Page 22

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

“That was a great meal,” Shane O’Leary says to his wife as he zips through the streets of Philadelphia in his Mercedes. They get treated like royalty whenever they dine at Del Frisco’s. Even after all these years, he still likes to impress Gina.

“I’m stuffed,” she groans.

“Hopefully not too stuffed…” O’Leary cocks a brow.

“We’ll see.…”

He approaches the front checkpoint to their estate. He clicks the opener and the iron gate creaks to life. He’s got no security detail at the house. Nobody is fool enough to mess with O’Leary, much less his family. But he’s gotten word that the Sabatino crew isn’t too pleased that one of their lieutenants is rumored to be wearing concrete shoes—a rumor O’Leary himself started—so maybe he should have a couple guys stationed at the place tomorrow. There’s an unwritten rule that you don’t go after family, but the Sabatinos have shown that they’re willing to test boundaries.

“What time does Anthony get home from karate practice?” O’Leary asks. If he’s gonna jump her bones, he knows he’d better do it before she’s distracted by their son.

“Nate’s mom is picking up tonight. She usually takes them for ice cream after, so you’ve got about, I don’t know, a half hour.”

“Plenty of time.” He flashes a smile.

He pulls onto the circle drive in front of the house, and races around the sedan to open Gina’s door. She starts to step out when a shot rings out.

O’Leary pushes her back in the car, shuts the door, then crouch-runs to the other side of the sedan. He opens the driver’s side door, reaches under the seat for his gun. Gina’s eyes are wide with fear.

“It’s gonna be okay. Call Chaz. And stay inside the car. This thing can take a hit from a grenade launcher.” He had the sedan fitted with bullet-resistant glass and Kevlar panels.

“Don’t go, wait with me, don’t—”

But O’Leary’s already slammed the door and is racing to the side of the house. No one comes after him in his own home. No one takes a shot near his girl.

He heads to the back, mounts the steps to the patio, ducking behind the outdoor fireplace. He checks his ammo. He has four in the magazine, one in the chamber. Five shots. He won’t need more.

He runs to the large French doors, staying low. The doors are covered with blinds, but there’s a small opening in a window nearby. He crawls over, raises his head quickly, looks inside. He doesn’t see anyone. But the shot came from the front of the house… he knows it. It was faint like the shooter was inside.

On his phone, he pulls up his security system. He has a camera in all the main rooms.

Nothing.

He slowly opens the door. The lights are on, television left on. If this mutt watched his TV while waiting to take out O’Leary, he’s gonna go medieval on him.

O’Leary listens. It’s quiet.

Then there’s a loud noise. The front door bursting open.

It’s Gina. What in the—

He sprints over, shields her with his body. “You need to get back to the car, it’s not—”

It’s then he sees it in her face. White-hot panic.

“What is it?”

“I texted Nate’s mom to see if she could keep Anthony for tonight.”

O’Leary doesn’t understand.

“She said Anthony told them he needed to miss karate tonight.”

An icy finger races up O’Leary’s spine. Without saying a word, he vaults up the stairs, two at a time.

Anthony’s door is locked. O’Leary bangs on the door. When there’s no answer, he shoulders it until the jamb splinters away and the door cracks open.

“No. Please, God. No!”