Chapter 9
The Cross underboss groaned, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he looked up at the towering figure of Silas Ashford. The cinematic lighting of the burning SUVs cast flickering, violent shadows across Silas’s handsome, angular face. The artistic tattoos with negative space gripped the weapon with absolute, terrifying stability.
"She said you were weak," the underboss gasped, coughing heavily as smoke billowed around them. "She said you were distracted. That the family was fracturing from the inside."
"Is protecting my family a distraction, or is it the very foundation of my strength?" Silas asked softly, his deep, measured voice carrying clearly over the crackling flames of the ruined vehicles.
The underboss had no answer. He squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating the final shot.
"Will you return to your boss and inform him that the Ashford syndicate is no longer accepting unsolicited visitors?" Silas asked, lowering the barrel of his gun just an inch.
The underboss opened his eyes in shock, realizing he was being spared as a messenger. He nodded frantically, his fair skin pale with terror. "Yes. Yes, I’ll tell him."
Silas lowered his weapon completely. He turned his broad shoulders, looking back toward the massive, brilliantly lit mansion. The gunfire had ceased entirely. His men were securing the perimeter, moving with the disciplined efficiency that made the Ashford family the most feared in the city. The ambush was a total, devastating victory.
"Are the casualties on our side confirmed?" Silas asked his lead enforcer as he walked back toward the main house, his leather shoes kicking aside a piece of twisted metal.
"Two wounded, Boss. None critical," the enforcer reported proudly. "We completely crushed them. The Cross family won't recover from this loss of manpower for years."
"Will you ensure the wounded are given the best medical care available, and double the hazard pay for every man who fought tonight?" Silas instructed, holstering his weapon.
"Yes, Boss. What about Vivienne in the holding cells?" the enforcer asked, his tone darkening.
Silas paused on the driveway, his sharp jawline tightening. Vivienne had orchestrated this massacre. She had faked a death, imprisoned his wife, and invited an invading army onto their property, all while trying to publicly steal his empire.
"Do you believe a traitor deserves the comfort of a quick resolution, or should she sit in the dark and imagine what I am going to do to her for a few more days?" Silas asked softly, though the promise of violence in his voice was unmistakable.
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"Let her rot, Boss," the enforcer smirked.
Silas nodded, ascending the marble steps of the portico. The adrenaline was finally beginning to ebb, leaving behind a profound, aching exhaustion. He had defended his empire, secured his borders, and solidified his rule. But as he stepped through the heavy oak doors into the pristine grand foyer, his mind was entirely focused on the women waiting safely upstairs.
