Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Basili
“Alright, everyone clear on their positions and instructions?”
I look around the table at the men assembled. Omero stands to my right, Raffaello on the left with Marco, Giovanni, Luca, Matteo, and a dozen others. All seasoned soldiers, all ready to die to bring my son home if necessary.
A blueprint of the Tao compound, verified for accuracy by Chloe, is spread over the top of my desk. Omero had pulled the architectural records from when it had been built, verified, and adjusted by Chloe. It isn’t perfect, but it is a hell of a lot better than going in blind.
“Teams one and two enter through the east and west service entrances,” Omero runs through it again, pointing at the marks on the map. “Take out the perimeter guards quietly. Don’t set off any alarms; no shots unless absolutely necessary. Silencers on from the start.”
“Team three comes in through the garage,” Raffaello continues. “Disable their vehicles, make sure they can’t fall back and escape.”
“And my team walks right in the front door,” I finish. “Keep Delan and his people distracted while you all clear the house room by room.”
“Were we able to find out if the son is in residence?” Marco asks. “Shuren was part of the Snow Leopard Commando Unit; he’s well-trained and lethal. If he’s there —”
“He’ll be there. Delan won’t meet me without backup.” I tap the center of the blueprint — the main study. “That’s where we’ll be. You focus on finding Emmanuel. I’ll handle whatever comes my way. Got it?”
Affirmations ring throughout the small room, and reluctant nods all around as I look each of them in the eye.
“Emmanuel is the priority. You get my son out first, then you can come back for me.”
Less than two hours later, I’m pulling my car up to the front gate of the Tao’s sprawling estate.
Omero in the passenger seat, Raffaello in the back.
The compound is exactly what I expected — high walls, traditional Chinese architecture mixed with that of modern American security.
There are cameras everywhere. Guards at every entrance.
The guard at the gatehouse approaches, recognizes me, and waves us through.
Too easy.
Then again, they’re expecting a business meeting, not a war. That’s their first mistake.
We park in the circular drive. Another guard meets us at the front door and escorts us inside through hallways decorated with expensive art and weapons of all sorts mounted on the walls.
Delan is waiting in his study— the room is massive with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking manicured gardens —and beside him is Shuren.
Chloe had predicted her brother’s attendance. I’ve seen photos of him, heard rumors, but they don’t do him justice. Mid-thirties, lean yet muscular, with the unique coiled readiness natural only to a trained martial artist. His eyes are cold and calculating as he tracks our every movement.
“Mr. Cierro.” Delan stands, gesturing to the chairs across from the desk. “Thank you for coming. Please, sit.”
“Seems we have much to discuss, Mr. Tao. Wedding arrangements and whatnot.” The word ‘wedding’ tastes like acid on my tongue, but I keep my expression clear and detached.
“I’m pleased that you’ve come to see reason,” he says as he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers just as he had done during our last meeting. “I was a bit concerned that you might be… resistant.”
“I considered it,” I admit; after all, it’s not a complete lie, “but my son’s safety is paramount. I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to ensure his well-being. As a father, I’m sure you can understand the sentiment.”
“Yes, admirable to be sure,” he replies without conviction. “Family should always come first.”
The hypocrisy makes me want to put my fist through his face. This man kidnapped my son, planned to kill him, beat his own children, and yet here he was, falsely claiming the importance of family.
But I smile and play the part. “Speaking of which, I’d like to see my son. Confirm he’s unharmed before we proceed any further.”
“All in good time. First, let’s solidify a date for the wedding,” he pushes.
My earpiece crackles as he talks, Nico’s voice, barely audible: “Teams one and two in position. Waiting for the go-ahead.”
I shift in my chair, crossing one leg over the other, which prompts Omero to have a well-acted coughing fit — the signal to proceed.
“Excuse me,” he pardons himself.
“Of course,” I say to him before turning back to Delan. “What is Shufen’s preference?”
For the next ten minutes, we proceed to discuss a date, venue, and ceremony style like this is any other wedding and not a hostage situation. Like, I’m not planning to systematically kill every single person in this compound besides the bride.
Throughout the entire negotiation, Shuren doesn’t move from his father’s side, but I see his eyes flickering to his phone. To the security feeds, he’s probably monitoring on the monitor facing them.
Any second now —
Right as the thought enters my mind, a guard bursts through the door, blood smeared on his clothes. “It’s a trap! We’re under attack. The perimeter is comp—”
He doesn’t finish. Raffaello’s knife swipes across his throat before he can say another word.
I’m already on my feet, gun drawn, leveling it at Delan’s head before Shuren can react. Omero is at my back; Raffaello is covering the door. There’s only one way in and one way out now.
“You should be more careful,” I say quietly, venom seething into my words. “Should have known I’d never let you get away with harming my child.”
Delan’s face goes white, then he smiles — cold and cruel. “You’ll never win, Cierro. Not when your own men are willing to betray you. A house without loyalty always falls. “
My blood goes cold. “Who?”
