Chapter 4 - The Midnight Ambush and the Taste of Gunpowder
The smell of burning wood and melting titanium filled the outer bedroom as the thermal torch finished its work. The heavy oak double doors collapsed inward with a dull thud.
Julian sat in the center of the dark vault doorway, holding a tactical submachine gun across his lap, perfectly still in his wheelchair. I knelt in the shadow behind his right shoulder, both hands wrapped around the nine-millimeter pistol, breath held tight in my throat.
Three masked mercenaries poured into the master suite, their night-vision goggles glowing with an eerie green hue. They moved with military precision, clearing corners, sweeping their suppressed rifles across the empty silk bed.
"Target is not in the bed," the lead operative whispered into his comms unit. "Sweep the dressing room."
"Looking for me?" Julian's voice rang out from the shadows of the vault entrance—calm, deep, and dripping with venom.
Before the lead gunman could spin his weapon, Julian fired.
Three suppressed rounds struck the lead operative in the center of his tactical vest, the kinetic force dropping him to the floor with a strangled gasp. The second mercenary dove behind the heavy marble fireplace, opening fire with a rapid burst of nine-millimeter rounds that chipped the brickwork inches above Julian’s head.
Splinters of antique wood and plaster exploded into the air.
"Clara, the right flank!" Julian commanded without flinching.
I saw the third operative creeping along the shadowed bookshelf, raising a suppressed carbine toward Julian’s exposed flank. Instinct took over. I leaned out from the reinforced steel frame, lined up the sights with his center mass, and squeezed the trigger twice.
The recoil bucked against my palms.
The two shots cracked through the room. The third mercenary spun violently, dropped his weapon, and collapsed against the shelf, bringing a cascade of leather-bound books down over his motionless body.
"Clear!" I shouted, the adrenaline surging through my veins like liquid fire.
The second gunman behind the fireplace realized he was outmatched. He hurled a flashbang grenade toward the vault entrance and bolted for the shattered balcony doors.
"Close your eyes!" Julian yelled, shielding my face with his broad arm.
A blinding white light and a deafening roar tore through the room. Even with my eyes shut, white spots danced across my vision, and a high-pitched ring filled my ears.
When the smoke cleared, Julian was already maneuvering his chair forward with blistering speed, his weapon trained on the fallen lead mercenary who was crawling across the blood-stained rug toward a dropped sidearm.
Julian rolled his heavy steel wheel directly over the man’s outstretched wrist. The bone snapped with a sickening crunch.
The operative screamed behind his mask.
"Take off the mask," Julian ordered softly.
I stepped forward, my hands trembling slightly as the gun smoke stung my eyes. I reached down and ripped the tactical balaclava from the man's face.
I gasped.
It wasn't an outside mercenary. It was Thomas Rossi—the personal chauffeur and head of transport who had worked for the Vescari family for over fifteen years. A man who had driven Julian to his father's funeral.
"Thomas," Julian said, his voice terrifyingly gentle. "You've been on my payroll since you were nineteen years old."
Thomas spat blood onto the floor, glaring up with eyes filled with venom and fear. "Your time is over, Julian! The Council voted. You’re a cripple sitting on a throne that belongs to real men! Marcus Kane offered us a future! Victoria offered us peace!"
"Peace?" Julian tilted his head, his silver eyes flashing with icy mockery. "My sister gave you twenty thousand dollars and a promise she will never keep. Tell me, Thomas... where is Marcus Kane right now?"
"He's at the Grand Continental Gala," Thomas wheezed, his chest heaving under his damaged vest. "The Council is ratifying the new charter tonight. By sunrise, you won't even own the air you breathe."
Julian raised his weapon. "Thank you for the update, Thomas. You are dismissed."
Crack.
The shot echoed off the high ceilings.
I stepped back, staring at the fallen man, the reality of this world crashing down upon me like an avalanche. In Julian's world, mercy was a luxury that got men killed.
Julian turned his chair toward me. He looked at my face, noticing the pale shock in my eyes, but there was a strange, fierce respect in his gaze.
"You saved my life again, Clara," he said quietly.
"He said they're ratifying a charter at the Grand Continental," I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady. "If they do that, you lose control of the syndicate legally within their council."
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Julian reached up, wiping a smear of black soot from my cheek with the back of his thumb. His touch was surprisingly warm, lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
"Then go get dressed, Miss Ross," Julian said, a cold, predatory smile spreading across his lips. "We have a party to crash. And tonight, Chicago is going to see that their king is far from dead."
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