Chapter 9
Alexander pressed a single button on his encrypted smartphone. The call connected instantly to his head of security, an ex-military operative named Marcus who controlled the perimeter of the sprawling estate.
"Lock it down," Alexander commanded, his voice a low, steady rumble of pure authority. "Code Black. Lethal force authorized for any unapproved movement outside the main gates. Move the heavy tactical teams to the east wing to secure Oliver."
"Understood, Boss," Marcus replied, the sound of heavy boots and rifles racking echoing through the phone before the line clicked dead.
Alexander pocketed the phone and looked back at Bianca. She was gripping the back of a dining chair, her knuckles white, her breathing shallow and rapid. The reality of a full-scale mafia war erupting inside the luminous, elegant dining room was finally setting in.
"You are insane," Bianca whispered, stepping backward toward the large French doors that led to the patio. "My family's men outnumber yours three to one. They will slaughter you."
"Your family are politicians pretending to be soldiers," Alexander said, moving slowly around the table, stalking her with the terrifying, predatory grace of a man who had survived a dozen wars. "They hire mercenaries. I employ loyalists. There is a profound difference, Bianca. When the bullets start flying, your men will run. Mine will hold the line."
He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't need to. The sheer, overwhelming threat of his masculine presence forced Bianca to keep backing away until her spine hit the heavy glass of the French doors.
"You aren't leaving this room," Alexander stated.
Before Bianca could scream or attempt to break the glass, two massive men in dark suits pushed through the dining room doors. They didn't say a word. They moved with swift, brutal efficiency, grabbing Bianca by the arms. She shrieked, kicking wildly, her sculpted evening gown tearing as she struggled.
"Put her in the soundproof holding room in the basement," Alexander ordered coldly. "If she speaks, gag her. She doesn't see the light of day until this is finished."
"You're a dead man, Alexander!" Bianca screamed as she was dragged bodily from the room, her diamond earrings catching the golden chandelier light one last time before the doors slammed shut, cutting off her hysterical cries.
Alexander stood alone in the bright, silent room. The engagement dinner was officially a battlefield. He turned and walked briskly out into the main hallway. The mansion was buzzing with controlled, lethal activity. Guards in tactical gear were taking positions at the windows, turning off the interior lights in the outer halls to maintain a tactical advantage, though the central rooms remained bathed in their clean, white illumination.
He moved straight toward the east wing. He needed to ensure his son was safe. He reached the heavy oak door of Oliver's bedroom. Marcus and three heavily armed men were stationed outside.
"No one has come through this corridor, Boss," Marcus confirmed.
Alexander nodded and opened the door. The room was still warm and peaceful. Nora was sitting on the edge of the bed, her elegant, slender form bent over Oliver, who had finally fallen asleep. She looked up as Alexander entered, her expressive eyes wide with unspoken questions.
"Is he asleep?" Alexander asked softly.
"Just now," Nora whispered, standing up gracefully. She looked at his tailored suit, noticing the tension radiating from his broad shoulders. "What is happening, Mr. Whitlock?"
"The house is under attack," Alexander said bluntly. "Bianca’s family is moving against us."
Nora’s breath hitched. She instinctively took a step closer to the sleeping boy, her protective instincts overriding her fear. "What do you want me to do?"
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"Stay exactly where you are," Alexander said, stepping closer to her. He looked down into her beautiful, heart-shaped face. "You possess a rare kind of bravery, Nora. Keep him safe. I will handle the rest."
He turned away, pulling a heavy, customized handgun from a hidden holster beneath his jacket, chambering a round with a sharp, metallic clack.
