No one greets me.
There are no guards at the entrance, but I suppose Dante doesn’t keep guards at the front door to his compound, either.
Most people aren’t stupid enough to waltz right up and enter the mafia’s home.
I’m not most people.
If DeLuca hadn’t been foolish enough to abduct my wife, I wouldn’t be here.
Which means I don’t need an invitation.
I take a thorough glance from left to right, making sure the camera catches every detail for them to map the interior of the property.
Who exactly did Dante team up with for this level of equipment? I’ve never known for him to have any type of spy or tactical gear, outside of guns, ammunitions, and maybe a bulletproof vest for safe measure.
The sound of boots carries down the hallway, and I keep moving, making sure not to be seen, at least not by whoever is coming. I can’t help the cameras. Had we spent more time planning, maybe someone could have infiltrated the system.
I weave through the hallway and notice a wrought-iron door, much like a gate, inside the house. There are three guards on the opposite side.
It’s unlikely there’s a basement, given the soil and terrain. The metal door with a lock inside the property, dead giveaway.
That must be where they’re keeping Harper.
Footsteps grow near, and I hide in a nearby supply closet but don’t quite shut the door, waiting for the soldier to wander by. I grab my dagger from my boot and grip the handle, holding my breath.
He saunters past, and I quietly exit the closet and sneak up from behind. I slice the blade across the base of his throat.
He falls to the ground in a heap. I drag him into the hall closet, out of sight of the cameras and anyone who wanders by. There’s a small splatter of crimson on the floor, smeared.
Well, I’m not exactly a pro at this shit.
I strip him down to his underwear and white t-shirt underneath, wearing his uniform, ensuring the camera is tucked hidden onto the new outfit before stealing his weaponry. The dark military ensemble is heavy, and the vest is bulletproof. I don his hat and keep my head bent down.
Attached to my ensemble is a set of keys on my belt loop. I grab the keys as I head toward the metal-gated door.
The guards don’t pay me a lick of attention as I approach the lock. I’m not sure which one is the right key, but the first several look more like house keys. Just a brief examination of the lock and it resembles a skeleton style key. Thankfully, there are two of those on the keychain.
I reach for the first key and shove it into the lock, hoping it’ll open.
It doesn’t budge.
I keep my head down, quietly withdraw the key and try again with the second skeleton key. There’s a smear of blood on my hand and I deftly wipe it on the dark slacks, hoping there isn’t more blood splatter that I can’t see.
The lock clicks with ease, and I open the door, stepping inside, closing it but not securing it tight.
I’ll need an escape route, in case shit goes down fast.
“Make sure you slam the door,” another guard echoes to me down the hallway.
I grunt and nod, grabbing the metal, forcing it to rattle, but I’m careful not to latch it.
That seems to appease him, and I take in my surroundings.
Three guards are patrolling this single hallway.
Harper must be nearby.
One guard stands outside a closed door. I walk past him as if I own the place and yank open the door.
