Chapter 7
The sprawling estate of the Greystone family was transformed from a luxurious residence into a heavily fortified war zone in a matter of minutes. The bright, cinematic lighting of the exterior was killed, plunging the manicured lawns into darkness, save for the sweeping, erratic beams of tactical flashlights.
Leander Greystone stepped out of the heavy front doors. The crisp white fabric of his shirt contrasted sharply with the dark night and the artistic tattoos covering his right hand. He drew a heavy, suppressed pistol from a shoulder holster with his uninjured hand, his sharp jawline set in stone. He kept his broken left arm secured tightly against his chest in the heavy medical sling, refusing to let the agonizing pain slow him down.
"Are they holding at the gates, or have they breached the perimeter?" Leander asked his lead enforcer over the deafening sound of a distant explosion that rattled the windows.
"They blew the southern gate, Boss!" the enforcer yelled over the radio. "They’re moving up the main drive. Three heavily armored SUVs. They’re firing wildly, trying to pin our boys down!"
"Do they expect us to cower in the mansion and wait for them to knock?" Leander asked, a cold, ruthless smirk touching his lips. "Order the men to flank them through the hedge maze. We catch them in a crossfire before they reach the courtyard."
Leander didn't wait in the safety of the portico. He moved with the lethal, practiced grace of an apex predator, slipping into the shadows of the expansive gardens. The air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and burning rubber from the destroyed iron gate.
He navigated the familiar grounds effortlessly, flanking the advancing Moretti convoy. The heavy SUVs were crawling up the driveway, their headlights illuminating the flying dirt and gravel as Greystone enforcers rained fire down upon them from the upper balconies of the mansion.
Leander reached the edge of the tree line, perfectly positioned beside the lead vehicle. He leaned against the thick trunk of an ancient oak, steadying his weapon.
"Are you ready to show them what happens when they insult our family?" Leander whispered into his radio, his deep voice eerily calm amidst the chaos.
"On your mark, Boss," came the immediate, tense reply.
"Fire," Leander commanded simply.
The ambush was devastating. From the darkness of the hedge maze and the tree line, a coordinated, brutal volley of automatic weapons fire tore into the side of the Moretti convoy. The element of surprise was absolute. The heavy SUVs skidded and crashed into one another, tires blowing out and engines catching fire under the relentless, synchronized assault.
Leander stepped out of the shadows, his weapon raised. He fired with terrifying, cold precision, dropping three armed men who spilled out of the lead vehicle before they could even raise their rifles. His face was a mask of unyielding fury, the neatly trimmed stubble catching the erratic flashes of gunfire.
The Moretti forces, realizing they had walked into a meticulously planned kill box, broke rapidly. The aggressive invasion turned into a panicked, desperate retreat. The surviving men scrambled backward toward the ruined gates, abandoning their burning vehicles on the pristine driveway.
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Leander walked slowly toward the wreckage, his leather shoes crunching on broken glass and spent casings. He approached the lead SUV, where the Moretti underboss was pinned beneath a shattered door, bleeding heavily from his shoulder.
"Did you honestly believe Oswald Greystone had the authority to sell my empire, or did you simply underestimate my resolve to keep it?" Leander asked, standing over the wounded man, the barrel of his weapon aimed squarely at his chest.
