Chapter 4 - The Evanston Strike
Night fell over Lake Forest like a heavy black velvet curtain. Rain began to fall again, slicking the long asphalt driveway and drumming steady patterns against the high glass windows of the Vale estate.
In the basement garage beneath the main house, five heavy black SUVs stood idling in a row, their exhaust fumes rising into the chilled air.
Twenty heavily armed men dressed in dark tactical gear lined the concrete walls, checking their weapons with practiced, silent efficiency. These were not common street enforcement; these were Adrian’s personal elite security detail—men who had served with him for over fifteen years.
Adrian stood near the lead SUV, adjusting the cuffs of a heavy black tactical coat over his suit.
Marcus walked up to him, handing him a customized black sidearm. “Evanston property is confirmed occupied. Julian Moretti is currently at the riverfront estate with twelve of his top lieutenants and guards. They think they’re celebrating the finalization of the shipping route transfer.”
“They think I’m still grieving,” Adrian said, taking the weapon and locking the magazine into place with a sharp clack. “They think I’m an old lion sleeping in a big house.”
“What about Vanessa?” Marcus asked.
“She stays in the cellar until we return,” Adrian replied coldly. “I want Julian Moretti brought back here alive. I want him to look at her before he dies.”
Footsteps echoed down the concrete ramp leading to the garage.
Adrian turned to see Rachel standing at the bottom of the ramp, wearing a heavy raincoat, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.
“What are you doing down here, Rachel?” Adrian asked.
“Lily is asleep,” Rachel said, stopping five feet away. “I put Emma in the bed beside her. They’re both safe.” She paused, looking at the long line of armed men and running engines. “You’re going after Julian.”
“Julian killed your sister,” Adrian said simply. “He tried to destroy my family. This ends tonight.”
Rachel reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small silver pocket watch on a silver chain. She held it out to Adrian.
“This belonged to our father,” Rachel said softly. “Claire took it with her when she left home. She gave it to me six years ago, saying it was meant to protect the head of the house. I want you to take it.”
Adrian looked down at the old pocket watch, then looked into the eyes of his dead wife’s sister. For eleven months, he had felt completely isolated, trapped in an empty mansion with a grieving child. Now, standing in his garage, he felt the presence of Claire surrounding him once again—not as a ghost, but as a living force uniting the people she loved.
Adrian took the watch and slipped it into his chest pocket, right over his heart.
“Thank you, Rachel,” Adrian said firmly. “Watch over the girls. We will be back before dawn.”
Rachel nodded. “Bring justice home, Adrian.”
Adrian turned and climbed into the back seat of the lead SUV. Marcus slid into the front passenger seat, signaling the drivers.
The heavy steel garage door rolled open, and the fleet of five black vehicles surged out into the pouring rain, speeding south toward Evanston like a pack of hunting wolves.
Thirty minutes later, the convoy pulled off the main highway, cutting their headlights as they rolled into the quiet, wooded residential district along the Evanston waterfront.
Julian Moretti’s estate was a sprawling modern structure made of concrete and glass, situated at the edge of a bluff overlooking the dark, churning waters of Lake Michigan. High iron gates blocked the driveway, patrolled by two guards holding automatic rifles under large umbrellas.
In the lead SUV, Marcus looked back at Adrian through the rearview mirror. “Thermal imaging shows fourteen hostiles inside the main house. Four on the grounds. How do you want to handle the entry, boss?”
Adrian looked out the rain-slicked window at the iron gates.
“No stealth, Marcus,” Adrian commanded, his voice cold and terrifyingly absolute. “Drive straight through the front door.”
The lead SUV slammed its accelerator to the floor. The heavy armored bull-bar on the front bumper smashed through the iron gates with a deafening metallic roar, twisting the metal like paper and sending the two perimeter guards diving into the bushes for cover.
The five SUVs roared up the winding driveway, pulling up directly onto the manicured front lawn in front of the main glass foyer.
Before the alarms inside the mansion could even complete their first cycle, Adrian’s men spilled out of the vehicles, throwing stun grenades through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
A series of blinding flashes and thunderous explosions shattered the night air, blowing out the entire glass facade of the Moretti estate.
Adrian walked through the shattered frame of the front entrance, his heavy coat flaring behind him, his weapon drawn.
Gunfire erupted from the grand staircase. Bullets whizzed through the air, embedding themselves into the marble walls and plaster. Adrian did not flinch, stepping calmly behind a heavy stone pillar as Marcus and four operatives returned suppressed suppressive fire, neutralizing two Moretti shooters on the upper balcony in seconds.
Within four minutes of total, violent dominance, the gunfire ceased. The grand foyer was filled with smoke, burning drapes, and the groans of wounded guards.
Adrian walked up the curved marble staircase, his shoes crunching over shattered glass and spent shell casings.
He pushed open the heavy double doors leading to the master suite on the top floor.
Inside, Julian Moretti was frantically trying to clear a jammed automatic pistol near an open wall safe filled with stacks of hundred-dollar bills and passports.
Hearing the door open, Julian spun around, raising his hand, but before he could pull the trigger, Adrian stepped forward with terrifying speed, striking Julian across the face with the heavy steel barrel of his sidearm.
Julian collapsed onto the hardwood floor, bleeding heavily from a deep gash on his cheekbone, his weapon clattering harmlessly across the room.
Adrian stepped on Julian’s right hand, crushing his fingers against the floorboards until Julian screamed in agony.
“Adrian! Wait! Wait!” Julian sobbed, pressing his bloodied face against the wood. “It was business! Just business! Vanessa came to me! She said she could give me the Lake Forest routes if I helped her get rid of Claire! It wasn't personal!”
Adrian leaned down, gripping Julian by his hair and pulling his head back so their eyes met.
“Claire was my wife,” Adrian whispered, his eyes dark, abyss-like, devoid of human warmth. “She was the mother of my child. You made it personal the moment you touched her car.”
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Julian’s eyes went wide with pure terror as he realized no amount of money, no family connections, and no political leverage was going to save him.
“Marcus,” Adrian said, tossing his adviser a pair of heavy tactical handcuffs. “Zip-tie his feet and haul him to the truck. We’re going home.”
