Chapter 5
The atmosphere inside the grand banquet hall had deteriorated into pure suffocating dread.
Seventy guests sat pinned to their chairs, their eyes darting between the armed guards stationed every ten feet along the walls. The crystal chandeliers flickered sporadically, the dying hum of the estate’s backup generator struggling against the sabotage in the lower vaults.
Julian Ravenswick was sitting at the family table, his linen napkin shredded into tiny white strips beneath his trembling fingers. A half-empty glass of Scotch sat before him. Sweat had soaked through the collar of his custom shirt, staining the lapels of his midnight-blue tuxedo.
The heavy double doors at the front of the hall swung open with a slow, deliberate creak.
Hector stepped into the room.
He walked with the calm, predatory stride of a general returning to an occupied city. His three-piece suit was buttoned; his overcoat hung open just enough to reveal the black leather holster at his ribcage. In his right hand, he carried a heavy, leaded-crystal decanter filled with twenty-year-old whiskey.
The room fell into a silence so profound that Julian’s ragged breathing was audible three tables away.
Hector walked straight to Julian’s chair, stopping directly behind his cousin. He placed a heavy, ringed hand on Julian’s shoulder.
Julian flinched as though he had been branded with red-hot iron.
"Julian," Hector said, his voice smooth as silk and cold as deep ocean water. "You haven't touched your dinner."
Julian swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. "Hector... I... I've got a nervous stomach tonight. Must be the shellfish."
"A nervous stomach," Hector repeated, tapping his signet ring against Julian’s shoulder blade. "That’s a shame. Because tonight was supposed to be a celebration. Family. Legacy. Blood honoring blood."
"Of course, Hector. Always," Julian stammered, staring fixedly at his silver fork.
Hector unstoppered the crystal decanter and poured three fingers of whiskey into Julian’s glass. The amber liquid swirled, catching the dim chandelier light.
"You know, Julian," Hector remarked, looking out across the sea of silent, petrified guests, "when my father passed the syndicate to me fifteen years ago, your father told me something I never forgot. He said, 'A wolf outside the fence is easy to shoot. But a rat inside the kitchen will eat your food, poison your well, and smile while your children starve.'"
Julian’s face went dead white. "Hector, I don't know what Odette told you in that cellar, but she’s hysterical! She’s trying to save her own skin by blaming—"
"I didn't hear it from Odette," Hector interrupted, his tone chillingly casual. "I heard it from Maiselle."
Julian froze.
"She told me about the tall uncle with the silver watch," Hector whispered, leaning down so his lips were an inch from Julian’s ear. "The uncle who touched Daddy’s cup. The uncle who whispered that a car was waiting by the south gate."
Julian’s hands began to shake uncontrollably. "Hector, she’s three! She doesn't know what she’s saying! She saw me fixing your place setting—"
"Did Carmine give you a good price for my head, Julian?" Hector asked softly.
The mention of Carmine’s name acted like an electric shock. Julian pushed his chair back with a violent screech, reaching desperately into his tuxedo jacket for a snub-nosed revolver concealed in his waistband.
He never cleared the holster.
Hector’s left hand clamped down on Julian’s wrist with bone-crushing force, pinning the weapon against Julian’s ribs. With his right hand, Hector smashed the heavy crystal decanter across the side of Julian’s head.
The glass shattered into a thousand glittering fragments. Amber whiskey and dark blood sprayed across the white tablecloth.
Julian screamed, crashing sideways out of his chair onto the carpet, clutching his shattered cheekbone.
Several women at the surrounding tables shrieked in terror, ducking beneath the tables as the banquet guards leveled their weapons, commanding the room to remain seated.
Hector stood over his cousin, brushing a speck of broken crystal from his lapel.
"You brought Carmine's dogs to my gate," Hector said, looking down at the writhing man. "You poisoned my drink. You terrified my daughter. And you thought you were going to walk out of here as the boss of the Ravenswick syndicate."
Julian groaned through broken teeth, spitting blood onto the Persian rug. "Carmine... Carmine has three vans at the perimeter, Hector... You’re already dead... The power is dead... You can't stop all of them..."
As if summoned by his words, the remaining chandelier lights died completely.
May you like
The dining hall plunged into pitch-black darkness.
A second later, the sharp, deafening chatter of automatic rifle fire tore through the exterior French doors, shattering the glass into a roaring avalanche of death.
