Chapter 6 - The Trap is Sprung
A dense autumn fog was rolling off the Long Island Sound, blanketing the Romano estate’s rolling lawns in an eerie, milky shroud. Through the swirling mist, the low, electric whine of Lily’s pink toy convertible hummed steadily along the flagstone garden path leading toward the secluded East Gate.
From the tree line two hundred yards away, two mercenary snipers peered through thermal scopes.
""Visual confirmed,"" the spotter whispered into his comms. ""Pink vehicle moving at three miles per hour. Child seated behind the wheel, wearing the yellow dress and hooded coat. Target canine is right behind her, attached by the tactical lead to the wagon. He’s wearing the failsafe collar.""
""Morrison, you are green to approach,"" the sniper confirmed. ""No other estate guards in the sector.""
Caleb stepped out from the dense rhododendron thicket, flanked by three heavily armed rogue operatives wearing unmarked black tactical gear. He wore a victorious smirk as he marched toward the slow-moving pink car. The $50 million harbor ledger was finally within his grasp.
""Good little girl,"" Caleb sneered mockingly under his breath as he drew within ten paces of the car. ""Bringing daddy’s fortune right to my feet.""
He reached out his gloved hand to seize the shepherd's collar.
Suddenly, the pink convertible stopped dead.
The headlights of the toy car abruptly switched off. In the deafening silence of the foggy garden, Caleb heard a sharp, mechanical click from inside the wagon behind the car.
""What the hell—"" Caleb muttered, his instincts suddenly screaming an alarm.
He lunged forward and ripped the hooded yellow coat off the figure in the driver's seat. It wasn't Lily. It was a weighted ballistic mannequin.
At that exact second, from the dense shadows of the adjacent greenhouse, a voice like rolling thunder cut through the fog:
""Major! ATTACK!""
Before Caleb could even draw his suppressed pistol, seventy-five pounds of pure, unstoppable fury burst through the glass greenhouse doors. Major hit the lead mercenary like an artillery shell, his jaw clamping onto the man's forearm with bone-crushing force, sending the assault rifle clattering across the stones.
Floodlights instantly roared to life from the estate watchtowers, blasting 10,000 lumens of blinding white light directly onto the clearing.
""Ambush! We're burned!"" the second mercenary screamed, raising his weapon toward the tree line.
Crack! Crack!
Two precision suppressed shots echoed from the balcony above. Arthur Bennett stood on the stone balustrade, firing a tactical marksman rifle with lethal, surgical military precision. Both rogue mercenaries dropped instantly to the ground, disarmed and neutralized.
Caleb scrambled backward, panic twisting his face into a grotesque mask. He raised his sidearm toward Major, who was circling him with bared fangs, low to the ground, eyes burning with primeval rage.
""Don't move, Morrison,"" Arthur's cold voice rang out as he walked down the stone steps, rifle leveled squarely between Caleb's eyes.
""You think you've won, gardener?"" Caleb spat, backing toward the locked East Gate. ""I have a full assault team staged outside this wall! The second I don't check in, they breach the mansion and slaughter everyone inside!""
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""They won't be checking in either, Caleb,"" another voice declared smoothly from behind the gate.
The heavy iron gates swung open. Vincent Romano stood there, flanked by twenty heavily armed loyal bodyguards. Behind them, lined up on the wet grass, Caleb's entire outside assault team was already disarmed, zip-tied, and kneeling in the mud under the watch of state tactical units.
