Chapter 7
The air in the grand foyer was a powder keg, thick with the metallic scent of impending violence. Victor Lane stared up at Nolan, his arrogant facade faltering for a fraction of a second beneath the younger boss's terrifying, unblinking stare. The six Westbrook enforcers surrounding them tightened their grips on their automatic weapons, waiting for a single, subtle nod from Nolan to paint the ivory walls red.
"It's business!" Victor shouted, spit flying from his lips in a desperate attempt to reclaim control of the room. "And right now, business dictates that you hand her over before I burn this place down!"
"Shall we see how much your business is worth when it is buried in ashes?" Nolan asked softly.
"You're insane. Hand her over, Nolan. This is your last chance," Victor hissed, lunging forward.
Before Victor could even raise his fist, Nolan moved with blinding, lethal speed. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply reached out, his tattooed hand closing like a steel vice around the lapels of Victor's heavy overcoat. Nolan lifted the older capo slightly off the marble floor with one arm, the sheer masculine power in his broad shoulders evident as Victor choked and thrashed wildly in the air, his polished leather shoes kicking uselessly.
"Did I invite you into my home to listen to your insults?" Nolan asked, his cold eyes boring into Victor’s rapidly purpling face.
He held Victor suspended for three agonizing seconds before violently throwing him backward. Victor crashed onto the polished marble, gasping frantically for air, clutching his bruised chest, his expensive overcoat ruined.
"Will you crawl back to your vehicles before I decide to keep you here as well?" Nolan asked, looking down at the pathetic figure on the floor.
Marcus grabbed Victor by the collar and hauled him to his feet, shoving him roughly toward the heavy front doors. "Get out of here before the boss changes his mind."
Victor stumbled out the doors, coughing violently. As he reached his armored SUVs, he turned back, screaming a final, desperate threat into the freezing night. "You’re dead, Westbrook! You hear me? We’re coming for you tonight! I'll kill that ghost and the maid who started this!"
The heavy oak doors slammed shut, sealing the mansion once more.
Nolan stood in the center of the foyer, casually adjusting his collar. The confrontation had barely raised his heart rate, but the final threat directed at Alma and Lydia ignited a dark, murderous rage deep within his chest.
"Did you secure the perimeter, Marcus?" Nolan asked, turning to his underboss.
"Yes, Boss. We have twenty men on the walls and snipers on the roof," Marcus replied, pulling a heavy, suppressed pistol from his coat. "But the Lanes have numbers. If they mobilize their entire syndicate, they could breach the gates within the hour."
"Are the men heavily armed?" Nolan inquired, walking toward a hidden biometric gun safe built into the marble wall.
"They have everything we have," Marcus warned, his voice grim. "It's going to be a bloodbath. We should move you to the panic room."
"Do you think I would hide in a vault while enemies stand on my front lawn?" Nolan asked, pressing his thumb to the scanner. The safe hissed open, revealing an arsenal of tactical weaponry. He pulled out a heavy assault rifle, racking the slide with a terrifying, metallic clack.
Before Marcus could argue, a deafening roar shook the foundation of the estate. A massive explosion outside shattered the reinforced glass of the high foyer windows, raining crystalline shrapnel down upon the marble floor. The staccato rhythm of automatic gunfire immediately followed, echoing from the front gates.
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The war had begun.
"Are you prepared to die on my doorstep, Victor?" Nolan whispered to himself, his cold eyes blazing with lethal intent. He looked at Marcus. "Will you ensure the west wing remains impenetrable while I handle the vermin outside?"
