“PRETEND TO HUG ME,” the terrified little boy whispered, squeezing my hand as investigators accused me of exploiting him and threatened to take him away. They thought I was just a wealthy stranger who had interfered with state custody, but they had no idea I was the mafia boss half this city feared, or that another six-year-old boy was locked somewhere in the city waiting for me to find him.

At two o'clock on Sunday morning, the storm returned, rolling in from Lake Michigan with thunder that shook the glass panes of the estate.

In the master surveillance control room beneath the mansion, I stood before a wall of thirty high-definition security monitors showing every angle of the outer perimeter.

Marcus stood beside me, his tactical radio hummed with quiet static.

"Thermal grid picked up six targets entering the northern woods, Boss," the security chief reported over the comms. "Paramilitary gear. Suppressed weapons. They just cut the outer power line."

The estate lights flickered once and died, instantly replaced by the low, red glow of our independent generator backup.

"They think they cut our primary defense," Marcus smirked softly. "Idiots."

Senator Blake’s mercenary team had taken the bait. We had deliberately leaked a false gap in our northern security grid through a compromised communications channel, drawing his strike force into a narrow, enclosed gorge between the pine ridge and the eastern stone wall.

"Are the boys secure in the subterranean vault?" I asked.

"Dr. Aris is with them, Boss," Marcus confirmed. "The vault door is six inches of reinforced titanium. A nuclear blast couldn't scratch it."

"Good," I said, reaching for my heavy tactical coat hanging near the console. "Let's end this."

I pulled a pair of custom, black tactical sidearms from my desk drawer, chambering rounds into both weapons with two sharp, metallic clicks.

Outside, the darkness was absolute, save for the flashes of lightning illuminating the driving rain.

Six mercenary operatives moved in a tight fire-team formation through the mud of the northern gorge, their night-vision goggles glowing green through the storm. Their leader raised a hand, signaling his men to set breaching charges against the secondary estate entrance.

"Clear," the leader whispered into his headset. "Plant the charges. Once inside, liquidate all targets. No witnesses, especially the children."

Suddenly, high-powered halogen floodlights slammed on from the surrounding stone cliffs, blinding the mercenaries instantly.

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" Marcus’s voice boomed over the estate speaker system, vibrating through the trees. "YOU ARE TRESPASSING ON PRIVATE PROPERTY UNDER THE PERSONAL JURISDICTION OF JULIAN VANCE!"

"OPEN FIRE!" the mercenary leader screamed, raising his assault rifle toward the light stands.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A rain of surgical, suppressed rifle fire erupted from the dark tree canopy above them.

My elite security team, positioned in camouflaged positions along the ridge, opened fire with terrifying efficiency. Within fifteen seconds, four of the six mercenaries were brought down, their weapons spinning into the mud.

The remaining two operatives threw flashbang grenades into the brush, attempting to scramble backward toward their getaway SUV parked near the perimeter fence.

I stepped out from behind a massive oak tree directly into their retreat path.

The mercenary leader gasped, raising his rifle toward my chest.

Before his finger could touch the trigger, I stepped inside his guard, grabbed the barrel of his weapon, and slammed my heavy tactical knife handle directly into his jaw, shattering his face mask. He dropped like a sack of stones.

The final mercenary fell to his knees, throwing his hands above his head, his face pale with sheer terror under the halogen glare.

"DON'T SHOOT! DON'T SHOOT!" he shrieked. "WE WERE HIRED BY BLAKE! WE HAVE THE ORDERS ON OUR ENCRYPTED TABLETS!"

I walked up to him, resting the barrel of my weapon gently against his forehead.

"Where is Senator Blake right now?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the sound of thunder.

"His private estate in Lake Forest!" the man babbled, weeping uncontrollably. "He’s waiting for the confirmation call at three AM! He has a private jet on standby at Midway Airport!"

I pulled the tablet from his tactical vest, handing it to Marcus, who had just stepped out of the woods behind me.

"Marcus," I said, stepping back into the shadow of the trees.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Call the FBI Special Agent in Charge. Tell him Senator Blake is attempting to flee the country."

"And what are we doing, Boss?"