Chapter 8
The luxurious interior of the mansion, with its warm gold and deep wood tones, felt like a heavily fortified bunker. Dorian walked swiftly through the marble corridors, his polished leather shoes clicking rhythmically. He pressed a finger to the discrete earpiece in his ear.
"Have the perimeter guards reported any unusual movement?" Dorian asked into the comms.
"Not yet, Boss," his head of security, Marcus, replied. "But Camille Sloane just left the gates. She was screaming into her phone. Her father’s syndicate is likely mobilizing right now."
"Have you locked down the primary entry points?" Dorian asked, his mind calculating the strategic layout of his estate.
"Yes, sir. We have armed details at the main gates and the rear service roads. The mansion is secure."
"Do you believe Arthur Sloane will wait until morning to retaliate for his daughter's humiliation?" Dorian asked.
"No, sir. Arthur is hot-headed. He'll want to send a message tonight."
"Are the men prepared for an immediate breach?" Dorian asked, reaching the heavy oak doors of his private study.
"We are ready, Mr. Hale," Marcus confirmed.
Dorian entered the study, the dark, carved walnut paneling absorbing the light. He walked behind his massive desk and pulled a heavy, customized handgun from a biometric safe. He checked the magazine with expert, fluid motions, his tattooed hands moving flawlessly. He slipped the weapon into a shoulder holster hidden beneath his tailored suit jacket.
Suddenly, a loud, concussive boom echoed from the eastern side of the estate, shaking the gilded mirrors on the walls.
"What was that explosion?" Dorian asked into the earpiece, his voice dead calm despite the adrenaline surging through his veins.
"They breached the east wall!" Marcus yelled over the comms, the sound of automatic gunfire already crackling in the background. "They hit us fast with a vehicle explosive! We have multiple hostiles entering the grounds!"
"Are the interior security doors engaged?" Dorian asked, moving swiftly out of the study and heading back toward the grand dining room.
"Engaging now!" Marcus shouted.
Heavy steel security shutters slammed down over the massive windows of the mansion, sealing the bright, luminous rooms in a secondary layer of armor. The soft, elegant warmth of the chandeliers was suddenly juxtaposed with the harsh, violent reality of a mafia war.
Dorian sprinted back into the dining room. Cora was crouching behind the thick, overturned mahogany table, shielding Maisie with her body. The housemaid’s sophisticated black dress was stark against the cream damask linens pulled onto the floor.
"Are you both uninjured?" Dorian asked, dropping into a crouch beside them, drawing his weapon.
"We are fine!" Cora gasped, holding a terrified Maisie tightly against her chest. "They are shooting outside!"
"Will you stay exactly here until I tell you to move?" Dorian asked, his perceptive eyes locking onto Cora’s.
"Yes, Dorian," Cora nodded, her expressive brows drawn together in fear, but her voice resolute.
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"Will you cover your ears, Maisie?" Dorian asked gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from his daughter's forehead.
Before Maisie could answer, the heavy walnut doors of the dining room were kicked open by three armed men wearing tactical gear, shattering the pristine elegance of the room.
