Chapter 9 - The Ghost Army
A second volley ripped through the Bratva formation before Kozlov’s men could even raise their rifles toward the heights. Panic rippled through the mercenary lines as men scrambled for cover behind their armored trucks.
""Who the hell is up there?"" Sophia asked, lowering her weapon slightly, completely bewildered by the sudden aerial defense.
Damian stared at the ridge as the muzzle flashes carved through the mist. The tactical discipline, the rhythm of fire, the flawless high-angle marksmanship—it was unmistakable.
""It's not an ally,"" Damian whispered grimly. ""It's the Vance Family Honor Guard. The private regiment Father retired five years ago.""
A heavily armored humvee descended the logging road from the upper ridge, crushing undergrowth and saplings beneath its massive wheels. The vehicle skidded to a halt between Damian’s group and the remnants of Kozlov's scattered mercenaries.
The driver's door swung open, and an elderly man with silver hair cut in military precision stepped out into the rain. He wore a crisp, tailored overcoat over dark utility fatigues, holding a polished cane in his right hand.
""Arthur,"" Damian said, lowering his rifle.
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Arthur Cole had been his father's closest confidant and the supreme commander of the family’s private security for forty years. He looked at Damian, then at the burning SUV, his expression completely unreadable.
""You took your time getting here, Master Damian,"" Arthur said, his gravelly voice cutting cleanly through the storm. ""Your brother Julian has already declared you dead to the board. If we don't reach the estate within forty minutes, the company votes to dissolve your name permanently.""
