Chapter 3 - The Ghost Line
Vincent remained silent, his breath slow and even, masking the violent rage burning through his veins. The modulated voice crackled over the speaker again, growing impatient.
""Gable? Answer the channel. If Morelli is already onto you, abort and trigger the secondary fail-safe.""
""Gable isn't taking calls anymore,"" Vincent said, his voice dropping to a gravelly, lethal whisper that sent an icy silence through the other end of the line.
There was a three-second hesitation. Then, the modulation was turned off, replaced by a smooth, aristocratic laugh that Vincent recognized instantly—Julian Vance, his late brother’s former business partner and the man who had vanished after the car bomb six months ago.
""Vincent,"" Julian purred. ""You always were an overbearing brother. And now an overprotective uncle. Tell me, how does the marble look with Clara’s bloodline tarnishing it?""
""You have five minutes to pull your men back from my property line,"" Vincent said, walking slowly toward the armored panoramic window that overlooked the southern ridge of the estate. ""Because when I find them, Julian, their deaths won't be clean. And neither will yours.""
""You're bluffing, Vincent. You think this is just a ransom snatch? Check your security feed for Gate Four. The perimeter is already gone.""
The line went dead with a click.
Vincent tossed the burner phone aside, where it shattered across the marble. He tapped his earpiece. ""Dominic. Report.""
Static hissed through the comms before Dominic's strained voice cut through. ""Boss! We’ve lost contact with the outer checkpoint. Sensors show three blacked-out SUVs moving through the tree line along the western perimeter. They’re running military-grade radio jammers. All our external cell signals are down.""
Vincent didn't flinch. He had designed this compound precisely for this scenario when he inherited the syndicate. He strode toward the classical bookcase behind the grand dining hall, reached into an antique bust of Augustus Caesar, and pulled a hidden release lever.
The entire mahogany bookcase smoothly slid back, revealing a recessed wall of tactical gear, biometric submachine guns, and thermal imaging screens.
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""Lock down all interior blast shutters,"" Vincent ordered into the mic. ""Cut the power to the main grid. We fight them in the dark.""
The estate plunged into pitch blackness just as the first concussive blast blew the heavy iron hinges off the southern entrance, rattling the entire foundation beneath Vincent's feet.
