Chapter 5 - Blood on the Parquet
The scream was not Lily's; it was the shrill, frantic screech of Victoria Ashford.
Marcus frowned, his composure fracturing as the radio hissed again. Through the static, the sound of breaking glass and a heavy thud reverberated through the ceiling above.
""What is happening up there?"" Marcus barked into the transmitter.
No response came, only the sickening sound of someone choking on their own blood. Marcus raised his weapon, his eyes darting toward the stone staircase. In that split second of distraction, Julian surged his wrists against the sharp iron burr. The friction snapped the final threads of the frayed zip tie.
With a primal roar, Julian threw his shoulder directly into Marcus's midsection, slamming the attorney against the cellar wall. The handgun clattered from Marcus's grip, skittering across the flagstones toward Sofia.
Marcus swung wildly, his fist catching Julian across the cheekbone, but Julian was running purely on adrenaline. He drove his knee into Marcus’s ribs, hearing the sickening crunch of bone, then seized the lawyer by his silk tie, slamming his head back against the stone masonry. Marcus slumped down, semi-conscious and groaning in agony.
Julian didn't hesitate. He grabbed the dropped handgun from the floor, checking the chamber. ""Sofia, stay here. Bolt the door behind me.""
""Mr. Ashford, be careful,"" she breathed, clutching her bruised ribs.
Julian bounded up the wooden stairs two at a time, keeping his weapon raised and his back against the wall. The heavy wooden door at the top led into the service pantry. He pushed it open silently.
The kitchen was empty, but a thick, metallic smell hung heavy in the air. Julian moved through the dining room and into the grand foyer.
The scene was unrecognizable.
The two hired thugs who had restrained Julian were lying motionless on the marble, their throats slit with surgical precision. Victoria was crawling backward across the foyer, her immaculate cream dress soaked in dark, arterial crimson. Standing above her was a man dressed in a tactical grey coat, holding a curved combat blade dripping with fresh blood.
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Julian raised his gun. ""Step away from my wife!""
The man turned slowly, revealing a scarred, weathered face that Julian recognized from old family photographs—a face that belonged to a man supposed to have died twenty-five years ago.
