Page 9

CHAPTER 8

E than managed to pull himself away from Star and her porch about half an hour later.

Not that making out in her backyard wasn’t fun—hell, it had been damn fun—but he had unfinished business that needed his attention.

Thor raised his head from where he’d been sprawled in the sun on Ethan’s back patio. The old dog let out a low groan before getting to his feet and following his human into the house with the lumbering grace of a retired warhorse.

“Come on, buddy,” Ethan said as they stepped inside. “You eat, and I’m grabbing a shower.”

Thor padded toward his water bowl while Ethan headed for the stairs.

By the time Ethan had finished a quick shower to clear his head, Thor had demolished his food and tracked water in a dribbled trail from his bowl to his bed. Ethan sighed, grabbed a towel, and mopped up the mess.

“Every time, Thor,” he muttered. The dog thumped his tail once in unapologetic satisfaction and flopped onto his side.

With the floor cleaned and his mind slightly more focused, Ethan headed downstairs to his secure workspace, his phone in his pocket and Thor trailing behind him. He secured his personal phone outside his office and entered. The moment he stepped into the room, his mindset immediately changed. The warmth and humor from his time with Star faded, replaced by a Guardian operative’s cold, analytical focus.

Settling into his chair, he fired up his system and scanned his messages. He pursed his lips and opened a new window to send a high-priority message to Jason King.

Less than two minutes later, Jason was calling.

Ethan answered. “What’s up, Jason?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you,” Jason replied. “Priority message before dinner usually means something’s wrong.”

“It is,” Ethan said, cutting straight to the point. “I need to borrow some Guardian resources.”

Jason’s tone sharpened. “Oh? ”

“My neighbor—a very good friend—overheard what we believe to be a Mafia hit being discussed. It was completely random. Max and I ran a facial recognition match with timestamp overlays from the hardware store’s security cameras. We got a license plate hit and ID'd one of the men: Enzo DeLuca, a known associate of the Bianchi family.”

Jason whistled softly. “Okay. So, what's the issue?”

“We don’t have much to go on. Star’s dictation app caught the conversation, but there’s no mention of a target, a timeline, or a location. Just enough to know someone’s life might be at risk.”

“Wait.” Jason's voice hitched slightly. “Dictation app? ”

Ethan winced. “Yeah. It’s a long story.”

He gave a streamlined, sanitized version of Star’s display debacle, leaving out her climbing the shelves like a mountain goat and omitting the cascade of paint cans entirely.

Jason listened in silence until Ethan finished.

“Okay,” Jason said at last. “How good of a friend is this friend?”

Ethan hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Let’s just say I have some pretty big hopes for the future.”

Jason snorted. “Uh-huh. Big hopes, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, his tone turning more serious. “Look, I already ran her background. She’s clear. Her family history's spotless—except for one distant blip. Two generations back, her great-uncle, Nico Conti, was an accountant for the Bianchi faction of the Russo Mafia family. He left her the house next door, but she never met him. She inherited the place, knew nothing about his background, and is in the middle of renovating it.”

Jason exhaled audibly. “ Shit. All right, what do you need from me?”

“Permission to loop Elliot Sawyer in. I don't want to expose my Guardian affiliation, but I need his insight and NYPD contacts to figure out what these guys might be planning.” Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. “Max and I think if they believe Star heard something, she could become a loose end.”

"Yeah, they don't leave any loose ends when it comes to the Bianchi family.” Jason paused. "Wait, did you just say Max?”

Ethan couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

Jason let out a low, disbelieving laugh. “Max. As in the elusive Max? The mentor you've been bitching about for the last decade?”

“The very one,” Ethan confirmed, his grin widening.

“Well, hell,” Jason said, his voice filled with genuine surprise. “That’s a step in … some sort of direction. I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“Neither was I,” Ethan admitted. “But at least now I have a name. Calling him asshole and son of a bitch was getting redundant.” Ethan would never disclose they’d been sparring for years. If Max wanted anyone to know, he’d tell them.

Jason’s booming laugh filled the line. “And why exactly were you calling him those names?”

“Are you kidding me?” Ethan shook his head with mock disbelief. “If you knew half the crap that man put me through …”

Jason’s laughter continued, rich and unrestrained. “Well, considering he’s been handpicking your challenges since you were barely out of your teens, I can imagine.”

Ethan chuckled, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “Yeah. But he’s taught me more than I could’ve ever imagined.”

Jason’s voice sobered. “Yeah. He does that. All right, Ethan. I'll authorize you to pull in Sawyer, but be careful. The Bianchis aren't small-time hitters—they’ve got deep pockets and dangerous connections.”

“Understood.”

