Chapter 6 - The Breach
The storm that hit Baltimore two weeks later was not just rain—it was a full hurricane warning that knocked out power lines across the northern county.
By eight o'clock in the evening, the Mercer estate was pitch-black, illuminated only by the dull red emergency back-up lights along the baseboards. The heavy wind howled through the tall oak trees surrounding the property, rattling the windows.
Inside the main security hub, Frank was frantically speaking into a radio. "Generator three is down! Get the secondary backup online!"
Riley was in the master bedroom, placing battery-powered LED lanterns around Jonah’s room.
Jonah was sitting in his manual wheelchair—the electric one was charging, rendered useless by the power surge. He was dressed in a black turtleneck and dark trousers, his face set in a grim, watchful expression.
"Frank," Jonah called out through his personal radio. "What's the status of the front gate?"
Static crackled over the speaker. "Boss... wind knocked out... main gate sensor... three vehicles just... crossed the perimeter—"
The radio dead-ended into high-pitched static.
A sharp, metallic EXPLOSION rocked the lower floor of the mansion. The glass windows in the grand foyer shattered with a deafening roar.
"They're inside," Jonah said, his voice dead calm.
Riley’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Sal?"
"Sal," Jonah confirmed. "He took advantage of the storm to cut our main communications line and bypass the front security grid."
Heavy footsteps echoed up the grand marble staircase—fast, organized, and heavy.
"Riley," Jonah said, turning his chair to face her. His voice left no room for argument. "Go into the safe room behind the bookcase. Now."
"I am not leaving you!" she yelled over the sound of gunfire echoing from the lower floor.
"I cannot move down those stairs without assistance, Riley!" Jonah shouted back, his gray eyes burning with fierce intensity. "If they catch you in this room, they will use you against me! Get into the safe room!"
"No!" Riley sprinted across the room, grabbed his manual wheelchair handles, and slammed the heavy oak bedroom door shut, sliding the thick brass deadbolt into place. "We move together, or we don't move at all!"
"You insane woman—"
Before Jonah could finish, a heavy shotgun blast blew the brass lock completely out of the bedroom door frame.
The door burst open.
Sal Russo stepped into the room, holding a tactical shotgun, flanked by two armed men holding silenced pistols. Blood was splattered across Sal’s slicker coat—Frank and his men had put up a desperate fight below.
"Jonah," Sal sneered, wiping rain from his face. "Looks like your security team is as broken as your spine."
Riley stepped directly in front of Jonah’s wheelchair, extending her arms wide, shielding him with her own body.
"Get out of the way, scrub girl," Sal growled, raising the shotgun barrel toward her chest. "This doesn't concern you."
"Like hell it doesn't!" Riley yelled, her voice shaking with adrenaline, but her posture unyielding. "You're ruining my clean room! Do you have any idea how long it takes to sanitize marble after a gunfight?!"
Sal stared at her in utter disbelief. "Are you out of your mind?!"
"Sal," Jonah’s voice rang out from behind Riley, deep, terrifying, and echoing like thunder in the enclosed room.
Sal’s eyes flicked over Riley’s shoulder to Jonah.
Jonah wasn't cowering. He was sitting tall in his wheelchair, holding a heavy silver revolver—the dark weapon he had retrieved from the hidden compartment under his armrest while Riley was screaming at Sal.
"You forgot one detail, Sal," Jonah said quietly.
Sal’s eyes went wide with sudden, sickening realization. "Jonah, wait—"
Jonah pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.
The thunderous sound of the heavy revolver filled the bedroom. The two armed henchmen dropped instantly. Sal caught a round directly in his shoulder, spinning violently back out into the hallway, screaming as he crashed against the marble railing.
Jonah didn't hesitate. He maneuvered his manual wheelchair forward with powerful, expert strokes of his upper arms, rolling right over the broken door frame into the hallway.
Sal was crawling toward his dropped shotgun, bleeding heavily from his shoulder.
Jonah stopped his wheelchair two feet from Sal’s face, resting the smoking barrel of the silver revolver directly against Sal’s forehead.
"The docks are mine," Jonah whispered, his gray eyes cold as glacier ice. "The city is mine. And if you ever enter my house again, I won't shoot your shoulder."
Sal trembled, clutching his wound, his face pale with absolute terror. "I... I surrender, Jonah. Please."
From the bottom of the stairs, Frank and four surviving security guards came rushing up, weapons raised, taking control of the scene.
Jonah lowered the revolver, handing it off to Frank without a word.
He turned his wheelchair back toward his bedroom.
Riley was leaning against the shattered door frame, her hands shaking, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her eyes wide as she looked at him.
Jonah stopped his chair in front of her. The cold, murderous mob boss vanished instantly, replaced by the man who looked at her with desperate, quiet concern.
"Are you hit?" Jonah asked, his voice rough.
Riley shook her head slowly. "No. Are... are you okay?"
Jonah looked at his hands. They weren't trembling. Not even a little.
May you like
He reached up, grabbed her trembling hand, and pulled her down until she was sitting on his lap, wrapping his strong arms tightly around her waist, burying his face into the side of her neck.
"I am now," Jonah whispered.
