Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary on Mercer Island
The Cole Estate on Mercer Island was a modern fortress of steel, concrete, and bulletproof glass, set against the dark, churning waters of Lake Washington.
For ten years, Ethan had lived there alone. The twenty-room mansion had been built as a monument to his absolute power—a cold, silent kingdom where no music played, no children laughed, and no warmth was permitted to enter.
By midnight, that cold monument was shattered.
The master guest suite on the second floor had been transformed into an elite private medical ward. Three top trauma surgeons and four specialized nurses—all on the Cole Syndicate’s payroll—tended to Sophie, ensuring her pain was managed and her recovery accelerated.
Down the hallway, in a spacious bedroom decorated with plush toys, warm pink blankets, and a roaring marble fireplace, Amy lay fast asleep in a king-sized bed.
Ethan stood near the French doors of Amy’s room, holding a glass of aged scotch, looking out at the rain hitting the balcony glass.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Marcus stepped inside, carrying a thick leather dossier.
"The Moretti response just came through, Ethan," Marcus said softly, stopping two paces behind his leader.
Ethan didn't turn around. "What did Dominic say?"
"He laughed," Marcus replied grimly. "Dominic sent a message through our neutral broker in Vancouver. He claims David Miller stole a hard drive containing two hundred million dollars in encrypted cryptocurrency before he died. Dominic believes David hid the key somewhere in his old family belongings—belongings that Sophie has kept stored in a locker down by the Seattle docks."
Ethan took a slow sip of his whiskey. "So Dominic ran her down with a car, tried to intimidate her, and when that failed, he used her child to test my perimeter."
"Dominic says if you hand over the woman and the kid, he’ll give you a twenty-percent cut of the crypto drive," Marcus added, his voice dripping with disgust. "If you refuse... he says he will turn Seattle into a war zone."
Ethan slowly turned around. The dim firelight caught the sharp angles of his face, casting long, menacing shadows across his dark eyes.
"Dominic Moretti thinks everything in this world can be bought with money," Ethan said softly. "He thinks a mother and her child are disposable assets in a ledger."
He walked over to the bed, looking down at Amy. The little girl had curled into a tight ball, holding a giant teddy bear that Ethan’s staff had bought from an emergency toy run earlier that night.
"Have you ever seen a child break a piece of toast in half because she was worried her mother was starving, Marcus?" Ethan asked quietly.
Marcus swallowed hard. "No, boss."
"I have," Ethan murmured, his voice thick with a strange, powerful emotion. "Thirty years ago. In a freezing apartment in South Boston. I watched my mother starve to death while I ate the scraps she saved for me. I swore on her grave that if I ever became strong, no child would ever have to go hungry in my sight again."
Ethan set his whiskey glass down on the nightstand with a definitive thud.
"Deploy the First and Second Tactical Squads," Ethan commanded, his tone dropping into the cold, lethal voice of a warlord. "Place heavy guards on every dock, every warehouse, and every airstrip in King County. We aren't negotiating with Dominic Moretti."
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"What are we doing, sir?"
"We are hunting him."
