Chapter 5 - Knocking on the Front Door
The iron gates of the villa were unlocked—a sign of absolute, supreme arrogance from men who believed they were invisible.
I walked past the security cameras, stepping out of the shadows and directly into the pool of amber light cast by the architectural up-lighting of the front courtyard.
The two guards standing near the fountain didn't even notice me until I was ten feet away.
“Alto! Quem vai lá?” one of them barked, dropping his cigarette and reaching instantly for the sidearm holstered at his hip.
I didn't run. I didn't reach for my gun. I simply stopped under the light, spread my hands slightly, and looked them dead in the eye.
“Tell Nathan Cross his landlord is here to see him,” I said, my voice cutting through the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks below.
The guard froze, his hand hovering over his holster as his brain tried to process the American accent, the bespoke suit, and the terrifying calm radiating from my posture. Before he could draw his weapon, a heavy shadow detached itself from the darkness behind him.
Thwack.
Marcus—who had apparently ignored my order to stay in the van—brought the heavy rubberized butt of his tactical blade cleanly across the first guard’s jaw. The man dropped like a sack of wet cement.
The second guard whirled around, drawing his pistol, but before he could clear leather, my Sig Sauer was out, the black barrel pressed firmly against the center of his forehead.
“Drop it,” I whispered.
The guard’s eyes went wide as saucers. He slowly opened his fingers, letting his pistol clatter onto the stone pavers.
“Good decision,” I said, stepping past him without breaking stride.
I walked up the wide marble steps of the main entrance. I didn't bother picking the lock or looking for a side door. I raised my right hand and slammed my fist against the heavy mahogany front door three times.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Inside the house, the sound echoed like thunder.
A few seconds later, the automated lock clicked with a sharp mechanical buzz, and the door swung inward.
There stood Nathan Cross.
He was wearing a silk bathrobe over a pair of designer slacks, holding a crystal glass half-filled with amber scotch. His hair was slightly disheveled, and a relaxed, slightly drunken smile was plastered across his face—a smile that vanished instantly, completely, and permanently the moment his eyes locked onto mine.
The glass slipped from his fingers.
It hit the marble floor, shattering into a thousand glittering shards, splashing scotch and ice across the pristine white surface.
“Dom...?” Nathan whispered, the color draining from his face until he looked like a corpse standing in the doorway.
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I smiled—a slow, terrifying stretch of my lips that didn't reach my eyes.
“Hello, Nathan,” I said softly, stepping across the threshold and walking right past him into the foyer of his stolen fortress. “You left the front door unlocked. In this neighborhood, that’s just asking for burglars.”
