile. "You were hired through an agency that my associate owns. You were supposed to be a quiet, timid girl who kept her head down. You turned out to be a major security risk."
Grace didn't flinch. She stood up slowly from the couch, stepping between the gun and my daughters.
"If you shoot me, Prescott," Grace said, her voice loud and ringing through the glass room, "you'll have to explain to the twenty men stationed on the outer lawn why there are gunshot wounds in the main house."
Prescott laughed—a dry, rattling sound. "You think those men outside are loyal to Dominic? Half of them are on my payroll, and the other half think the Morettis are attacking the front gate right now. In five minutes, this entire estate goes up in flames. The news tomorrow will report that Dominic Romano died in a tragic gang war attack alongside his family."
"You forgot one thing, Prescott," I said, slowly rising from the floor, keeping my arms out to shield the girls behind me.
"What's that, boss?"
"You forgot whose name is on the deed to this house."
I shoved my right hand into my pocket and pressed a small, recessed button on my car key fob.
Instantly, heavy armored steel security shutters slammed down over every window and door in the sunroom, crashing into the floorboards with the force of an avalanche.
The room plunged into pitch-black darkness.
"Shoot them!" Prescott roared from the doorway.
May you like
Guns barked in the dark, muzzle flashes lighting up the room like terrifying bursts of lightning.
I lunged forward, grabbing Grace and the three girls, dragging them behind the heavy oak display desk just as a hail of 9mm rounds tore through the plaster walls above our heads.
