Chapter 6 - STANDING TALL
The tactical guard with the silenced rifle froze in sheer, paralyzed astonishment.
Julian stumbled backward, his silver-handled cane clattering against the shattered glass as his face drained entirely of color. He stared at me as if he were looking at a ghost rising from a grave.
“That’s... that’s impossible,” Julian stammered, his polished corporate facade completely shattering into panic. “The poison—the dosage was calculated to keep you down permanently!”
“You’re a terrible chemist, Julian,” I said, my voice echoing off the high ceiling of the study as I took one steady, deliberate step forward.
My legs shook. The muscles screamed in protest after a thousand days of atrophy, but beneath my boots, the floor felt solid. Real.
The tactical guard finally recovered his senses, his finger tightening on the trigger of his rifle. “Boss, should I—?”
“Shoot him! Shoot him now!” Julian screamed, scrambling behind his men.
Before the guard could fire, I didn't reach for a weapon. I lunged forward with the explosive speed of a striking predator, grabbing the barrel of the assault rifle and shoving it upward just as the gun discharged.
Pfft!
The silenced bullet punched a harmless hole through the antique plaster ceiling.
With a brutal twist of my wrists, I wrenched the weapon out of the guard’s hands, reversing the stock and slamming it across his temple. He went down instantly, unconscious before he hit the floor.
The remaining three guards raised their weapons, but hesitation paralyzed them. In their world, you take orders from men in suits who control the money. You don't shoot ghosts who refuse to stay in their graves.
“Drop your weapons!” I roared, the authority of the old Moretti syndicate bleeding into every syllable.
Two of the guards dropped their rifles immediately, backing toward the double doors with their hands in the air. The third tried to draw a sidearm, but Marcus—still slumped against the desk—suddenly lunged out, grabbing the guard’s ankle and tripping him hard onto the glass.
In less than ten seconds, the tactical unit Julian had hired to finish me off was neutralized.
I turned my heavy, unrelenting gaze back toward my cousin.
Julian was backing away toward the hallway, his breathing coming in ragged, terrified gasps. He tripped over the edge of the Persian rug and sprawled backward onto the floor, dropping his silver cane.
I walked over to him, my footsteps heavy and deliberate on the hardwood floor. Each step felt like driving a stake into the heart of the nightmare I had lived in for three years.
I stopped standing directly over him, casting a long, dark shadow across his terrified face.
“Please, Adrian,” Julian whimpered, holding his hands up defensively. “We’re family! We share blood—!”
“Don't talk to me about blood, Julian,” I interrupted, grabbing him by the expensive lapels of his Italian suit and hauling him up to his feet with one hand. “You traded mine for a corner office.”
“I’ll give you everything!” Julian cried out, tears of absolute terror streaming down his cheeks. “The shipping lines, the offshore accounts, the entire estate! Just don't kill me!”
“I’m not going to kill you, Julian,” I said coldly.
He let out a shaky, desperate sigh of relief. “Thank you... thank you, Adrian—”
“The federal marshals are pulling through the front gates right now,” I continued, my voice dropping an octave. “They’re going to find a multi-million-dollar embezzlement ring, a conspiracy to commit corporate murder, and a confession recorded on Marcus’s phone. You’re going to spend the rest of your life in a maximum-security cell. And every single day, you’re going to look at your four white walls and remember that you couldn't even finish off a crippled man.”
I shoved him back against the mahogany desk with enough force to crack the wood.
Outside, the heavy, unmistakable wail of federal sirens echoed across the estate grounds, flashing red and blue lights painting the study windows.
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The game was over.
Julian’s empire of glass had shattered.
