Chapter 6 - Ink and Bullet Shells
Before Sadie could even lower the phone, a heavy thud shook the back door.
Bang!
Someone threw their shoulder against the wood, testing the deadbolt. The lock rattled, but held firm—Gideon had personally installed reinforced steel plates into the doorframe just two days prior.
Upstairs, a muffled sound echoed down the stairwell.
“Sadie?” Toby’s sleepy voice called out. “What’s that noise?”
“Stay in your room, buddy!” Sadie called back, her voice tight with panic as she grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet from the stovetop, holding it like a club with both hands. “Everything’s fine! Go back to sleep!”
Outside, the intruder cursed in a low murmur.
“This lock’s too heavy,” one of them muttered. “Let’s take the side window.”
Footsteps crunched heavily across the gravel, moving toward the narrow casement window by the pantry.
Clang!
The sound of shattering glass pierced the night air.
Sadie raised the skillet, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her eyes fixed on the pantry archway.
Suddenly, the night erupted.
From the dense fog outside, a blinding sweep of white halogen light cut through the shattered window. Shouts echoed across the garden—harsh, military commands barked with absolute authority.
“Drop the iron! Down on the ground! Do it now!”
It was Gideon’s voice.
Followed immediately by the unmistakable, terrifying sound of a suppressed firearm cycling twice.
Pfft. Pfft.
Two heavy thuds hit the flagstone patio outside.
Then silence.
The front door of the carriage house swung open wide, slamming against the interior wall with a resounding crash.
Ezra Malvern stood in the doorway.
He wasn't wearing his usual immaculate suit jacket. He wore a simple black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a dark tactical holster strapped beneath his arm, and smoke still curling faintly from the muzzle of a SIG Sauer pistol in his right hand.
His gray eyes swept the kitchen in a fraction of a second, locking instantly onto Sadie standing by the stove with a cast-iron skillet in her hands.
He exhaled slowly, the tension in his broad shoulders relaxing just an inch.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
“No,” Sadie breathed, lowering the skillet as her knees finally gave out, forcing her to lean against the counter for support. “No, I’m... we’re fine. Toby is upstairs.”
Ezra holstered his weapon with a smooth, practiced click. He stepped past her into the kitchen, his gaze hardening as he looked at the shattered pantry window.
Gideon appeared in the doorway behind him, dragging two zip-tied figures by their collars, tossing them onto the wet grass outside like discarded sacks of laundry.
“Senator Vance’s errand boys,” Gideon reported flatly, wiping a speck of dirt from his sleeve. “They thought they could scare you into dropping the audit on the municipal housing contracts, boss.”
Ezra turned back to Sadie. The cold, ruthless mafia kingpin vanished for a brief moment, replaced by a man who looked at the broken glass and realized how close he had come to losing the only fragile piece of peace he had allowed himself to build in years.
“Pack a bag,” Ezra said quietly.
May you like
Sadie stared at him. “What?”
“You and your brother are moving into the main house tonight,” Ezra stated, leaving no room for argument. “No one touches anyone under my roof. Ever again.”
