He Heard His Assistant Crying—And the Mafia Boss Rushed to Her Without Hesitating

The gun battle inside Haven Ridge was swift, brutal, and absolute.

Andrew didn't fight like a corporate executive. He fought like the syndicate king he was—a man born in the rough streets of South Brooklyn who had clawed his way to the top through blood and iron.

Positioned on the high ground of the gallery, Andrew and Lucas rained lethal, precise fire down into the hall. Within sixty seconds, eight of Romano’s men were dead on the marble floor, their tactical gear worthless against Andrew’s heavy armor-piercing rounds.

"Flank them from the west wing!" Romano shrieked, backing away toward the heavy oak doors as his men panicked under the fierce resistance. "Burn the whole place!"

Two mercenaries rushed up the grand staircase toward Andrew's position, throwing a stun grenade onto the landing.

The grenade detonated with a blinding flash and a deafening bang.

Andrew was knocked backward against the wall, his ears ringing violently, his vision blurred with white light. His rifle slipped from his grip, clattering across the floor.

One of the mercenaries cleared the top step, grinning maliciously as he raised his shotgun toward Andrew’s chest.

"Goodnight, Carter," the mercenary sneered.

BANG.

A loud, sharp gunshot echoed from the dark corridor behind Andrew.

The mercenary’s eyes went wide in shock as a bullet hole appeared in the center of his throat. He dropped his shotgun and collapsed backward down the stairs.

Andrew blinked through the smoke and white light, looking back toward the hidden tunnel door.

Cindy stood in the doorway, holding a heavy silver revolver she had taken from the wall armory in the bunker. Her hands were shaking violently, smoke drifting from the barrel of the gun, but her jaw was set in granite.

"Get away from him," she rasped, her eyes burning with fierce protection.

Andrew didn't waste a second. He grabbed his fallen rifle, rolled onto his knee, and took out the second mercenary before the man could draw his sidearm.

Andrew leapt to his feet, sprinted to Cindy, and grabbed her hand, pulling her back toward the balcony railing.

Down in the main hall, Victor Romano was sprinting alone toward his getaway car parked in the driveway, realizing his attack had completely failed.

"Lucas! Cover the doors!" Andrew roared.

Andrew vaulted over the marble gallery railing, dropping fifteen feet to the hall floor with a heavy thud. He absorbed the impact, stood up instantly, and sprinted through the burning front entrance into the rain.

Romano reached the door of his Mercedes, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the handle.

"Romano!"

Romano turned, raising his pistol in wild panic.

Andrew didn't shoot him. He closed the distance in three long strides, swatted the gun from Romano’s hand, and delivered a devastating right hook that smashed Romano’s jaw, sending the old mob boss crashing onto the wet gravel drive.

Andrew stood over him, his heavy boots planted on either side of Romano’s chest. The rain poured down over Andrew’s face, washing away the gunpowder residue on his skin.

"Please... Andrew..." Romano choked out, spitting blood onto the gravel. "We can... we can make a deal... fifty million... the docks..."

Andrew aimed his rifle directly between Romano’s eyes.