Chapter 11
The booming voice of the Thorne patriarch echoed through the vast, brilliantly lit gallery, freezing the wealthy art buyers in their tracks. The natural, cinematic light streaming from the high ceilings illuminated the sheer terror on their faces as a dozen heavily armed men flooded the grand entryway.
Roland Ashcroft did not run. He did not shout for cover. The deeply masculine, intimidating aura of the Mafia boss expanded, filling the room with a cold, suffocating pressure.
"Mavis," Roland said, his voice dropping into a low, vibrating hum that commanded absolute obedience. "Get behind the marble pillar. Do not move."
Mavis dropped the wooden palette. It clattered against the floor, splattering vibrant oil paints across the polished stone. She practically dove behind the massive structural column just inches from the demonstration easel, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
Roland stepped smoothly in front of the blank canvas, physically shielding Mavis's position. He slowly withdrew his suppressed sidearm from his tailored suit jacket, the sharp, artistic tattoos on his hands flexing with lethal calm.
"Dominic Thorne," Roland addressed the older man standing in the doorway. His American accent was crisp, measured, and entirely devoid of fear. "You brought guns into an exhibition filled with civilians. That is a desperate move for a man who claims to understand protocol."
"You assaulted my son and threw my daughter onto the street!" Dominic roared, his fair, rosy skin flushed a dangerous purple. "You broke the alliance, Roland! I am taking the girl, and I am taking this gallery!"
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"You will take nothing but bullets, Dominic," Roland whispered.
He didn't wait for the Thorne patriarch to issue the order to fire. Roland raised his weapon and shot flawlessly. The suppressed crack echoed sharply, and the lead Thorne enforcer dropped to the marble floor instantly. The gallery erupted into absolute, terrifying chaos.
