Chapter 6 - The Siege of the Hamptons
The armored Mercedes tore through the gates of the Hamptons estate in a cloud of gravel and scorched rubber. Rory didn’t wait for the car to come to a complete stop; he threw the door open, drew his Sig Sauer, and sprinted toward the front entrance.
The heavy oak doors stood wide open.
“Clear every room!” Rory roared to the six enforcers pouring out of the convoy behind him.
They swept through the marble foyer, checking the parlor, the dining room, the kitchens. Empty. The house was silent, wrapped in an eerie, unnatural quiet.
Rory raced up the grand staircase, two steps at a time, heading straight for the west wing nursery.
He kicked the double doors open.
The room was immaculate. The white cashmere blankets were folded neatly on the bed. The plate of half-eaten pancakes sat on the bedside table.
Lily and Rose were gone.
On the center of the nursery table sat a single, pristine white envelope with a silver wax seal bearing the Cruz family crest.
Rory ripped the envelope open with shaking fingers and unfolded the heavy cardstock.
“If you want to see your daughters again, come to the old lighthouse at Montauk Point alone. No enforcers. No guns. Just you and the ghost of your past. You have two hours before the tide comes in.”
Marcus stepped into the room, breathing hard, his weapon drawn. “Boss, we checked the perimeter cameras. A black van with diplomatic plates left through the back service road twenty minutes before we arrived. We can intercept them on the highway—”
“No,” Rory interrupted, his voice terrifyingly calm. He tucked his pistol back into his shoulder holster. “If we chase them, she hurts the girls. I go alone.”
“Boss, it’s a trap!” Marcus protested, his face lined with genuine fear for his leader. “Victoria Cruz isn't playing by old syndicate rules. She wants you dead, and she’ll use the kids to get you there.”
“I know it’s a trap, Marcus,” Rory said, looking around the empty nursery where his daughters’ laughter had echoed just hours before. “That’s why I’m walking right into it.”
He turned and walked out of the room, leaving the enforcers standing in the quiet, empty space.
Meanwhile, twenty miles away, inside the damp, salt-scented basement of the abandoned Montauk lighthouse, Lily and Rose sat on a wooden bench. They weren’t crying. They were swinging their legs, looking around with wide, curious eyes.
Victoria Cruz sat on a crate across from them, sharpening a hunting knife with a smooth, rhythmic stone.
“Are you a bad guy?” Rose asked, tilting her head.
Victoria paused, looking down at the six-year-old twin. A strange, fleeting shadow crossed the assassin’s cold eyes—a memory of her own childhood before her family was torn apart by the New York mob wars.
“No, sweetheart,” Victoria said softly, her voice losing its edge. “I’m just a woman collecting a debt.”
“Our daddy pays his debts,” Lily said firmly, crossing her small arms. “He’s the strongest man in the world.”
Victoria let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “We’ll see about that, little one. We’ll see.”
May you like
Heavy footsteps echoed from the stone staircase above. The rusted iron door creaked open, and a tall silhouette stepped into the dim light of the basement.
Rory Starks had arrived.
