Chapter 7 - Blood on the Velvet Aisle
At 3:30 p.m. on the following afternoon, music drifted across the pristine green lawns of the Hale Estate.
A string quartet sat near the grand marble terrace, playing classical melodies for an audience of fifty hand-picked guests—corrupt politicians, federal judges, rival shipping executives, and high-society figures who had come to witness the union of Dominic Hale.
Among the crowd, however, every waiter carrying a tray of champagne was an undercover tactical guard; every security guard near the perimeter was wearing level-four body armor beneath his tuxedo.
Claire Whitmore stood inside the bridal suite on the second floor, looking at her reflection in the mirror.
She wore a breathtaking lace wedding gown with a long, sweeping train, her dark hair styled in an elegant updo. Beside her stood Paige, wearing a soft blue bridesmaid dress, looking radiant, healthy, and completely recovered.
“You look like a queen, Claire,” Paige whispered, tears of joy sparkling in her eyes as she fixed Claire’s veil.
“I feel like a woman who is finally free, Paige,” Claire smiled, holding her sister’s hands tight.
Below the terrace, the grand brass clock in the mansion’s tower struck 4:00 p.m.
Instantly, a deafening explosion shattered the peace of the afternoon!
KABOOM!
The massive iron south gates of the estate were blown off their hinges in a cloud of fire and twisted metal!
Two heavy black armored transport trucks crashed through the smoking debris, roaring across the manicured lawns toward the wedding pavilion!
Panicked screams erupted from the high-society guests as they scattered in terror, diving behind marble pillars and overturned tables!
From the rear of the armored trucks, twenty heavily armed mercenaries in black tactical gear poured out, firing automatic weapons into the air!
Stepping out from the passenger side of the lead truck, wearing a dark velvet suit, was Arthur Vance. The elderly syndicate boss walked with a silver-tipped cane, his face twisted into a triumphant, psychotic grin.
“DOMINIC HALE!” Arthur Vance roared over the sound of screaming guests and roaring engines. “YOUR EMPIRE ENDS TODAY!”
From the top of the grand marble terrace stairs, a single figure stepped into the sunlight.
Dominic Hale stood at the top of the stairs in a flawless black tuxedo. He didn't look terrified. He didn't look surprised. He stood alone, his hands casually tucked into his trousers pockets, looking down at Arthur Vance with supreme, cold contempt.
“You’re late, Arthur,” Dominic’s voice echoed across the lawn through the estate’s hidden loudspeaker system. “And you brought too few men.”
Arthur Vance frowned, a sudden flicker of doubt crossing his ancient eyes. “What?”
Dominic raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.
CLICK!
Instantly, from behind every marble pillar, every silk pavilion, and every stone wall surrounding the lawn, forty elite, heavily armed tactical guards clad in full military body armor stepped into view!
High-powered sniper laser sights painted red dots across the chests of every single one of Arthur Vance’s mercenaries!
At the same time, three heavy federal law enforcement helicopters descended from the clouds above, their searchlights blinding the men on the lawn!
“ARTHUR VANCE!” a federal agent barked through a bullhorn from the lead helicopter. “THIS IS THE FBI! YOUR BANK ACCOUNTS HAVE BEEN SEIZED, YOUR WARRANTS HAVE BEEN EXECUTED, AND YOU ARE COMPLETELY SURROUNDED! DROP YOUR WEAPONS IMMEDIATELY!”
Arthur Vance’s jaw dropped in absolute, horrifying shock. “No... no! My accounts! My men!”
“Your men were paid using offshore accounts, Arthur,” Dominic called down from the terrace, walking slowly down the stairs, flanked by Vance and Marco. “Accounts that my team drained ninety minutes ago. They aren't getting paid today.”
Hearing this, the mercenaries looked at each other in panic. Realizing they were surrounded by elite forces and fighting for a boss who couldn't even pay them, they threw their assault rifles onto the grass, raising their hands in surrender!
“Traitorous dogs!” Arthur Vance shrieked wildly, pulling a concealed snub-nosed revolver from his jacket!
He raised the weapon, pointing it directly at Dominic’s chest!
BANG!
A single, suppressed rifle shot rang out from the roof of the mansion.
The bullet struck Arthur Vance precisely through his right wrist! The revolver dropped to the grass as Arthur let out a howling shriek of pain, falling to his knees, clutching his bloodied hand.
Dominic walked up to the kneeling syndicate boss, stopping two feet away. He reached down, picked up the dropped revolver, and tossed it to the waiting Federal Agents who rushed forward to slap heavy iron cuffs onto Arthur Vance’s wrists.
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Dominic leaned down, whispering in Arthur Vance’s ear so only the old rat could hear:
“My father died fifty years ago, Arthur. But I am still here. And my house will never open to snakes like you.”
