Chapter 2 - The Blood Beneath the Marble
The heavy thud against the wood froze the breath in my lungs.
Sophie’s eyes went wide.
I could feel her ribcage trembling violently against my chest.
Through the gaps in the floorboards, a flashlight beam sliced across the dust.
“Check the library paneling!” a rough voice shouted from below.
It was Miller, one of Marcus’s personal street enforcers.
A man I had personally paid two hundred grand a year to guard my perimeter.
His boots clicked heavily against the white marble.
“Clear the study floor first,” another voice replied.
The footsteps moved toward the opposite wing.
I slowly eased my hand away from Sophie’s lips.
“Don’t make a sound,” I breathed into her ear.
She nodded rapidly, clutching my sleeve with white knuckles.
Inside the study, Caroline stood up.
Her silhouette was framed by the rain drumming against the bay window.
“The syndicate captains will be here at midnight,” she reminded Marcus.
“They will expect Ethan’s will and the corporate transfer documents.”
Marcus let out a cruel, dry laugh.
“The documents are already forged, darling,” Marcus said.
He stepped behind her and slid his hands onto her bare shoulders.
My knuckles turned white around the grip of my suppressed Glock.
I watched the man I called my brother press his lips against my fiancée's neck.
She didn't pull away.
She tilted her head, leaning back into his embrace.
“You’re certain the six families will bend the knee?” she whispered.
“They will have no choice,” Marcus said against her skin.
“Ethan is ash. You inherit the legal assets. I control the muscle.”
“And anyone who votes against us?” Caroline asked.
“They will join Ethan’s bodyguards in the Atlantic,” Marcus replied.
A sick, cold rage washed through my veins.
It replaced the shock.
It replaced the grief.
I didn't feel hurt anymore.
I felt like an executioner who had just arrived at the gallows.
I tapped Sophie’s shoulder and signaled downward.
We descended the narrow ladder with silent precision.
Every step was calculated.
One squeak of an ancient pine board would bring ten assault rifles down on our
heads.
We reached the subterranean corridor behind the wine cellar.
The air here was freezing and smelled of damp earth and iron.
Too much iron.
I crept toward the heavy iron grate overlooking the private cellar.
The sight made my stomach heave.
Four of my most loyal guards lay stacked against the limestone wall.
David, my head of security, was among them.
A zip-tie was around his wrists, a single gunshot wound behind his left ear.
He had served my father before me.
He had taught me how to shoot when I was twelve years old.
Now his blood pooled beneath a rack of vintage Bordeaux.
Two guards wearing unmarked black tactical gear stood over the bodies.
They were casually smoking cigarettes, laughing over an iPad screen.
“Marcus said we get a bonus once the captains arrive,” the taller one said.
“Just make sure the limestone gets bleached before morning,” the other replied.
They were relaxed.
They thought the king was dead.
They thought the castle was entirely theirs.
I stepped through the hidden archway.
My boots made no sound against the damp stone floor.
The taller guard turned his head just as my shadow crossed the floor.
His eyes widened in shock.
He recognized my face.
Before he could lift his rifle, I fired twice through the suppressor.
Phut. Phut.
Two center-mass impacts drove him back against the wine racks.
His body hit the floor without a scream.
The second guard scrambled for his sidearm.
I closed the distance in two strides.
I smashed the steel slide of my pistol across his jaw.
Bone cracked under the impact.
He slammed hard against the stone pillar, his weapon sliding across the floor.
I planted my boot firmly across his throat.
I pressed the warm barrel of the suppressor against his forehead.
“Make a sound,” I whispered, “and you won't live to see midnight.”
His chest heaved frantically beneath my boot.
His eyes were filled with the realization that he was looking at a ghost.
“Ethan…” he choked out.
“Where is the primary server hub?” I asked calmly.
“Marcus… Marcus changed the master codes…” he stammered.
“I didn't ask for the codes,” I said, leaning my weight into his windpipe.
“I asked where it is.”
“Sub-level two… the panic vault…” he gasped.
“Good boy.”
I shifted my grip and struck the side of his temple with the heavy butt of the
gun.
He went limp instantly.
Sophie stood in the doorway, her hands clamped over her mouth.
She was staring at the bodies of my fallen men.
“They… they killed Mr. David without even talking to him,” she sobbed quietly.
“David was a soldier,” I said, checking the magazine of my Glock.
“And soldiers get avenged.”
I stripped the tactical vest and spare magazines off the dead guard.
I handed a small subcompact pistol to Sophie.
She looked at the weapon like it was a venomous snake.
“Take it,” I commanded softly.
“I don't know how to shoot, Mr. Vale,” she whispered.
“You point at the center of their chest and pull the trigger until it clicks,” I
said.
“Because if they catch you, dying will be the easiest thing they do to you.”
Her fingers wrapped around the cold steel.
Her grip was shaking, but her jaw tightened.
Suddenly, the red emergency beacon on the wall began to flash silently.
The estate’s internal alarm network had engaged.
A robotic voice echoed softly through the intercom system.
“Breach detected in wine cellar. Sector C lockdown initiated.”
Heavy steel security gates slammed shut on both ends of the corridor.
May you like
We were trapped beneath thirty tons of reinforced concrete.
Footsteps began thundering down the spiral staircase above us.
