2025-04-08 15:04:10At the Remote Safehouse – 6:03 AM
Sunlight filtered through the boarded windows, casting long shadows across the dust-laced floor of the safehouse. Silence hung thick. No one had slept.
Ethan Cross stood motionless, eyes fixed on the horizon through a gap in the window. A chipped mug of black coffee trembled slightly in his grip, though not from fear—his body simply refused to calm. The last 48 hours had pushed him beyond the edge. And now, with the data exposed and Raul Delgado’s criminal empire under fire, it was only a matter of time before the bastard retaliated.
Behind him, Leo tapped furiously at a laptop. “The package hit every inbox we targeted. Whistleblowers. Journalists. Internal government chains. The files are public now.”
“And?” Ethan asked without turning.
“Some are panicking. Others are trying to discredit it. But the truth’s out. Raul’s scrambling. Banks are freezing accounts, shell companies unraveling. We hit the foundation.”
Clara leaned against the wall, one arm wrapped around her bruised ribs. “What about the agencies that were complicit?”
Leo hesitated. “Silent. For now.”
Ethan turned, eyes sharp. “They’ll stay that way. Self-preservation runs deeper than loyalty.”
Sofia stepped into the room with a thick folder in her hand. “Raul’s personal movements in the last ten hours. He’s shut down all major communications, moved to a private compound near Cartagena. But there’s something else…”
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
She held up the report. “He put a bounty out. On you.”
At Delgado Estate, Cartagena – 7:12 AM
Raul Delgado sat in a leather chair inside his dimly lit command room, a glass of untouched scotch sweating on the table beside him. In front of him, eight massive screens illuminated the chaos—CNN coverage of financial crashes, encrypted agency messages, and the blown identities of covert operatives now panicking.
He took a slow breath, closed his eyes, and then smiled.
“Good,” he whispered.
Miguel, his right hand, entered the room with shaking hands. “The files… they’re everywhere. CIA, MI6, even the damn Vatican is calling.”
Raul opened his eyes, calm. “They’re running scared. But fear doesn’t last unless you give it form.” He gestured toward the screen where a woman’s face appeared—Emily Cross. Ethan’s younger sister.
Her two children played in the yard. She watered plants. Innocent. Unaware.
“She’s his weakness.”
Miguel hesitated. “You want her… gone?”
Raul nodded. “Make it painful. Leave no doubt.”
At the Safehouse – 8:45 AM
Alarms blared on Leo’s workstation.
“Shit,” he muttered, fingers flying.
“What is it?” Ethan demanded.
“They found Emily. Cell towers in Argentina show a heat spike. Raul’s deploying a hit squad. Multiple assets. They’re already en route.”
Silence hit like a thunderclap.
Ethan went rigid. “How long?”
Leo scanned the screen. “Thirty minutes, maybe less.”
Clara’s voice cut in, firm. “We go now.”
Private Jet – En Route to Argentina – 10:01 AM
The cabin hummed as the jet cut through the clouds. Ethan sat hunched over a weapons case, checking every piece with meticulous intensity. His mind raced, heart hardened. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore. This was family.
Clara sat across from him, watching. “You okay?”
“No,” Ethan said. “But I will be once Raul bleeds.”
Outskirts of Buenos Aires – Emily’s Home – 12:32 PM
Emily Cross knelt in the garden, trimming lavender. Her children played in the grass, laughing as their dog chased a butterfly.
Then, her phone lost signal.
She frowned.
Three black vans pulled into the cul-de-sac. Engines idle. Men in masks stepped out.
The dog barked—then whimpered as a silencer popped.
Emily screamed.
At the Suburban Warzone – 12:47 PM
Ethan’s SUV didn’t stop—it tore through the front yard and crushed the gate. He leapt out before it fully halted, his rifle raised.
“EMILY!” he shouted.
A masked man turned his weapon toward the house.
CRACK.
Ethan’s bullet hit center mass.
Chaos erupted.
Leo flew a drone overhead, jamming comms and feeding real-time intel.
Nico and Sofia flanked left, Clara right. Explosions rocked the yard. The kids were pulled to safety.
From the backyard, a massive figure emerged—the Butcher. Wielding an axe.
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “You again.”
No time for strategy. Just rage.
The Butcher swung wide—Ethan ducked, rolled, fired. The bullet scraped the giant’s shoulder. Blood, but no hesitation.
Ethan grabbed a spade from the garden—jabbed it into the Butcher’s knee. The man howled.
Then Ethan kicked him square in the chest, knocking him into a rose bush.
Flashbang.
The Butcher reeled.
Two shots. Throat. Head.
He dropped, a gory heap of silence.
Aftermath – 1:21 PM
Emily cried into Ethan’s chest as the kids clung to her.
“You came,” she whispered.
“I always will,” he replied.
At Delgado Estate – 3:33 PM
Raul watched the drone footage of his men slaughtered, the Butcher dead.
He didn’t flinch.
“Prepare the yacht,” he said. “We set sail tonight. Let him come.”
Safehouse – 6:42 PM
Back at base, the team gathered.
Ethan looked at the photo of his sister and her kids.
“This ends now.”
Clara smiled grimly. “Then let’s take the bastard down.”
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