Chapter 7
The bright, cheerful colors of the conservatory felt utterly disconnected from the dark, tactical calculations running through Cullen’s mind. He turned away from the bleeding brother and the weeping sister, pulling a heavy, encrypted smartphone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
"Take them to the soundproof holding cells in the basement," Cullen ordered his men without looking back. "Strip them of their phones and jewelry. Bind them. Do not let them speak to each other."
"You can't do this!" Tove screamed as two guards dragged her upright by her arms. Her high heels scraped uselessly against the tile. "If we don't check in with my father by sunset, he will know something went wrong! He will send a strike team!"
"I am counting on it," Cullen replied softly, his thumb tapping the screen of his phone.
As the bodyguards hauled the Mercer siblings out of the glass-roofed room, their screams fading down the long estate hallways, Cullen raised the phone to his ear.
"Speak," a gruff voice answered on the other end. It was Vincent, Cullen’s underboss, a man who managed the violent logistics of the Ravello family.
"The Mercer wedding is canceled," Cullen said, his deep, raspy voice perfectly measured. "They attempted a hostile takeover from within the house. They targeted Mireya."
A heavy silence hung on the line for a fraction of a second before Vincent replied, his voice turning to ice. "Is the girl safe, Boss?"
"She is secure," Cullen confirmed. "But Tove confirmed that her father, Don Mercer, is planning a full-scale assault if they fail. I want the estate locked down. Bring every capo to the war room. We have less than three hours before the sun sets."
"We go to war, then?" Vincent asked, the sound of a pistol slide racking echoing in the background.
"No," Cullen said slowly, a terrifying, calculated smile touching the corners of his mouth. "We do not fight them in the streets. We invite them in."
"Boss?"
"They think I am unaware of their broader plan," Cullen explained, his eyes scanning the shattered pottery and spilled soil in the conservatory. "Tove said they need to check in by sunset. We are going to send that check-in. We are going to tell Don Mercer that the job is done. That I am dead, and he needs to come to the estate to secure the assets quietly."
"An ambush," Vincent chuckled darkly. "He'll bring his elite guard. It's a risk."
"It is a slaughter," Cullen corrected him, his volume dropping into that lethal, quiet register. "I want the courtyard rigged. Snipers on the roof. When Don Mercer walks through those gates expecting a crown, I want him to find hell."
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"Understood, Boss. Mobilizing now."
Cullen hung up the phone. He stood alone in the bright, natural light of the ruined room. He looked at the crushed remains of the inhaler resting beneath the stone table. The romantic, movie-star facade was completely gone. He was the devil, and the Mercers had just knocked on his door.