“Keep me updated. And, Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck with the neighbor.” He laughed, but as his laughter faded, his tone shifted to something more measured. “Max told me you're ready to take over whenever he decides to walk away.”

Ethan's eyes shifted across the sea of monitors in front of him, each screen displaying live data streams, system statuses, and the endless hum of Guardian's global operations. His fingers tapped absently on the desk as he processed the words.

“I'm ready,” he said quietly.

“No,” Jason said, with no amusement in his voice. “Not really. ”

Ethan frowned, sitting up straighter. “ Why do you say that?”

“Simple,” Jason replied. “Because Max wouldn’t have asked for help. Max would’ve hacked into whatever system he wanted, found the information he needed, and then moved forward. No calls. No priority messages. No outreach.”

Ethan arched a brow. “Is that what you want me to do?”

Silence stretched across the line for several seconds before Jason spoke again.

“Yes,” he said, voice firm. “I want you to be just as invisible, inquisitive, and rogue as Max. He never leaves tracks. He retrieves the intel, executes sanctioned action when necessary, cleans up the mess, and ensures no trails lead back to Guardian. Then—and only then—did he report to me.”

Ethan leaned forward, elbows on the desk. His brain was already shifting gears, calculating the next steps. “Max works alone.”

“And you don’t?” Jason challenged.

Ethan exhaled. “Fair point.”

Jason’s voice softened slightly. “You've been trained by Lycos. Are your skills equal to his?”

Ethan's jaw tightened as he pondered the question. “Hand-to-hand? If it came down to it … yeah, I could take him. But only because I know his patterns so well. No one else would stand a chance. His … special talents?” Ethan hesitated. “I've studied his methods for years.”

Jason made a sound of agreement. “He taught you to mimic his profile as an assassin, didn't he?”

Ethan’s spine stiffened. He hadn’t shared that detail with anyone. Not even Max. He sat back and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Correct . ”

“Accidents happen to random people all the time,” Jason murmured.

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. That exact phrase was one of Lycos's training mantras. “Who told you that?”

“When Max first mentioned you as a candidate for his successor, I brought Lycos in,” Jason said. “I needed to know what you were capable of. Whether you could withstand the pressure of the position.”

The pieces clicked into place. Of course, his father and Jason had spoken. Lycos had always been meticulous about Ethan's training. Knowing Guardian leadership was aware of those conversations added a new layer to the puzzle that seemed to be clicking into focus.

Jason's voice softened. “So, can you hold up to the pressure, Ethan?”

The question landed like a punch to the gut. Was there any question? Ethan leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head, staring at the ceiling as his mind processed the gravity of what Jason was asking.

He could execute commands that brought down systems with a keystroke—that had become second nature to him. He’d disrupted entire criminal organizations with nothing more than a well-timed virus. But Jason wasn't discussing digital warfare. He was referring to the real world and the decisions he’d have to make without Max there to oversee him. He was contemplating the bloodshed and consequences of what he would solely be responsible for when Max walked away.

He closed his eyes. “Yes . ” His voice was low but resolute. “I can and will make the hard calls. Nothing is more important than my Guardian family. Whatever it takes.”

“Absolutely, for as long as it takes,” Jason confirmed, his tone leaving no room for ambiguity. “We need an independent computer operator protecting Guardian. You’re our first and last line of defense. Your value lies behind that keyboard. Your world is Guardian, and you will be the lifeblood of every person who works for us and all the other systems that Guardian now protects and monitors.”

Ethan sat up again, his jaw tight. Jason was speaking to his reality, and he was listening.

Jason continued. “You have a license to carry a firearm. You’ve received training from some of the best in the world. But you also have a cover to maintain. That cover protects you , and it protects us . If you leave behind any digital breadcrumbs—or worse, physical evidence—that ties a sanctioned action to Guardian, you’ll compromise yourself and the entire organization.”

“I won’t.” He was damn good and very careful. It was something Max had taught him well.

“And one more thing,” Jason said. “I can’t stress this enough: If you have the facts, doing what you know needs to be done immediately from behind that keyboard is always approved.”

Ethan nodded to himself. “Of course.” That was a no-brainer.

“Max has had that authority for over thirty years,” Jason continued.

Ethan blew out a breath, feeling the weight of Jason’s words settle on his shoulders like a lead vest. He looked around the workspace—the monitors, the blinking indicators, the encrypted feeds. All his life, he'd lived in the world of digital secrets. Now, Guardian was permitting him to cross into a world where consequences were permanent, irreversible, and utterly his responsibility.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “So, for clarification, you're giving me permission to …? ”

Jason’s voice was calm, steady. “ As far as I’m concerned, Max is no longer your mentor. He’s your equal. Do what needs to be done, Ethan; the training wheels are off. Protect Star. Stop the threat. Keep Guardian safe. ”

The line went dead.

