The marble foyer of my River Oaks estate had always felt like a monument to my success, but as I stood silently just outside the kitchen doorway, it felt like an tomb.

The rain began to fall heavily over Houston as our convoy pulled onto the tarmac at Hobby Airport.

A sleek Gulfstream jet sat near the edge of a private hangar, its engines whining as they spooled up for takeoff. A black sedan was parked near the boarding stairs.

We boxed the sedan in before the driver could even put the vehicle in reverse. Six of my armed enforcers exited our SUVs, weapons raised, completely surrounding the aircraft and the car.

I stepped out into the rain, walking slowly toward the passenger door of the sedan.

I pulled open the door.

Patricia Hale sat in the leather backseat, clutching a designer briefcase filled with bearer bonds and cash. Her eyes were wide with sheer, hysterical panic.

“Ethan!” she screamed over the noise of the jet engines. “Ethan, please! They forced me! Mateo Valdez threatened to kill me if I didn't help them!”

I reached inside, grabbed her by the collar of her cream jacket, and pulled her out into the pouring rain. She stumbled onto the wet asphalt, landing on her knees.

“You sold out my children,” I said, my voice rising above the roar of the engines like thunder. “You gave a cartel the layout of my home while my daughters were inside.”

“I didn't want the girls hurt!” she wept, her hair plastered to her face, makeup running in dark streaks down her cheeks. “I just wanted Clara gone! She was ruinous for my plans! If you married me, my debts would have been paid! Please, Ethan! We can work this out!”

“There is no working this out, Patricia,” I said coldly.

Marcus stepped forward, handing me a satellite phone. “Boss, we’ve got Mateo Valdez on the line. We traced the call from the dead mercenary’s phone.”

I took the phone and placed it to my ear. “Valdez.”

A low, raspy laugh came through the speaker from across the Mexican border. “Ethan Whitaker. I hear my strike team failed.”

“Your men are dead, Mateo,” I said calmly, looking down at Patricia crying on the wet ground. “And your informant is on her knees in front of me.”

“Keep the informant,” Mateo sneered. “She was useless anyway. But give me my sister, Whitaker. Elena belongs to the Valdez family. Return her to me, and our feud is over. Keep her, and I will burn Houston to the ground until I get her back.”

I wiped the rain from my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Listen to me very carefully, Mateo,” I said, every word dripping with absolute, murderous promise. “Elena is under my protection now. She is part of my household. If you so much as send a shadow across the Texas border, I won't just kill your enforcers. I will personally come to Sonora, tear down your compound, and wipe your name from the earth. Try me.”

I ended the call before he could respond and handed the phone back to Marcus.

“What about her?” Marcus asked, pointing his gun at Patricia.

“Hand her over to the federal authorities,” I said, turning my back on her. “Give them the financial records of her offshore accounts, her ties to the Valdez Cartel, and the treason charges. She will spend the rest of her life in a federal penitentiary.”

“No! Ethan! Please!” Patricia screamed as my men dragged her toward a security vehicle.