Chapter 5 - The Confrontation
I left Hunter sliding down the sturdy iron-and-ivy trellis into the safety of the courtyard gardens below, her arms locked securely around my son.
I turned back to the locked nursery door. The fire alarm was screaming now, strobe lights flashing red against the white walls as the heat intensified. The wood around the deadbolt was charred and splintered from the smoke and heat.
I raised my right boot and slammed it directly into the center of the door panel, right beside the heavy brass lock.
CRACK.
The frame splintered. I kicked it a second time.
The door burst inward, crashing onto the marble hallway floor with a deafening thud.
Standing ten feet down the corridor, holding a digital override tablet in one hand and a heavy iron fire extinguisher in the other, was Richard Vance. His tailored suit was immaculate, but his face had gone completely grey.
He stared at me as if he were looking at a ghost risen straight from the grave.
"L-Lorenzo..." Richard stammered, taking a step back, dropping the tablet. "How... the windows are ballistic—"
I didn't give him time to finish his sentence. I closed the distance between us in three long strides, grabbed him by the silk lapels of his suit jacket, and slammed him against the mahogany wall paneling with enough force to rattle the paintings down the hall.
The fire extinguisher slipped from his grip, clattering loudly against the floor.
"You tried to kill my son," I whispered, my voice dangerously soft, the barrel of my gun pressed firmly under his chin.
"I—it was business! The board—the shares—!" Richard choked out, his hands clawing uselessly at my wrists, sweat pouring down his forehead. "You were distracted! You weren't fit to lead!"
"I built this empire from the dirt, Richard," I hissed, pressing the gun harder until he let out a whimper. "And the only thing I care about is the bloodline that comes after me. You picked the wrong family to cross."
Before Richard could beg for mercy, heavy footsteps thundered up the grand staircase behind me. Marcus, my head of security—having finally broken free of whatever bind Richard’s men had put him in—burst onto the landing with three armed guards behind him, their weapons drawn.
"Boss!" Marcus yelled, taking in the scene: the smoke, the shattered door, Richard pinned against the wall. "We secured the perimeter. The east wing fire is contained. Is the boy safe?"
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"He's safe," I said without taking my eyes off Richard. "Marcus, take this traitor down to the basement vault. Lock him in. And make sure no lawyer, no judge, and no doctor hears from him until I say so."
"Understood, Mr. Rossi," Marcus said grimly, signaling two guards to grab Richard by the arms and haul him away like a sack of garbage.
