Chapter 17 - THE VANCE DYNASTYHook: Inside the grand ballroom, Victor Vance is moments away from sealing his illicit fortune—until uninvited guests crash the party.
The grand ballroom of the Long Island mansion was illuminated by a massive crystal chandelier that cast sparkling reflections across the polished marble floors.
Around a long mahogany conference table sat Victor Vance—an elderly man with cold, calculating eyes and silver hair—surrounded by four armed corporate security guards and two heavily tattooed Bratva enforcers. On the center of the table sat a glowing laptop displaying the final digital transfer progress bar: 91%... 92%...
"Once this transfer completes," Victor said smoothly, his voice carrying across the silent room, "our assets will be safely distributed across three Swiss and Cayman accounts. The past is officially buried."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Victor," a calm, chilling voice echoed from the double doors at the far end of the ballroom.
Victor and his guards jerked their heads toward the entrance.
Adrien Viscari stood casually in the doorway, his hands resting inside the pockets of his dark wool coat, completely unfazed by the four weapons instantly leveled at his chest.
Behind him stepped Lena, her posture tall and unyielding, followed by Marco and the tactical strike team who fanned out to cover every exit.
Victor’s face drained of color, his jaw dropping in sheer disbelief. "Viscari... How did you bypass the perimeter?"
"Your security is outdated, Victor. Much like your morals," Adrien said, taking a slow, measured step into the grand ballroom.
Victor slammed his hand down on the table, glaring at the guards. "Kill him! Kill all of them!"
Before the guards could pull their triggers, Marco and the strike team opened fire with suppressed precision. Four silent puffs of smoke later, the security guards crumpled to the floor, neutralised without a single alarm bell sounding.
The two Bratva enforcers scrambled for their sidearms, but Adrien moved with lethal speed. Two rapid shots echoed through the ballroom, dropping both men before their fingers could even clear their holsters.
In less than three seconds, the room belonged to them.
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Victor Vance sat frozen in his chair, staring at the corpses surrounding him, his hands trembling violently as he reached for the laptop.
"Don't even think about it, Victor," Lena said, walking slowly down the marble steps toward the conference table. Her voice was steady, ringing with the absolute weight of a survivor reclaiming her stolen kingdom.
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