Chapter 6 - NIGHT OF THE WOLVES
The thunderous roar of the tactical shotgun shattered what was left of the stained-glass windows in the grand foyer.
Bennett fired four consecutive heavy breaching rounds down into the hall with brutal, terrifying accuracy. The explosive kinetic force ripped through the marble floor tiles, tearing through the front line of Julian’s mercenary team, throwing men across the room into broken plaster and splintered furniture.
“Kill him!” Julian shrieked, scrambling behind a fallen marble column as plaster dust rained down like winter snow. “Kill him!”
Automatic rifle fire erupted from seven directions, chewing through the wooden mahogany railings of the upper gallery.
Bennett rolled smoothly across the carpeted mezzanine floor, dropping behind a heavy stone pillar. He reached into his tactical vest, pulled two flashbang grenades, pulled the pins with his teeth, and tossed them down over the railing into the center of the foyer.
A blinding, white flash combined with a deafening two-hundred-decibel shockwave detonated across the enclosed hall.
The mercenaries screamed, dropping their weapons, clutching their ears and eyes as absolute disorientation overwhelmed their senses.
Bennett didn't wait for the dust to settle. He vaulted over the balcony railing, dropping twelve feet down into the center of the foyer, landing on his feet with the lethal grace of a hunting wolf.
He moved through the disoriented mercenaries like a scythe through dry grass.
Rack. Fire. Rack. Fire.
The heavy shotgun roared through the smoke-filled hall. Within forty-five seconds, eight mercenaries lay motionless on the ruined marble floor. The remaining four threw down their weapons, scrambling frantically toward the shattered front oak doors, fleeing out into the rainy courtyard like panicked rats.
Bennett didn't chase them.
He racked his shotgun, ejecting the spent red shell casing onto the floor, and walked slowly toward the fallen marble column near the grand fireplace.
Julian Moretti was crawling through the broken glass, his trench coat torn, blood streaming from a shrapnel wound on his forehead, trying desperately to reach a dropped pistol three feet away.
Bennett stepped heavily onto Julian’s outstretched wrist, crushing his fingers against the hard tile.
Julian let out a sharp, agonizing howl of pain, rolling onto his back, looking up at the towering figure of Bennett Cross.
The smoke from the shotgun drifted around Bennett’s shoulders like a dark cloak. His dark eyes were empty of all mercy, holding only the cold, absolute finality of an executioner.
“Bennett... wait!” Julian gasped, his teeth red with blood as he clawed at Bennett’s heavy leather boot. “Wait! You kill me... my family will never stop! They’ll hunt that girl to the ends of the earth!”
Bennett leaned down, grabbing Julian by the lapels of his coat, dragging his heavy body up until Julian’s face was inches from his own.
“Your family is finished, Julian,” Bennett whispered into his ear, his voice terrifyingly calm. “While you were flying your helicopter over my house, my external teams raided your headquarters in Newark, your docks in Brooklyn, and your estate in Alpine. You have no men left. You have no money left. You are the last Moretti on earth.”
Julian’s eyes widened in sheer, catastrophic realization. He had thought he was trapping Bennett inside Cedarhaven. He hadn't realized that Bennett had used the attack to draw Julian’s entire syndicate out into the open for total extermination.
“Please...” Julian whimpered, his arrogant bravado completely gone. “Please, Bennett... for Lily...”
The mention of her name was the final nail.
Bennett didn't answer. He pressed the barrel of his sidearm beneath Julian’s chin and pulled the trigger once.
The body went limp.
Bennett released his grip, letting Julian Moretti fall cold and lifeless onto the ruined floor of the grand foyer.
Silence returned to Cedarhaven, broken only by the sound of the rain pouring through the shattered skylights and the distant, approaching wail of police sirens down the avenue.
Walter stepped out through the ruined security doors, followed by three surviving perimeter guards.
“The grounds are secure, sir,” Walter reported, surveying the carnage in the foyer without a single blink. “Federal units are two miles out.”
Bennett pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket, casually wiping the powder burn residue from his hands. He tossed the shotgun onto a sofa.
“Let the feds come,” Bennett said calmly. “Tell them a rogue syndicate attempted an armed home invasion on a private citizen. Hand them Julian’s body and the camera footage of their breach. They’ll spend five years closing the case and writing reports.”
Bennett turned toward the private elevator corridor, stepping past the debris.
“And Walter?” Bennett added, pausing at the threshold.
“Yes, Mr. Cross?”
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“Call my legal team in Manhattan. Tell them I need a full legal name change, an international trust fund setup, and primary adoption papers processed by eight o'clock tomorrow morning.”
Walter bowed his head sharply, a small, proud smile touching his lips. “Consider it done, sir.”
