Chapter 9
The music abruptly cut off as the heavy glass door shattered into thousands of pieces across the marble floor.
Julian Vance dropped his whiskey glass, his face pale with utter shock as Ethan stepped through the smoke.
"Who the hell are you?!" Julian screamed, backing away behind his armed cartel bodyguards.
The four bodyguards drew their handguns, opening fire into the entryway.
Ethan rolled behind a massive marble kitchen island, bullets chipping away chunks of expensive stone over his head.
In one fluid motion, Ethan leaned out from cover, firing three precise shots from his suppressed Sig Sauer.
Three bodyguards dropped instantly, each struck squarely in the center of the chest before they could re-aim.
The fourth bodyguard attempted to charge Ethan with a tactical knife, but Ethan caught the arm, disarmed him, and drove him face-first into the granite countertop.
In less than ten seconds, the entire security detail was neutralized.
The escorts screamed, sprinting toward the private elevators as the metallic smell of gunpowder filled the penthouse.
Julian scrambled toward his executive desk, trying to open a drawer where a loaded revolver was kept.
Ethan crossed the room in three long strides, grabbing Julian by his slicked-back hair and slamming his face onto the mahogany desk.
Blood spattered across scattered financial documents as Julian groaned in agonizing pain.
"Please! Don't kill me!" Julian begged, his arrogant demeanor completely vanishing into pathetic whimpering. "I have millions in offshore accounts! Take whatever you want!"
Ethan grabbed Julian by his expensive silk tie, hauling him over to the broken glass balcony door.
The freezing Chicago wind blasted into the room, sending curtains flapping wildly.
Ethan held Julian over the edge of the balcony, seventy stories above the asphalt below.
May you like
Julian shrieked in terror, staring down at the microscopic headlights of cars passing on the street far below.
"Who gave the order to run my wife off the road?" Ethan demanded, his voice colder than the winter wind.
