Chapter 3 - The Wolf Inside the Fold“Victor,” I said softly.
The name slipped from my lips like the slide of a knife being drawn from a leather sheath.
Victor didn't move from his post by the double doors. His hand remained casually near his holster, but his posture had subtly shifted—the way a predator cocks its weight backward before striking.
“Yes, Boss?” Victor replied, his voice completely level, devoid of any panic.
“Come inside,” I instructed.
Victor stepped across the threshold, walking slowly toward the center of the dining room. He didn't look at Grace, nor did he look at the broken ceramic plate on the floor. His eyes were fixed entirely on me, calculating, sharp, and entirely devoid of loyalty.
“You heard what she said,” I murmured, turning my body slightly so I could face both of them. “She claims my family didn't die in a random accident. She claims Vance had a hand in sabotaging my shipping lanes—and my car.”
Victor gave a slow, cold smile. It was a smile I had never seen in the five years he had served as my head of security.
“Grace is a grieving widow making up stories, Boss,” Victor said smoothly, his hand inching a fraction of an inch closer to his gun. “People who lose everything tend to look for grand conspiracies to cope with the pain. It’s natural. But you and I know the truth. The brakes failed because of a manufacturing defect. The police report signed off on it.”
“The police report,” I repeated, letting out a dark, humorless laugh. “Victor, do you know who bought the precinct chief a house in the Hamptons five years ago?”
Victor didn't blink. “You did, Boss. As a bonus for their loyalty.”
“No,” I corrected, stepping closer to him. “I didn't. Victor Vance did. Using funds funneled through my own real estate accounts while I was away in Zurich.”
The air in the dining room grew so heavy it felt difficult to breathe.
Grace clutched Amara tightly against her chest, her eyes darting between us. She knew she had detonated a bomb in the heart of the most dangerous estate in the country, and there was no going back.
Victor's smile vanished. His hand flashed toward his holster with blinding, professional speed.
He was fast. But I had spent a decade surviving the brutal underground wars of Philadelphia before he had even learned how to hold a pistol.
Before his barrel could clear leather, my right hand lashed out, gripping his wrist with bone-crushing force. I twisted his arm upward with a violent wrench, forcing a sharp cry of pain from his throat. The pistol slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the marble floor.
Before he could recover, I drove my fist straight into his solar plexus.
Victor collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, clutching his stomach as he stared up at me with wide, panicked eyes.
“You think I didn't suspect?” I whispered, standing over him, my knuckles bruised and aching. “You think a man builds an empire this large by being blind to the rats gnawing at the floorboards? I knew someone inside my inner circle sold me out two years ago. I just spent every waking moment letting them believe I was too broken by grief to look for the knife in my back.”
Victor coughed, a thin line of blood spilling over his lower lip. He wheezed out a laugh. “You... you can't touch me, Julian. Vance controls half the docks now. If I don't check in by midnight, his men burn your warehouses to ash.”
I reached down, grabbed him by the expensive silk lapels of his suit jacket, and hauled him effortlessly to his feet.
“Let them try,” I whispered into his ear. “Because tonight, the war begins.”
I threw him hard against the heavy mahogany table. Plates rattled, and wine glasses tipped over, spilling dark red liquid across the pristine white tablecloth like fresh blood.
“Victor,” I called out without looking back.
May you like
Two other guards, alerted by the commotion, rushed through the double doors, their weapons drawn—only to freeze when they saw their commander pinned against the table by my hand.
“Tie him up,” I ordered my men, my voice ringing with absolute, chilling authority. “Throw him in the lower holding cells right beside the cold storage. And get word to every captain in the syndicate: the mourning period is over.”
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