Chapter 4 - The Cleaners Arrive at Midnight
The entire mansion plunged into darkness as Marco's team cut the primary
transformer at the estate's boundary line.
Above them, muffled shouts and the sharp crackle of suppressed gunfire vibrated
through the limestone ceiling.
Lorenzo entered the service stairs with Beatrice right behind him. In his left
hand, he carried a tactical flashlight with an infrared filter; in his right,
his sidearm.
"Marco," Lorenzo spoke into a sleek earpiece. "Where are Vincent and Isabella?"
"Second-floor master suite, boss," Marco replied over the comms. "They heard the
gunfire downstairs. Vincent is on his radio trying to reach his men, but we've
jammed all local cellular frequencies."
"Good. Keep the ground floor contained. I'm going up the west stairs."
Lorenzo moved like a ghost through the pitch-black corridors he had known since
childhood. Every shadow, every doorway was mapped into his memory.
As they reached the second-floor mezzanine, the silhouette of a Rossi gunman
appeared near the top of the grand staircase, rifle raised, scanning the dark
foyer below.
Lorenzo didn't hesitate. He raised his weapon and fired two rapid, suppressed
shots.
The gunman crumpled to the Persian rug without a sound.
Beatrice gasped softly, pressing her back against the wall, but her eyes
remained focused on Lorenzo. She didn't scream. She didn't panic.
Lorenzo stepped over the fallen shooter, retrieved the man's sidearm, and handed
it to Beatrice.
"Do you know how to shoot?" Lorenzo asked.
"My uncle took me to the range in the Everglades when I was a teenager," she
whispered, taking the heavy firearm. Her grip was firm, her finger resting
properly along the frame away from the trigger.
Lorenzo's lips curved into a dangerous, admiring smile. "Remind me to give your
uncle a bonus."
They advanced down the hallway toward the master suite.
Inside, Vincent's furious voice was audible through the heavy double doors.
"What do you mean the comms are dead?!" Vincent roared. "Where is the Rossi
strike team? They were supposed to secure the house in five minutes!"
"Vinnie, I'm scared," Isabella whimpered. "What if Lorenzo found out? What if
he's here?"
"Shut up!" Vincent snapped. "Lorenzo is in Chicago! He doesn't know a damn
thing! We just have to hold this room until my drivers get here—"
The heavy oak doors exploded inward.
Lorenzo kicked the double doors off their hinges with a thunderous splintering
crash that echoed down the hallway like a mortar shell.
The room was lit only by the lightning flashes outside the floor-to-ceiling
windows.
Vincent spun around, raising his Glock.
Before he could align his sights, Lorenzo fired a single round clean through
Vincent’s right wrist.
Vincent shrieked in agony, dropping the weapon as blood splattered across the
white silk rug. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his mangled arm.
Isabella screamed, backing into the corner of the king-sized bed, her face pale
as a corpse in the flashes of lightning.
Lorenzo stepped into the room, his towering frame silhouetted against the dark
hallway.
May you like
Beside him stepped Beatrice, the pistol held steady in her bandaged hands.
"Good evening, Vincent," Lorenzo said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I believe
you were expecting me at nine o'clock."
