Rocco frowned as he read that the attack wasn’t led by STARR. If not them, then who was attacking the Santos compound?
Another message appeared.
MILES:Intel says someone paid eight million for Santos's head.
Eight million—Jesus. No wonder the mansion was turning into a war zone. Someone wanted Rafael Santos erased, and they were pulling out all the stops to make it happen. A scream echoed from the hallway, followed by another burst of rifle fire. It was closer this time. The office door burst open, and a blood-soaked guard stumbled inside before collapsing face-first onto the hardwood floor. Two bullets had torn through his back.Everyone in the room reached for weapons, Rocco included, because staying in character meant surviving.
A shadow appeared in the doorway. The guy was tall with broad shoulders, and he was wearing black tactical gear. A skull-patterned balaclava concealed everything except his cold blue eyes. The man carried a suppressed HK416 like it weighed nothing. He looked over the room methodically before his gaze landed on Santos.
"There you are.” His voice was distorted through the mask.
Santos smiled. "I was wondering when you'd arrive." Rocco's pulse skipped. They knew each other.
"You should've stayed retired," Santos said.
"So should you,” the man countered. The masked man stepped fully into the room, followed by four more operators stacked in textbook formation. There was no question that they were former military.
"You've become expensive,” the man said.
Santos laughed. "You've become predictable." Without warning, Santos grabbed one of the businessmen and shoved him toward the doorway. Gunfire erupted, and the businessman dropped instantly after taking three rounds to the chest. The operators never hesitated, and the room exploded into violence as everyone scattered. Rocco dove behind an overturned conference table as bullets chewed through the mahogany wood. One of Santos's guards rushed through the doorway, but he didn’t make it even three steps before taking a bullet to his center mass. Another guard tried flanking him, and the second operator shot him through the throat. These weren't mercenaries. They were men who had trained together for years. Someone with deep pockets had assembled an elite kill team.
Rocco watched as Santos disappeared behind a hidden bookshelf. If he was guessing, it was a concealed panic room.Damn it. Rocco spotted the movement just before the passage sealed shut. The bastard had escaped.
One of the operators cursed. "He got away."
The masked leader pointed toward the opening. "Find him." Two men immediately pursued Santos as the remaining operators secured the office.
One turned toward Rocco. "Hands where I can see them."
Rocco slowly raised both hands. "I'm just an investor."
The operator snorted. "Sure." He stepped closer, and Rocco noted that something about the man's posture and his movements felt familiar.
The operator tilted his head. "Moretti?" Rocco froze. Very few people knew the undercover identity that he assumed. The man slowly reached up and pulled off his mask.
Rocco blinked. "No way,” he breathed.
The older man grinned. "Good to see you too, kid."
"Ant?" He was a former Army Ranger and current STARR trainer. He was the man who'd taught Rocco nearly everything he knew about close-quarters combat. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Ant's smile disappeared. "Cleaning up a mess."
Rocco stood. "You never said STARR was running this."
"We aren't." That made even less sense. "This is off the books." Ant looked toward the hidden passage. "Director Cross authorized exactly six people for this mission.” Rocco's eyebrows shot up because Director Cross didn't authorize unsanctioned missions—ever.
"Why would he do that?" Rocco asked.
Ant's expression hardened. "Because Santos stopped being just organized crime six months ago."
"What does that mean?" Rocco questioned.
"It means he isn't just selling drugs anymore,” Ant said, looking him straight in the eye. "He's selling people."
Rocco's blood ran cold. "Lark."
Ant nodded. "And dozens more." The pieces slammed together—the shell companies, shipping containers, and port access. It had never been about narcotics. It was about human trafficking. Rocco felt sick.
