Three days before my wedding, I was supposed to be finalizing a marriage that would nearly double my criminal empire, but a crumpled medical bill from my maid changed the direction of my night. By 4:11 the next morning, instead of thinking about power, money, or my future wife, I was ordering my lieutenant to find the home of a woman whose private life had never mattered to me before.

Grant’s fading voice over the radio completely shattered my remaining calm.

I demanded his exact coordinates, but the transmission abruptly cut out into dead static.

I knew I could not stay and fight a defensive battle in my own ruined house.

I left my remaining lieutenants in charge of the estate defense and sprinted toward the underground garage.

I jumped into a heavily armored SUV, smashing through the locked security gates of my property.

I drove wildly onto the highway, pushing the engine to its absolute limit as I headed north toward the Catskills.

The rain had turned into a torrential downpour, making the winding mountain roads incredibly dangerous.

It took me ninety agonizing minutes to reach the dense forest where the safehouse was located.

I abandoned the vehicle near the tree line and proceeded on foot, carrying an assault rifle.

The smell of burning aviation fuel guided me through the dark, soaking wet woods.

I found the wreckage of the helicopter completely destroyed against a massive oak tree.

The traitorous pilot was dead in the cockpit, but there was no sign of Grant, Mara, or the boy.

I followed a trail of broken branches and fresh blood leading away from the crash site.

My heart pounded furiously as I tracked the bloodstains to the porch of my hidden cabin.

The reinforced steel door of the safehouse had been blown completely off its hinges.

I raised my rifle, slicing the tactical flashlight across the dark interior of the cabin.

The living room was completely demolished, with bullet holes riddling the wooden walls.

I found Grant slumped against the kitchen counter, pressing a bloody towel against a deep wound in his side.

He coughed violently, pointing his trembling finger toward the back window.

He whispered that a Marino hit squad had ambushed them the moment they survived the crash.

He had managed to kill two of them, but there were too many for him to stop alone.

I asked him where Mara and Leo were, dreading the answer he was about to give.

Grant looked up at me with profound regret and apologized for failing his duty.

He told me that the Marino men had taken Mara and the boy alive, dragging them toward the old logging road.

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Before he passed out from the blood loss, Grant handed me a heavy, silver lighter he had pulled from the leader of the hit squad.

The lighter was engraved with the address of an abandoned warehouse on the Brooklyn waterfront.

Chapter 7 - The Empty Safehouse