Chapter 6 - The Bloodline WarThe war didn't take weeks to arrive. It took hours.
Before sunrise, the front gates of the Costello estate were rammed by a pair of black armored SUVs.
Gunfire shattered the quiet morning air, tearing through the imported stained glass of the grand foyer and echoing up the marble staircases. Alarms blared through the mansion, red emergency lights flashing strobe patterns against the white walls.
I woke up instantly, bolting upright in the guest bed connected to Arthur’s suite.
Arthur wasn't in the room. The balcony door was wide open, letting in the freezing autumn wind and the sharp, unmistakable pop of automatic gunfire from the courtyard below.
I threw on a heavy wool sweater, grabbed the heavy iron fireplace poker from the hearth, and crept out toward the main corridor.
The estate was under siege.
Loyal guards were exchanging gunfire with masked intruders in the hallway, glass shattering, smoke filling the air. Dante Vance had returned—not to negotiate, but to execute a hostile takeover backed by the Russian Bratva syndicate, who wanted Arthur’s shipping docks and territory.
I pressed myself flat against the wall, edging my way down the service stairs toward the lower levels where I knew the secure panic room was located.
Suddenly, a heavy hand grabbed my shoulder from behind.
I spun around, swinging the fireplace poker with all my might—
A large, calloused hand caught the poker mid-swing, stopping it inches from Arthur’s face.
Arthur looked down at me, breathing heavily, his suit jacket discarded, a tactical holster strapped across his chest, blood smeared across his shoulder from a graze.
“What are you doing out of the suite?” Arthur barked, his voice sharp with adrenaline. “I told you to stay in the panic room!”
“I was looking for you,” I yelled over the sound of a window shattering fifty feet away.
Before Arthur could answer, a heavy burst of gunfire erupted from the top of the stairwell.
“Boss! They breached the west wing!” shouted one of Arthur’s remaining guards, stumbling around the corner, bleeding heavily from the side before collapsing onto the carpet.
Arthur drew his weapon, pushing me behind him.
At that exact moment, Dante Vance stepped out from the smoke at the end of the hallway. He looked unhinged, his clothes stained with soot and blood, a smoking assault rifle gripped in his hands.
“End of the line, Arthur!” Dante roared over the din of the alarms. “You’re finished! The board voted me in ten minutes ago. Your empire belongs to the Bratva now!”
Arthur raised his pistol, but before he could pull the trigger, Dante’s finger tightened on the assault rifle.
Clack.
The rifle jammed.
In that split second of hesitation, Arthur fired.
Two rapid shots echoed down the hallway.
Dante stumbled backward, dropping his weapon, his eyes widening in shock as he clutched his chest. He staggered against the mahogany wall, sliding down into a heap on the blood-stained carpet.
Silence descended on the hallway, broken only by the crackle of distant flames and the wail of the security alarms.
The attack was broken. The traitors were dead or fleeing.
Arthur stood frozen for a moment, the smoke clearing around him, before he lowered his weapon and turned toward me.
May you like
He dropped his gun to the floor, crossed the distance between us in two long strides, and pulled me violently into his arms, burying his face in my hair as if he couldn't quite believe I was still standing.
“You’re safe,” Arthur whispered fiercely against my neck. “It’s over. You’re safe.”
