A few minutes earlier…
Sam and his team were crouched near the tunnel exit, waiting for the signal.
For this mission, Sam was the team leader—none of the old Rangers had any objections. There was no need for debate—they automatically defaulted to the command structure they had used back in the Rangers.
Even the SWAT guys had no complaints—they knew these old men had been elite Rangers in their prime. Letting them take charge was a no-brainer.
According to Alex's intel, the tunnel led to Montel's underground vault—a secure storage for drug money.
They had already disabled the infrared alarm at the tunnel entrance, but…
There was a crate of gold bars sitting on top of the exit.
No way up.
Their solution?
Blow the damn thing up.
Hotshot had rigged the area with explosives.
The moment Owen gave the signal, they would detonate the charges—bringing the gold and the entire vault entrance crashing down with it.
Minute by minute, time passed.
Through their earpieces, they monitored everything—
Owen found Monica.
Owen confirmed their identities.
White Mask became suspicious.
And then—Owen spoke the signal.
BOOM!
The explosives detonated—dust and debris filled the air.
Chunks of gold bars tumbled down, and a massive hole gaped in the ground.
One by one, the team climbed up—and what they saw made them all curse out loud.
"FUCK."
The room they emerged into was piled with cash—stacks upon stacks of U.S. dollars piled like garbage.
Shelves overflowed with bundled bills, some rotting from moisture, others chewed by rats and insects.
These cartel bastards were beyond rich.
Every single one of them mentally cursed the entire Montel bloodline—but there was no time to admire the fortune.
Owen was still waiting for them.
They rushed out of the vault, storming upstairs—gunning down every guard in their way.
Gunfire echoed nonstop.
Countless Montel guards fell before them as they fought their way to Owen's position.
---
Outside the mansion…
Tat-tat-tat!
Sam gunned down an enemy rushing toward them from the side.
The rebels outside had launched their coordinated attack, drawing some enemy forces away.
But plenty of guards still remained, choosing to defend the villa instead of going out to fight.
"ASH, Hotshot—hold the entrance! Heartbeat, Jim—secure the exit route! The rest, follow me inside!"
Sam gave orders, splitting them into two teams.
The four-man defense team held their position, eliminating more cartel gunmen.
The rest stormed the mansion, heading straight for Owen.
Thanks to Owen's tracking device, they rushed directly to the living room door.
After confirming Owen and Monica's position—
Two grenades rolled inside.
BOOM! BOOM!
The blast wave hadn't even settled when—
Sam's team breached the room, moving like a well-oiled machine.
They had done this thousands of times before—each man covered his designated sector, wiping out any hostiles in their zone.
Bang-bang-bang! Bang-bang-bang!
Gunfire filled the room—rapid, precise, and coordinated.
Within seconds, the battle was over.
---
The surviving guards—stunned from the grenade blast—were quickly executed.
The experienced security chief, Latum, now lay lifeless on the ground, his chest soaked in blood as his lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling.
Sam's team all carried SCAR-H rifles—their preferred weapons from their Ranger days.
Their sidearms?
M9 pistols—military standard.
Despite being retired for years, they never abandoned their Ranger loadout.
Over a dozen bodies littered the room.
Some had been blown apart by the grenades.
Others had been gunned down by the breach team.
After ensuring there were no survivors, they began executing finishing shots—one bullet to each corpse to make sure no one got back up.
Brancato Montel had survived.
But he was bleeding from a gunshot wound to the leg, furious as he watched his men get slaughtered.
Russell, from White Mask?
Shot in the head by Wright the moment he entered.
Sam's orders were clear—
"Only Owen and one woman are friendly—everyone else is a target."
---
Owen and Monica, finally free, stepped out from behind the bar.
Brian handed Owen a gear bag—inside was a ballistic vest and an HK416.
Owen shed his ruined shirt, strapped on the vest, and armed himself.
"Damn, dude—you reek of booze."
Wright sniffed the air, smirking.
Owen was soaked in liquor—he stank like a walking distillery.
"No kidding," Owen muttered, glancing at the wrecked bar.
Brancato's wine collection had been completely destroyed—shattered bottles of expensive vintages littered the floor.
Among the wreckage, Owen recognized a 15-year-old Château Lafite and a 12-year-old Château Latour.
"What a damn shame…"
Wright sighed like he had just lost a loved one.
Monica, meanwhile, received her own gear bag and quickly suited up.
Wright grinned, whistling.
"Ooooh—so this is your little girlfriend, huh? Damn, she's a firecracker."
Owen grinned—his mind flashing back to their kiss during the gunfight.
He couldn't deny it—he was proud.
Still, he ignored Wright's teasing—giving the guy attention would only make him worse.
That said—he stole a glance at Monica's long legs.
Yeah… she definitely fit the "firecracker" description.
---
The Execution
Sam tossed Owen a pistol—an M1911.
It belonged to Morris.
Owen had specifically asked them to spare Brancato's life for this exact moment.
The cartel boss didn't beg for his life.
He just stared at them, knowing it was pointless.
Brancato had killed too many people to believe in mercy.
He had always known this day would come.
He just never expected to die in his own home.
Faces flashed through Owen's mind—
Morris. Coulson. Nicholas.
And the rest of B-Team—the men Brancato had killed.
Time to settle the score.
The team encircled Brancato, raising their guns.
Black muzzles gleamed in the dim light.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Tat-tat-tat!
Bang! Bang!
Gunfire erupted.
And just like that—
Brancato Montel was dead.
A cartel kingpin, once untouchable, now lay lifeless in his own home.
His family was nowhere to be found.
His bodyguards were wiped out.
His empire was crumbling.
From this moment, Montel's bounty was nullified.
His drug empire would soon collapse.
The threat to Owen's people was over.
Owen couldn't fix every problem in the world.
But he could damn well fix the ones that messed with him.
---
Outside, the gunfire raged on.
The remaining cartel soldiers—unaware their boss was dead—were still fighting.
Trying to rescue someone who no longer existed.
_________________________________________
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[w w w . p @ t r e o n . c o m / M u t t e r]