“Marco sends his regards,” Delan says as he leans back in his chair, not bothered in the slightest that I have a gun aimed at him. “He’s been on my payroll for months now. How do you think we got past your security in the first place? How do you think we knew exactly when to take the boy?”
Rage burns through my entire body at the accusation, but I keep the gun steady in my hand. “You’re lying.”
But in my gut, I know the words are true. I’d already suspected we had a mole. Now, I know who.
“You can’t get out of here with both Emmanuel and you alive,” he taunts.
“Oh ya? Watch me.” Cocking the hammer, it makes an eerie click as it locks into place. “Now, where is he?”
Shuren moves. He’s fast — faster than I could have anticipated. The toe of his boot connects with my wrist, knocking my aim off. The round discharges into the far wall, making a sizable hole in the drywall.
Before I can recover, he’s on me. His fist connects with my jaw, snapping my head to the side and causing me to stumble as stars explode across my vision.
I try to catch myself, but he’s already inside my guard.
A kick to my wrist sends the gun flying from my hand, skittering across the polished marble floor.
Omero and Raffaello move to help, but Delan has produced his own weapon from a drawer in the desk, keeping them at bay.
“Your boss wants to play the hero?” he says calmly. “Let’s see if he survives first.”
Shuren doesn’t give me an opportunity to recover. He comes at me with a wild combination that doesn’t fully register— jab, cross, knee, strike. I block the first two, just barely, but his knee catches me in the ribs. Pain explodes through my side. Broken or cracked, I can’t tell.
I back up, attempting to reassess the situation. He’s military trained, combat refined, and lethal, but I didn’t survive this long by being easy to keep down.
He advances again, throwing another combination at me. This time I’m ready. I slip under his arm, parry the cross, and drive my elbow into his temple as I slip in and out of his guard in one sweeping motion.
He staggers, and I press the advantage, stepping forward to send an uppercut to his solar plexus, then a hook to his kidney before sweeping his legs out from under him. He goes down hard but rolls and jumps back up immediately, coming right back to a fighting stance.
“Not bad for a mobster,” he says, wiping a line of blood from his lip.
“Not bad for a Triad lapdog.”
That gets under his skin. I can see the anger welling up, red across his face. Good.
He charges, and we crash together on one end of the room, toppling over a velvet sofa, trading blows as we go down, neither giving ground. His fist catches my eye— I feel the skin give way, the blood running hot down my face. I break his nose with a satisfying crunch.
Finally, we separate, both breathing hard. Once he’s on his feet, he grabs a decorative vase off a side table and hurls it at my head.
I duck, but he’s already moving. He uses the distraction to close the distance between us and gets his hands on me. We grapple, both trying to overpower the other.
He’s stronger than he looks. Getting me in a headlock and squeezes until I can’t breathe. I drive my elbow back into his ribs. Once. Twice. The third time, his grip loosens.
I throw my head back, catching him in his already broken nose. He releases me, cursing in Mandarin. We’re both bleeding now. Hurt, but still not backing down. I grab a chair and swing it at him. He blocks it with his forearm, the wooden chair shattering against him, splintering everywhere.
He doesn’t even flinch. Just smiles through bloody teeth. “My turn.”
He grabs a large piece of the broken chair, a leg with a wicked, sharp edge, and comes at me like he’s wielding a sword.
I barely dodge the first swing. The second catches my arm when I use it to block my face, tearing through fabric and skin.
Blood trickles from the cut immediately.
On the third swing, I catch his wrist, twisting it.
He drops the makeshift sword but uses the momentum to drive his knee into my stomach.
The air leaves my lungs. I double over, and his elbow comes down on the back of my neck. I hit the floor hard, tasting blood, vision blurring. Everything hurts. I barely make out his form as he moves toward where my gun lays on the floor, bends to pick it up.
Shit. I try to get up, but my body won’t cooperate. Every fiber is screaming at me to stay down.
Shuren stalks back toward me, gun in hand, stalking toward me like a predator.
“You come into our house,” he says in a growl. “Threaten my father. Kill our people. And for what? Your bastard son who should have died with his whore of a mother?”
Rage gives me strength. I push up onto my knees, ready to launch myself at him even if it means taking lead —
But he’s faster. His boot catches me in the chest, sends me sprawling backward. Before I can recover, he’s on top of me, one knee on my chest, pinning me down. The barrel of my own gun pressed against my forehead.
“You’ve lost,” Shuren gloats.
Behind him, I can hear Omero and Raffaello struggling against Delan’s guards. They can’t help me. Can’t save me now.
I failed. Failed them. Failed Emmanuel. Failed Chloe. I failed myself.
His finger moves to the trigger, and I take a deep breath as I hear the hammer click back, resigned to my fate.
I think of Emmanuel. Of his smile. Of the castle bed I built him. The way he’d looked at me with absolute trust when I’d brought him home from the orphanage.
I think of Chloe. Of her fierce spirit. Of the way she felt in my arms. Of the promise I made to keep her safe. I think of all the things I’ll never get to say to her.
Then I hear it. Footsteps, running toward us from the hallway. And then everything goes to hell.