Chapter 18 - Ambush at the Queen Anne
Even with the main route choked off, Julian Mercer was not a man to leave his fate to a single gamble.
By 5:30 AM, an hour before dawn began to bleed gray across the Pittsburgh hills, a third vehicle—a solitary, unmarked sedan—had slipped through a service alley behind the Queen Anne house on the South Side. Three men, dressed in plain tactical fleece with suppressed sidearms, slipped through the overgrown rear garden where Nana Rose had once tended her heirloom roses.
Their objective was simple: breach the rear cellar door, plant thermite charges in the floorboards under the old sewing machine, and burn the Queen Anne’s history into ash before the sun could rise.
The leader, an elite private contractor named Vance who had handled Mercer’s off-the-books dirty work for six years, reached the weathered oak door of the basement. He raised a hydraulic wedge to force the frame.
The door swung inward before he could touch the latch.
The basement wasn’t dark. It was bathed in the harsh, white glare of three industrial work lights.
Sitting calmly on a wooden crate in the center of the cellar, wearing a tailored charcoal trench coat over her emerald silk dress, sat Sadie Gable Vieri. Resting across her lap was a heavy, nickel-plated pump-action twelve-gauge shotgun—Nana Rose’s old bird gun, pristine and oiled.
Flanking her from the shadows were four of Marcelo’s most lethal personal guards, their customized carbines raised and locked dead onto the intruders’ chests. Behind Vance, the shadow of Marcelo Vieri stepped from the rear bushes like a ghost made of iron and tailored wool, his Colt resting against the base of Vance’s skull.
"Drop the iron," Marcelo whispered, his tone so low and chilling it made the air in the cellar feel like liquid nitrogen. "Or see what happens when sixty ounces of custom steel meets human bone."
The weapons hit the damp concrete floor with three distinct clatters.
Vance raised his hands slowly, his face drained of color as he looked from the barrel of Marcelo’s gun to the stunning, curvy woman seated regally before him.
"You were expecting Boyd’s broken wife, weren't you?" Sadie asked, standing up with majestic grace. She didn't flinch. Her hands on the shotgun were steady, her posture unyielding. She looked every inch the mistress of the house, reclaiming what was rightfully hers.
"Mercer told us... he said nobody would be here," Vance stammered, feeling the cold steel pressed against his neck.
"Julian Mercer doesn't understand the Queen Anne," Sadie said, stepping forward until the tip of her leather boot nudged the thermite charge Vance had dropped. "He thought this house was just wood and plaster to be mortgaged away by an abusive drunk. But my grandmother built these foundations with stone pulled from the riverbed. You can't burn down something that’s built into the earth."
Marcelo reached around Vance, gripping the man by his collar and shoving him violently onto his knees before Sadie.
"Search him," Marcelo commanded.
Leo stepped forward, stripping Vance of his radio, body armor, and phone. From an interior breast pocket, Leo pulled out an official state envelope stamped with the seal of the Governor's Executive Office. Inside was an emergency executive seizure order, blank in the property address field, signed with Governor Albright's signature stamp.
Sadie took the document, examining the stamp under the industrial lights. Her keen eyes caught the minute imperfection she had seen on hundreds of VIP documents during her hotel days.
"Albright didn't sign this," Sadie said, looking down at Vance with piercing clarity. "The alignment of the official seal is off by two millimeters. This was stamped with the desk duplicate kept in the chief of staff's private office. Julian Mercer didn't tell Governor Albright about this raid, did he?"
Vance swallowed hard, his breathing ragged. "The Governor... Albright thinks Mercer is handling an internal audit on riverfront commerce. He doesn't know Mercer is Sovereign Trust. Mercer has been running the whole syndicate behind the Governor's back for three years."
Marcelo let out a low, predatory sound of understanding. He looked at Sadie, his eyes glittering with triumph. "Mercer isn't working with Albright's blessing. He’s using Albright as a shield. If the Governor finds out his chief of staff framed the commonwealth for mob hits and state contract fraud..."
"Albright won't protect him," Sadie finished the thought, a brilliant, dangerous smile lighting up her features. "Albright will feed Mercer to the wolves to save his own re-election."
Sadie lowered the shotgun, resting its butt against the floor like a scepter. She looked down at the kneeling operative.
"Vance, isn't it?" she asked softly.
"Yes, ma'am," the man choked out, terrified by the icy authority of this former housekeeper.
"You have two choices," Sadie told him. "You can disappear into a concrete pylon beneath the Monongahela River before sunrise. Or you can drive us into the Governor’s private mansion in Harrisburg using your executive clearance pass. What will it be?"
May you like
Vance didn't hesitate for half a second. "I’ll drive."
***