Chapter 4 - Hostages of the Cliff“She has nothing to do with this,” Victor snapped, his hand sliding slowly toward the holster hidden beneath his waistcoat. “Drop the weapon, Julian. You outnumber me, but my perimeter guards are already sweeping this floor. If you pull that trigger, you won't make it down the stairs.”
Julian’s smile widened, entirely unfazed by the threat. “Your perimeter guards, Victor? You mean the three men I had my boys quietly neutralize in the boathouse twenty minutes ago while you were busy playing obstetrician? They’re sleeping very soundly right now.”
Victor’s dark eyes flashed with sudden, lethal fury. For a fraction of a second, I thought he was going to lunge across the hallway bare-handed and rip Julian apart. But the soft murmur of the newborn crying from inside the master bedroom broke the spell. Victor’s shoulders tightened, his gaze darting toward the door where Sarah and the baby lay vulnerable.
He was trapped. He couldn't fight back without putting Sarah and the child directly in the line of fire.
“What do you want?” Victor asked, each word forced out through clenched teeth.
“Simple,” Julian said, stepping closer, the barrel of his revolver tilting casually toward my chest. “The ledger. The digital encryption keys that prove the Hale family maritime cartel controls every container shipped through Portland port over the last decade. Daniel Bennett has them backed up on a secure cloud server, and your private vault downstairs holds the master hard drive. You open your vault, hand over the drive, and we take our leave.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then we start by executing the meddling doctor, move on to your cousin, and burn this cliffside mansion to the water with the newborn still inside,” Julian replied, his voice as casual as if he were discussing weather patterns.
My hands began to tremble, not from surgical exhaustion now, but from sheer, unadulterated terror. I had spent my entire life saving lives, working eighty-hour weeks in county hospitals to patch up gunshot victims, car crash survivors, and overdose patients. I had believed that if you worked hard enough and cared enough, you could outrun the violence of the world.
Standing in this dimly lit, blood-stained hallway of a mafia stronghold, I realized violence didn't care about your resume or your Hippocratic Oath. It just waited in the dark for you to open the door.
“Don't do it, Victor,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “If you give them the master drive, they’ll kill us all anyway. Witnesses don't survive nights like this.”
Julian glanced at me, his eyes narrowing with cold amusement. “Smart doctor. Too bad you won't live to use that medical degree anywhere outside a shallow grave in the woods.”
He raised the revolver, aiming directly at my head.
Victor moved faster than humanly possible.
Before Julian’s finger could tighten on the trigger, Victor vaulted sideways, tackling Julian hard against the ornate mahogany wall. The heavy revolver discharged with a deafening roar, the bullet shattering a stained-glass window and sending shards raining down the stairwell.
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The three tactical guards behind Julian instantly raised their assault rifles, shouting commands, but they couldn't fire without risking hitting their boss as Victor and Julian wrestled violently across the Persian runner on the floor, trading brutal, bone-crunching blows.
“Get back in the room!” Victor roared over the chaos, taking a vicious elbow to the jaw from Julian. “Lock the door! Protect Sarah!”
