Chapter 6 - The Traitor's Gambit
Our temporary peace lasted less than twelve hours.
By 5:00 PM that evening, Marcus burst into the study without knocking.
"Boss! We have a major situation!" Marcus shouted, his face tight with adrenaline. "Moretti knows Julian was caught. He realized his window of opportunity is closing."
Vincent sat at his desk, fully dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, looking every bit the lethal Mob Boss who ruled the city. He didn't flinch.
"What did Moretti do?" Vincent asked coldly.
"He's launched a full-scale assault on our docklands," Marcus reported, pulling out a tactical tablet. "Three of our warehouses are on fire. And worse—Moretti’s mercenaries hit our private transport convoy twenty minutes ago. They intercepted the tactical team holding Julian."
I stood beside Vincent’s desk, my blood running cold. "Julian escaped?"
"Moretti freed him," Marcus confirmed. "Julian knows every security code, every hidden entrance, and every blind spot in this mansion. If Moretti is giving him heavy arms, Julian will come here to finish what he started."
Vincent stood up smoothly, picking up a heavy black holster from the desk and strapping it across his broad shoulders.
"He won't have to come far," Vincent said coldly. "He's already here."
Before Marcus could react, the power inside the mansion cut out completely.
The bright chandeliers flickered and died, plunging the entire estate into pitch darkness. The heavy electronic security locks on the doors clicked open as the primary generator failed.
Red emergency backup lights flickered to life along the baseboards, casting long, bloody shadows across the hallway.
BOOM!
A heavy explosion rocked the front gates of the estate, shaking the concrete floors beneath our feet. Screams and violent automatic gunfire erupted from the main driveway.
"They breached the outer perimeter!" Marcus yelled, pulling two handguns from his belt. "Security team, fall back to the central hall!"
Vincent reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a sleek silver semi-automatic pistol, racked the slide with an expert flick of his wrist, and handed a small compact gun to me.
"Do you know how to use this?" Vincent asked, his dark eyes locking onto mine amidst the flashing red emergency lights.
"I'm a trauma nurse, Vincent," I said, taking the weapon with a steady grip. "I know where the vital organs are."
Vincent let out a dark, proud grin. "Stay behind me. Marcus, clear the upper landing."
We moved out of the study and into the grand hallway. The house was a war zone. Smoke rolled through the corridors, illuminated by the flashes of gunfire echoing from the grand staircase below.
Vincent walked with terrifying precision. No weakness. No hesitation. He fired three suppressed shots down the hallway, dropping two invading mercenaries who tried to breach the east wing.
"Julian!" Vincent’s voice boomed through the smoky atrium, echoing like thunder. "Come out and face me like a man!"
From the upper balcony overlooking the grand foyer, a mocking voice called back.
"You should have stayed sick, big brother!"
Julian stepped out from the shadows of the upper balcony, wearing a tactical vest, holding a submachine gun. Beside him stood Marco Moretti—the ruthless boss of the Moretti syndicate—surrounded by ten heavily armed men.
"Look at you, Vincent," Moretti sneered from the balcony. "Up on your feet. It's a miracle! But it's too late. Your empire belongs to us now."
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Julian aimed his submachine gun down toward us, his face twisted in psychotic rage. "And as for your pretty little nurse... I'm going to make sure she dies slow!"
Julian squeezed the trigger.
