Chapter 5 - THE BLOOD ON THE MARBLE
The grand foyer of the estate echoed with the heavy, frantic crunch of tactical boots marching across the gravel courtyard outside.
I stood at the top of the sweeping marble staircase, the crystal chandelier casting a cold, glittering light over the checkerboard floor below. The house was dead silent, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the study upstairs.
Bang.
The heavy oak front doors didn't just open; they exploded inward, the reinforced iron hinges screeching as they slammed against the interior plaster walls.
A dozen men poured into the foyer, their weapons raised, scanning the dark corners and high ceilings with practiced aggression. They wore matte-black tactical gear with no insignia—plausible deniability for whatever carnage they planned to leave behind.
Trailing behind them, stepping over the splintered wood of the front doors, was Victor Vance.
He brushed a speck of snow off the shoulder of his expensive wool coat, his jagged scar pulling into a tight, ugly grin as he looked up and saw me standing alone on the landing.
“Gideon,” Victor purred, his voice bouncing off the high vaulted ceilings. “I must admit, I expected a bit more resistance from a man with your reputation. Did your guards all run home for Christmas dinner?”
I didn't move. I kept my hands resting loosely at my sides, my posture entirely relaxed.
“You’re standing on imported Italian marble, Victor,” I said quietly, the acoustics of the foyer carrying every syllable straight to his ears. “It cost more than the sedan you drove through my gates. You’re going to ruin the finish with all that mud on your boots.”
Victor’s smile vanished. His eyes flashed with sudden, vicious irritation.
“You’ve gotten soft, old man,” Victor spat, lifting his submachine gun slightly. “Hiding a runaway brat and a crazy woman doesn't make you a hero. It makes you a corpse. Where is the girl?”
“She’s sleeping,” I replied. “Which is more than I can say for you in about thirty seconds.”
Before Victor could bark an order to his men, a sharp, metallic click echoed from the shadows above the balcony behind him.
Click. Click. Click.
Dozens of red laser dots suddenly bloomed across the chests of every tactical operative standing in the foyer. They weren't coming from behind me. They were coming from the recessed lighting fixtures, the decorative cornices, and the second-floor gallery windows.
My inner security detail—men hand-picked from former tier-one military units—had occupied every vantage point while Victor and his men were busy admiring the architecture.
Victor froze. The color drained from his face as he looked down at the red dot glowing directly over his heart.
“Drop your weapons,” I commanded.
It wasn't a request. It was a physical law of gravity in my house.
“Don't do it!” Victor snarled to his men, his voice cracking with panic. “There’s too many of us! They can't shoot us all!”
“Try me,” I said softly, taking a single step down the marble stairs.
At that exact second, a heavy thud echoed from the mudroom near the kitchen. Followed by a sharp yelp, a dull crash, and absolute silence.
One of Victor’s flanking guards spun around toward the hallway, raising his rifle—
Pfft.
A suppressed round punched through the drywall, catching the operative cleanly in the shoulder. He dropped his weapon with a sharp cry and collapsed against the wallpaper.
“What the hell was that?!” Victor screamed, spinning in a circle, realizing too late that they weren't holding the room; they were trapped inside a killing box.
“You walked into a house that belongs to a grieving father, Victor,” I said, descending the stairs at a slow, deliberate pace. “You thought I was a businessman because I signed contracts and built hotels. You forgot that before I built towers, I tore them down.”
Victor’s hand drifted slowly toward the pistol holstered at his hip, his fingers trembling as he tried to calculate a way out.
“Don't even think about it,” a voice growled from behind him.
Malcolm stepped out from the shadows of the coat room, a heavy tactical shotgun pressed squarely against the base of Victor’s skull.
May you like
Victor went rigid. Every ounce of arrogance evaporated, leaving behind only the cowardly predator trapped in a corner.
“Tie them up,” I ordered, reaching the bottom of the landing and standing face-to-face with Julian’s brother. I looked down at the terrified man, my voice dropping to a whisper that only he could hear. “Tell Julian his brother’s ghost is coming for him next. And if he ever sends another dog to my door, I won't just kill his men. I’ll burn his entire empire to ash.”
