Chapter 10 - The Phoenix Protocol
The briefcase did not explode. It released a high-intensity, multi-spectrum infrared strobe embedded into the frame—a prototype counter-measure developed by the Vane tech laboratories specifically to disable the retinal optics Gabriel wore.
Gabriel’s tactical lenses flared with blinding white light, frying his electronic retinas and sending an agonizing surge of optical feedback directly into his optic nerves. He roared in pain, firing blindly where Victoria had stood a second before.
The heavy caliber bullets chewed into the plaster behind her, but Victoria was already moving. She dropped low, sliding across the bloodstained silk carpet. Instead of reaching for a weapon, she grabbed the heavy steel golf club that had lay forgotten on the floor since the opening confrontation with Julian.
With every ounce of rage, betrayal, and lethal technique she possessed, Victoria swung the steel club in an upward arc, striking Gabriel directly across his right kneecap.
The sickening crunch of shattering bone echoed through the suite. Gabriel collapsed onto one knee with an involuntary gasp of agony, his pistol flying from his fingers as he struck the carpet.
Even blinded and crippled, Gabriel’s muscle memory was terrifying. He drew a combat knife with his left hand, slashing blindly in a vicious horizontal arc that sliced through the fabric of Victoria’s corset, opening a thin red line across her ribs.
Victoria didn't back away. Pain was merely information. She stepped directly inside his reach, wrapping her forearm around his throat from behind in a tight, inescapable chokehold, driving her knee hard into the center of his broken back.
"Yield, Gabriel," she whispered directly into his ear, her voice trembling with cold fury.
Gabriel gasped, his hand clawing at her arm, his breath whistling through a crushed windpipe. Blood dripped from his eyes where the optical lenses had burned his retinas. Yet, through the agony, a grotesque smile formed on his lips.
"It... it doesn't matter..." Gabriel choked out, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. "Arthur... already has... the transmission codes. The offshore servers... are burning your identity... as we speak. You have no money... no family... no army left. You are... an outlaw, Victoria."
"Then I will be an outlaw," Victoria replied, her voice devoid of mercy.
With a sharp, violent jerk of her arms and hips, she snapped Gabriel's neck.
The enforcer went instantly limp in her grasp. Victoria held him for a single, heavy heartbeat, letting the weight of ten years of loyalty and friendship dissolve into the cold silence of the room. Then, she released him, letting his body fall beside the corpses of Silas and Julian.
She stood in the center of the carnage. The bridal suite, once a pristine sanctuary of lace, white lilies, and false promises, was now a tomb. Three men lay dead at her feet. Her wedding dress was shredded, soaked in black gunpowder and scarlet blood.
Her ribs burned where the blade had cut her. Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. But as she looked at her reflection in the cracked vanity mirror, she did not see a victim. She saw an empress without a crown.
She picked up the titanium briefcase, its strobe lights finally dying down, and secured the latch. Walking over to Silas’s corpse, she picked up the encrypted satellite phone resting in his breast pocket.
She dialed a thirteen-digit international number memorized since childhood.
The line rang once. A click sounded on the other end, followed by the deep, aristocratic voice of Arthur Vane.
"Gabriel?" Arthur inquired smoothly. "Is the loose end tied?"
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Victoria wiped a smudge of soot from her cheekbone, staring cold-eyed at her reflection.
"The loose end just broke your dog's neck, Uncle," Victoria said, her voice dropping into a register that made the line hum with dread. "Tell the High Table to order their coffins. I am coming home."
