Chapter 11 - The Third Player
A hail of high-caliber armor-piercing rounds ripped through the room, tearing through the furniture, books, and artwork. Julian threw himself sideways behind the heavy oak desk just as the antique grandfather clock was blown into splinters.
Helena screamed as a round clipped her thigh, sending her tumbling behind the heavy marble hearth. Dominic rolled frantically into the knee-well of the desk, cursing violently as blood pooled beneath his ruined shoulder.
""What is that?!"" Helena shrieked through the deafening din of automatic fire. ""Dominic, are those your men?!""
""No!"" Dominic shouted back, terror finally cracking through his arrogant facade. ""I didn't order this! Those aren't my contractors!""
Julian peeked over the splintered rim of the desk. Down on the ocean lawn, an unmarked black combat helicopter hovered twenty feet above the grass, its spotlight sweeping the shattered study. Ropes deployed from both sides, and four heavily armored operatives in sterile, insignia-free gray tactical suits rappelled down with clinical speed.
These weren't Dominic’s syndicate street soldiers. Their gear, their tight fire discipline, and their relentless suppressive fire pointed to an elite private military contractor.
The ledger. Marcus’s recorded warning echoed in Julian’s memory: The architect behind Dominic's coup isn't a rival gang.
Dominic hadn't been the mastermind at all. He and Helena were merely useful idiots, leveraged by an outside syndicate—the Zurich buyers themselves. Now that the transfer documents had been executed, the buyers had no intention of leaving any surviving heirs alive to contest the estate. Helena and Dominic had signed their own death warrants.
""They're cleaning the board,"" Julian yelled over the roar of helicopter blades. ""They let you do the dirty work, Helena! Now they’re erasing every single trace of the Laurent bloodline!""
Helena’s face crumpled into a mask of pure despair. ""No... no, they promised us the seats in Geneva...""
""Shut up and move!"" Julian ordered, grabbing Dominic by his good arm and hauling him roughly to his feet.
""Why are you helping me?"" Dominic coughed, blood spilling over his lips.
""Because you're going to confess to a magistrate before I let you die,"" Julian hissed.
May you like
A smoke grenade flew through the broken terrace doors, spewing dense white phosphor gas into the study. Laser sights cut through the smoke in crisp, green vectors. The cleaning team had entered the house.
Julian drew his Kimber, grabbed Helena by the collar of her sweater, and kicked open the narrow service dumbwaiter door set into the wall behind the desk. ""Down. Now!""
