Chapter 484: What is Innocence?

"How many?" Alessandro asked concisely, firing another shot into the car, ending Diaz's suffering.

"Eight," Jack responded just as succinctly.

The security at the villa was no joke. Besides one guard at the gate and the three they saw in front of them, there were also two groups of four patrolling around the perimeter. However, their lack of professionalism made it easy for Jack, who had already climbed over the wall, to eliminate them all.

The combination of the drone circling overhead and the night vision goggles Jack wore gave them an overwhelming advantage.

These heavily armed guards were no different from the primitive tribesmen of the African plains, armed with homemade bows, when faced with someone who could move unseen in the darkness.

The only puzzling thing was why such a large estate, despite having tall walls with high-voltage electric fences, lacked even the most basic surveillance equipment. Even with Jack's extraordinary skills, scaling the wall had been challenging. Perhaps Fausto Alarcón, known as "The Executioner," trusted people more than technology. Or maybe there were just too many things he didn't want captured on camera. As a notorious drug lord, after all, he likely had little to fear from petty thieves.

"There are four people in the outdoor dining area in the backyard. We can't see what's happening inside the villa," came a reminder from Michael through the earpiece.

The two silently entered the villa. The interior was bathed in golden light, a clear reflection of the Spanish colonial influence imprinted deeply into every corner of the land. Massive marble columns, religious tapestries, statues of the Virgin Mary, and wall carvings depicting biblical scenes showcased an opulent and grandiose style.

Like phantoms, they moved silently through the winding hallways. Suddenly, the sound of slow, measured footsteps echoed from around a corner. Jack, leading the way, crouched down, his MK24 steadily aimed upward.

"Biu!"

"Biu!"

Two gunshots rang out almost simultaneously. A guard who had just rounded the corner collapsed, with two different caliber bullets penetrating his forehead and chest, leaving holes in the wall behind him and a splatter of brain matter mixed with blood.

Alessandro, behind Jack, raised his eyebrows silently, surprised at how well he coordinated with the young FBI agent.

They passed through the hallway and entered the living room. From the large floor-to-ceiling glass doors, they could see the backyard, where a family of four was having dinner in the outdoor dining area, separated by a stretch of lawn.

A young Mexican maid, dressed in her uniform, walked into the living room from the kitchen, carrying a large tray with a bowl of soup. She froze in place, terrified, as she saw the two ghost-like figures pointing guns at her.

Jack hesitated but, seeing that she didn't scream, raised a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to stay quiet. The young maid, surprisingly composed, nodded frantically, tears welling up in her eyes as she pleaded silently.

"I'll handle this," Jack said, nodding toward the family of four, who were still unaware and engrossed in their meal, signaling to Alessandro to leave it to him.

Alessandro, consumed by rage, seemed oblivious as he crossed the lawn, heading toward the family.

"Is there anyone else?" Jack asked in a low voice, using Spanish as he pointed his gun at the maid.

The young maid glanced instinctively toward the kitchen behind her, not daring to move a muscle. She nodded slightly. "Only me and María. She's the cook."

"What's your name?" Jack asked, motioning for her to lead the way.

"My name is Sonia, sir. Please don't hurt us. We're just lowly servants here."

Jack sighed. "Don't worry, as long as you stay quiet, nothing will happen to you."

They walked into the kitchen, where a woman in her forties was busy at the counter. Seeing Sonia being escorted by a man with a gun, she instinctively raised her hands, realized she was still holding a knife, quickly set it down, and raised her hands again.

It was so practiced that it made Jack's heart ache. He silently pulled out plastic ties and bound the two women's hands and feet, ensuring they couldn't free themselves. Then, he gagged them with napkins and secured the bindings.

"Stay quiet here, and nothing will happen to you. Someone will come to release you later. Understand?" Both women nodded frantically, too scared to even whimper.

Jack thought for a moment, then slipped a photo he had into Sonia's apron pocket before sending a message to Justin on his phone.

He left the kitchen, crossed the living room and lawn, and entered the outdoor dining area.

At the head of the long dining table sat Fausto Alarcón, a slightly overweight man with brown skin, radiating the aura of someone in power. He looked more like a businessman or politician than the leader of a drug cartel, his nickname "The Executioner" seeming even less fitting.

Sitting at the table were his family: a beautiful woman in her thirties with flawless makeup, and across from her were two boys, one around ten years old and the other even younger, about seven or eight.

The woman was crying silently, her head bowed in fear. The two boys, old enough to understand the situation, gripped their forks tightly, sitting motionless.

Alessandro took a seat across from Alarcón, a smile on his face. If not for the silenced .45 caliber MK23 pistol in his hand, he might have looked like an uninvited guest.

"Every night, there are families torn apart because of you, while you sit here enjoying dinner with yours," Alessandro said.

Alarcón, seemingly unfazed by the gun pointed at him, shot back with cool indifference. "Do you think the people who sent you here are any different from us? Who do you think we learned from?"

But his occasional glances at his sons betrayed his inner fear. Jack stood silently behind Alessandro, watching the scene unfold.

Alarcón forced a smirk. "Heh, heartbroken prosecutor. Do you think your wife would be proud of you right now?"

Alessandro's face remained expressionless. "You forgot about my daughter."

Jack's instincts screamed at him, and he quickly interjected. "Uh, before you two settle your scores, can I ask a question?"

Everyone, except Alessandro, looked at him as if clinging to a sliver of hope.

"Mr. Alarcón, have you heard of Ian Doyle?" Jack, ever polite to those about to die, asked.

Alarcón frowned, clearly unsure of Jack's identity. After a moment's thought, he replied, "If you mean the guy from Northern Ireland, you're looking for the wrong person. He's working for Carlos Reyes now."

"OK, sorry to bother you." Jack, a bit frustrated, turned to leave, knowing things wouldn't be that easy. Alarcón's voice continued behind him.

"I'm sorry about your wife and daughter, but that had nothing to do with personal grievances."

"To me, it was personal," Alessandro growled in a low, hoarse voice.

"Please, not in front of my children," Alarcón said, as the woman beside him began sobbing uncontrollably.

"It's time to meet your maker," Alessandro muttered. Three gunshots rang out, and the sobbing stopped abruptly. Jack turned in shock to see Alarcón's wife and two young sons lying in pools of blood.

"Finish your dinner," Alessandro said through gritted teeth. Across from him, Alarcón stared in horror, eyes wide with disbelief, unable to comprehend why someone he had pegged as a "good guy" would kill his wife and children.

Jack sighed silently. This fool had practically handed his family over to death.

Two more shots rang out, and Alarcón collapsed face-first into his dinner.

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