Chapter 3 - The Shadow Protocol
Victor stared at Clara, then at me, the blood draining from his face until he looked like a ghost.
“You... you trusted the maid over me?” he stammered, his voice cracking.
“Clara’s father died protecting my father in ninety-eight,” I replied coldly. “Her loyalty was earned through blood. Yours was bought with ambition—and sold to the highest bidder.”
I nodded to the two tactical guards. They moved forward instantly, grabbing Victor by the shoulders, disarming him, and forcing him to his knees on the carpeted floor.
I stepped up to him, looking down at the man who had been a second father to me.
“Where is Leo?” I demanded. “Where is Sophia’s brother?”
Victor spat on the floor near my shoes. “Go to hell, Adrian. Julian will tear this place down around your ears. You don't have the stomach for what’s coming.”
I turned to Sophia, who was standing in the doorway, her hands trembling against the oak frame.
“Sophia,” I said softly. “Go downstairs to the nursery with Clara and Emma. Lock the panic room from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me.”
“Adrian, no!” she pleaded, grabbing my wrist. “Julian Vance is a monster! He has thirty men with him! You can't fight them alone!”
“I am never alone in this house, Sophia,” I murmured, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Now go.”
Clara gently guided Sophia down the back stairwell.
Once they were gone, I looked down at Victor. I pulled my custom Kimber .45 pistol from my shoulder holster and chambered a round with a heavy, metallic click.
“You’re going to make a phone call, Victor,” I said softly.
“I won't tell you anything,” Victor growled.
I leaned down until my face was inches from his. “You are going to call Julian Vance. You are going to tell him that the perimeter guards are dead, that the house is dark, and that Adrian Marlowe is sitting alone in his second-floor office, unarmed and waiting to surrender.”
Victor stared at me in disbelief. “You’re crazy. He’ll bring his entire vanguard through the front doors.”
“I know,” I smiled—a cold, terrifying expression that made Victor shudder. “That’s where I want them.”
Ten minutes later, the iron gates at the end of the long estate driveway were breached.
Four dark SUVs rolled silently across the gravel without headlights, like predators gliding through the midnight mist. Thirty heavily armed Moretti mercenaries spilled out onto the front lawn, their tactical gear dark against the moonlit rose bushes.
Leading them was Julian Vance, his silver hair catching the moonlight, a suppressed rifle held low across his chest.
Inside the dark house, standing behind the reinforced glass of the second-floor library, I watched them advance.
Beside me, my head of security, Marcus, held a tactical tablet displaying the thermal heat signatures of every man on the lawn.
May you like
“They’ve cleared the fountain, sir,” Marcus reported quietly. “Julian is taking ten men into the main foyer. The rest are covering the rear exits.”
“Let them enter,” I said, adjusting the cuffs of my tuxedo. “Activate the iron grid.”
