Then I looked at Mark. "Take five men, draw fire from the front. Make them think we're coming through the main entrance. But don't engage—just keep their attention."
"Yes, sir!"
"The rest of you, with me." I checked the Glock at my waist and spare magazines. "We're going through the east ventilation shaft, straight into the warehouse."
I checked my watch.
"Move out in three minutes."
Three minutes later, gunfire erupted.
Mark's team hit the main entrance with a feint attack. Dense gunfire shattered the night's silence. Marchetti guards rushed to return fire, both sides locked in intense combat at the front gate.
And I'd already led five men through a rusted ventilation shaft on the east side, slipping silently into the warehouse.
Dark inside. Just a few dim industrial lights swaying. The air reeked of machine oil and rust, with a faint trace of blood.
I signaled. Five men spread out, advancing in standard CQB formation.
Around the first shipping container, two armed guards with their backs to us—wearing Marchetti's signature dark brown tactical gear.
I raised my hand. Two muffled shots from the suppressed pistol. Both men dropped without a sound.
We pushed forward.
Vivienne's voice came from deep in the warehouse—she was talking to someone, her voice laced with suppressed rage and fear.
My heart clenched.
She was alive.
I quickened my pace.
Past the last container, the space opened up—
A massive clearing, lit by several blinding spotlights.
Vivienne was tied to a metal chair, the bruises on her face worse than the photo, dried blood at the corner of her mouth. But her eyes were still defiant, glaring at the man standing before her.
Ten feet behind her, Sasha was tied to a post, covered in blood, his left leg twisted at a grotesque angle. Clearly broken.
But what made my pupils contract was the man standing beside Vivienne—
Derek.
My half-brother now wore a perfectly tailored navy suit, hair immaculately combed, holding a gun pressed to Vivienne's temple.
And not far behind him, Carmine Marchetti sat in a chair, elegantly smoking a cigar, an amused smile on his face.
My suspicions confirmed.
Derek and Marchetti had joined forces.
"Finally." Derek saw me, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "I thought you'd hesitate longer. Looks like this woman means even more to you than I imagined."
I raised my gun, the barrel shifting between Derek and Carmine before locking on Derek's head.
"Let her go." My voice was terrifyingly calm, but my gun hand trembled slightly—from barely contained murderous intent.
