The Las Vegas Mafia Boss Kicked His Housekeeper in Front of His Entire Family—Unaware She Was a Martial Arts Master. But After She Put Him on the Floor...

The scene inside my sister’s living room was absolute chaos.

Bookshelves had been overturned, couch cushions sliced open with combat knives, and family photos smashed across the hardwood floor.

A tall, heavily built man in a tactical vest stood near the hallway, holding my sister Paige by her hair, pressing a suppressed pistol against her temple. Two other armed men were kicking open the bedroom closet doors behind him.

Paige’s face was bruised, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. When her eyes flicked toward the broken front door and saw me, she gasped. “Celeste...?”

The man holding her began to rotate his head toward me, raising his weapon.

He never finished the movement.

I covered the ten feet between us in two explosive strides. My left hand shot out, grabbing his gun wrist, driving it upward toward the ceiling just as he pulled the trigger.

THWIP.

A single suppressed round shattered the ceiling plaster above us.

In the same continuous motion, I drove my right knee violently into his groin, breaking his stance, and rammed the heel of my palm directly into his nose with enough force to shatter the cartilage into his sinus cavity.

He let out a muffled scream, releasing Paige’s hair as he stumbled backward.

I caught my sister by her jacket collar, shoving her forcefully behind me into the kitchen alcove. “Stay down!”

The second cartel hitman emerged from the bedroom, raising his submachine gun.

Before he could acquire his target, Grant Voss stepped through the front doorway, his custom 9mm barked twice in rapid succession.

BANG. BANG.

Two heavy 9mm rounds struck the second hitman squarely in the chest plate, driving him back into the closet door where he collapsed onto a pile of shattered wood.

The third man in the kitchen lunged at me from the side, swinging a heavy iron crowbar toward my head.

I ducked beneath the whistling iron, feeling the air rush over my hair. I stepped inside his guard, grabbing his elbow with both hands, twisting his arm completely behind his back until the elbow joint popped with a sickening crunch.

He dropped the crowbar, screaming in agony. I hooked my heel behind his ankle and swept his remaining leg out, slamming him face-first into the hardwood floor.

Miller and his tactical team flooded the apartment a second later, securing the perimeter, their weapons covering every corner of the room.

“Clear!” Miller shouted. “Apartment is secure!”

The room went completely silent, save for the sound of my heavy, ragged breathing and the faint hum of the street below.

Paige sat curled up on the kitchen floor beneath the granite counter, shaking violently, her hands covering her head.

I dropped my blood-stained titanium knife onto the counter, dropped to my knees, and pulled my younger sister into my arms, holding her so tightly I could feel her rapid, terrifying heartbeat against my ribs.

“Paige,” I sobbed into her hair, tears finally breaking through my cold defenses. “Paige, look at me. It’s me. It’s Celeste. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Paige looked up, her blue eyes wide with utter shock as she looked at my tactical jacket, my combat boots, and the three men lying unconscious or dead on her floor.