Ethan sat there, staring at the blinking cursor on his screen.

He wasn’t just Ethan Wolf, tech analyst and computer security expert, anymore. He was now Ethan Wolf— Guardian’s Defense .

The transition was seamless. Subtle.

Ethan sat motionless, absorbing the weight of those words.

The implications were crystal clear. Jason wasn't just giving him access to resources or approving his investigation. He was giving him the authority to act decisively. Up to and including the use of deadly force.

His role had always been distant. He'd directed missions through keystrokes, manipulated enemy systems, and provided operational intelligence from behind a secure digital curtain. The consequences of his work—the violence, the operations, the takedowns—had always remained abstract.

Until now.

The veil had been lifted. The distance dissolved. The weight of responsibility that had hovered in the periphery of his existence now settled firmly on his shoulders, its presence undeniable.

Ethan sat still for a moment, fingers poised above the keyboard. The echoes of the conversation lingered in the air, mingling with the faint hum of cooling fans and the subtle electrical flux of encrypted connections.

Jason had just handed him the keys to the kingdom.

He flexed his fingers and placed them firmly on the keyboard. “All right, boys … who would know the most about these bastards?”

Guardian’s intelligence databases were robust enough to offer a starting point, but local law enforcement would have more actionable information. NYPD's organized crime unit would be the logical next step. Afterward, he'd slip into the DA’s office system to check for sealed records, unfiled witness reports, or case notes that hadn't been digitized into open-access databases.

His mind spun with possibilities. It was as if someone had removed the training wheels and pushed him downhill at breakneck speed. The freedom—this limitless access—was intoxicating. His fingers flew across the keys, bypassing firewalls and skirting detection software like a virtuoso on a piano.

Lines of code streamed across the monitors. System access was granted. Internal databases were exposed. The digital barriers protecting the NYPD's network melted beneath his fingers.

An unsettling sensation settled in his gut as information cascaded across the screens.

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the profiles before him.

The men Star had recorded weren’t minor players.

The first, Enzo DeLuca, was the right hand of the Bianchi family boss—a high-ranking lieutenant with a laundry list of allegations trailing behind him like a shadow. Drug trafficking. Extortion. Arms dealing. And, most concerning, multiple murder investigations.

He’d been charged more than once. But the DA’s office had never been able to make a case stick. Witnesses recanted their statements, disappeared entirely, or turned up days later as bloated corpses in the East River.

Ethan’s stomach turned as he scanned the cold, unyielding facts.

He reopened the hardware store’s surveillance footage and ran it through his system's advanced enhancement algorithms. The men had spoken while partially hidden behind the end of the aisle. Even with enhanced audio and visual manipulation, the conversation remained fragmented. And no matter how many filters he applied, the camera’s line of sight didn’t provide a clear view of their hands.

Did they exchange money? A name? An address?

Nothing on the recording confirmed that theory, but his instincts itched with suspicion. He minimized the footage and pulled up a new search window.

What the hell is the Russo family doing here?

Guardian’s data identified both men as Manhattan-based operatives. They had no known connections to Ditmas Park, a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood that prided itself on its low crime rate and charming coffee shops.

Why venture out there to coordinate a hit?

Next, he dived into property records. A financial search revealed standard tax filings and mortgage histories. One man, Dominic Rizzo, had no property holdings outside the Bronx. But DeLuca …

Ethan’s eyes narrowed as a flagged property appeared.

DeLuca co-owned a small rental property less than five miles from Star’s house. The acquisition was recent—under a year ago—and made through a shell company with no obvious links to the Bianchi family. The rental unit was listed as vacant, but the utilities showed sporadic activity over the last three months.

His pulse quickened.

The bastards weren’t passing through town on a whim. They had a foothold there. Why?

Ethan shifted gears and ran a search for active utility accounts linked to other shell companies connected to the Bianchi family. Within seconds, he identified two more properties in the area, both within a three-mile radius of Star’s house.

Shit. What in the hell was the syndicate doing encroaching on Ditmas Park?

He cracked his knuckles and sat forward. His eyes scanned the network traffic logs for the accounts connected to those addresses.

An unshakable feeling of unease crept into his chest as he traced the pathways.

If DeLuca was setting up operations there, there was a non-zero chance that Star—walking disaster that she was—wouldn’t cross paths with him again.

Hell, knowing Star, she'd probably run into the guy at the grocery store or somehow accidentally lock herself in his damn basement.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a grim smile.

He stretched his arms overhead, rolled his neck, and leaned toward the keyboard.

“All right, gentlemen,” he murmured to the screen. “Let’s get out the big shovels. It’s time to dig.” His fingers began their dance across the keys. The battle had just shifted.

And he was ready to fight.