Chapter 13: The War Room
Daniel Vance ripped the tactical vest off a mannequin in the underground armory of the Vance estate, his slate-gray eyes burning with absolute focus.
The room was buzzing with chaotic, hyper-coordinated energy. Brooks, his head wrapped in a white gauze bandage, was barking orders at a dozen heavily armed private security operatives. Keyboards clacked as tech specialists hacked into municipal mainframes.
"Talk to me," Daniel demanded, loading a heavy magazine into a tactical rifle.
"The SOS signal lasted exactly 2.4 seconds before it was jammed," a tech analyst reported, pulling up a topographic map of the northern mountain range on the giant plasma screen. "But it was enough. We triangulated the ping. It’s the Rossi family’s black-site compound. Heavily fortified. Fifty men on the perimeter, minimum."
Daniel strapped a sidearm to his thigh. "I don't care if the entire Italian army is on that perimeter. We leave in ten minutes."
"Daniel, wait."
The authoritative voice echoed from the steel staircase. Eleanor Vance descended into the armory, leaning heavily on her diamond-encrusted cane. For the first time in her life, the matriarch looked genuinely frightened.
"Grandmother, you shouldn't be down here," Daniel said, barely glancing up as he checked his gear.
"Arthur Sinclair is a snake, Daniel," Eleanor warned, her voice trembling. "Decades ago, before Clara ran, Arthur discovered a loophole in the Sinclair trust. If all heirs die, the fortune defaults to his personal accounts. He doesn't want an alliance with Rossi. He wants Rossi to kill Emily."
Daniel froze. The blood drained from his face. "What?"
"It’s a setup," Eleanor insisted, stepping closer. "Rossi is known for marrying heiresses, seizing their assets, and then... they suffer 'tragic accidents.' Arthur is handing his daughter to a butcher so he can keep his hands clean while seizing the billions. If she marries Rossi tomorrow, she is a dead woman."
Daniel felt a white-hot spike of adrenaline pierce his chest. He looked at Brooks, his eyes wild.
"Change of plans," Daniel barked. "We don't do a stealth extraction. We take the front gates down. I want snipers on the ridge, I want thermal imaging on every window of that compound, and I want an armored convoy."
Brooks nodded grimly, racking the slide of his own weapon. "It's a suicide mission, boss. We breach that gate, it's an act of war against the Rossi syndicate."
"I’m a Vance," Daniel said, his voice dropping into a deadly, terrifying calm. "We don't negotiate with terrorists. We buy them out, or we burn them down. And tonight, I’m choosing fire."
Meanwhile, back at the compound, Emily was slammed against the wall by Julian.
"Please," Emily gasped, tears streaming down her face. "Kill me. Do whatever you want to me. But leave my brother out of this. He’s just a child."
Julian laughed softly, trailing a cold finger down her cheek. "Such a martyr. Don't worry, Emily. Your brother is safe for now. Arthur ordered my men at the hospital to stand down. He wants you compliant for the wedding ceremony tomorrow evening."
Julian leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. The smell of his expensive cologne made her sick to her stomach.
"Sleep well, my bride," Julian whispered. "Because tomorrow, you sign away your soul. And then, we play."
He dropped her to the floor and walked out, locking the heavy door behind him.
May you like
Emily sat on the cold floor, pulling her knees to her chest. She looked out the reinforced window at the pitch-black mountains.
I dropped the pin, she thought, closing her eyes and praying to a God she hadn't spoken to in years. Please, Daniel. Please find me.
