Chapter 9
The warm golden light of the crystal chandeliers was abruptly killed, plunging the entire mansion into darkness. Heavy steel shutters slammed down over the tall glass windows with a series of deafening metallic clangs. The only illumination left in the grand salon was the soft, eerie glow of the ivory candles flickering in their candelabras and the golden fairy lights on the Christmas tree.
Alaric stood in the shadows, racking the slide of a heavy, customized assault rifle. The artistic negative-space tattoos on his hands flexed as he gripped the weapon.
"Perimeter sensors are tripping, Boss," Silas reported, his voice crackling over the tactical earpiece. "We have multiple hostiles breaching the front gates. Looks like at least thirty men, heavily armed. Vivian's family isn't playing around."
"Let them funnel into the courtyard," Alaric ordered coldly, his eyes fixed on the main entrance doors. "Do not engage until they are in the kill box."
Upstairs in the secure wing, Nora sat on the floor of a reinforced panic room. The thick steel walls isolated them from the rest of the house, but she could still feel the low, distant vibrations of explosions rocking the estate grounds.
"Is it thunder, Nora?" Lucy asked, clutching her plush snowman tightly against her red velvet dress.
"Yes, sweetie, just a big winter storm," Nora lied softly, pulling a thick blanket over the toddler's shoulders. She kept her eyes glued to the heavy steel door, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She prayed to whatever God was listening that Alaric would survive the night.
Downstairs, the heavy mahogany front doors of the mansion were blown completely off their hinges. A blinding flash of orange fire illuminated the foyer as the rival syndicate stormed the house.
"Open fire!" Alaric roared.
The grand salon erupted into absolute chaos. The deafening staccato of automatic weapons shattered the silence. The gilded mirrors shattered into a million pieces, raining glass down onto the polished marble floors. The burgundy velvet sofas were torn to shreds by crossfire.
Alaric moved with lethal, predatory precision. He fired methodically from behind a carved walnut pillar, dropping three men before they even realized where the shots were coming from. He was a demon in the dark, defending his territory with a ruthless, cold-blooded efficiency that had earned him his crown.
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"Left flank!" Silas yelled, laying down suppressing fire to cover Alaric as the boss moved to a new tactical position.
The battle raged for twenty agonizing minutes. The smell of cordite and burning pine filled the air as the beautiful Christmas reception was transformed into a warzone.
