Chapter 7
He gently pried her fingers from his arm, giving her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze before turning his broad shoulders toward the door. He slipped out into the hallway, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. Giselle immediately threw the deadbolt, pressing her back against the wood, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm.
The grand foyer of the Fairholt estate was a cavernous space of polished marble and soaring archways, entirely devoid of the warmth present in the master suite above. The cascading crystal chandeliers were unlit, the only illumination coming from the harsh security floodlights outside bleeding through the high, reinforced windows.
Hugo descended the sweeping marble staircase with measured, deliberate steps. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the intricate, refined tattoos wrapping around his muscular forearms.
Standing in the center of the foyer, surrounded by six of Hugo’s heavily armed enforcers, was Falcone. He was a ruthless, aging capo, his face flushed with arrogant rage, his heavy wool overcoat looking out of place amidst the tactical gear of the guards.
"Where is Casper, Fairholt?" Falcone demanded, his voice echoing loudly in the cold space. "You cannot hold a senior family member hostage in your own home!"
Hugo stopped on the final step, towering over the older capo. His cold, observant eyes analyzed Falcone with clinical detachment.
"Do you believe you give orders in my home, Falcone?" Hugo asked, his deep voice a low, terrifying rumble.
"Release Casper right now, or the alliance is dead, and we go to war," Falcone spat, taking a step forward before Marcus’s massive hand slammed into his chest, stopping him dead.
"Are you willing to die for a man who attacks his boss in public?" Hugo asked, his jaw settling into a sharp, uncompromising line.
Falcone sneered, trying to maintain his bravado. "He was just showing the commission you were weak! You are letting a housemaid dictate the politics of the entire eastern seaboard!"
"Do you consider the premeditated humiliation of my person to be mere politics?" Hugo inquired, stepping off the stairs and closing the distance between them until he was mere inches from Falcone’s face.
"It's business!" Falcone shouted, spit flying from his lips. "And right now, business dictates that you hand him over before I burn this place down!"
"Shall we see how much your business is worth when it is buried in ashes?" Hugo asked softly.
He didn't wait for Falcone to draw a weapon. Hugo moved with blinding speed, his tattooed hand closing like a steel vice around Falcone's throat, lifting the older capo off the floor.
"Did you think I would let you leave this house alive after what your blood tried to do to mine?" Hugo asked, his eyes burning with absolute, murderous intent.
The sound of weapons cocking echoed through the foyer, signaling the beginning of a bloody, uncompromising war. Hugo threw the older man backward, drawing his own suppressed weapon in a single, fluid motion as the grand foyer erupted into deafening violence. The marble shattered around them as Falcone's enforcers opened fire, returning the deadly barrage from the Fairholt syndicate.
Upstairs, the sounds of the battle were muffled but unmistakably terrifying. Giselle sat on the floor of the master suite, her back pressed against the heavy oak door. She held a heavy brass candlestick she had taken from the mantle, her knuckles white. She remained entirely exhausted, terrified by the fact that an army of mafia hitmen were trying to burn her sanctuary down.
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Giselle’s sophisticated black maid dress was covered in dust that had shaken loose from the ceiling. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for the imposing mafia boss who had promised to protect her.
Suddenly, the handle of the bedroom door rattled violently.
