Chapter 5 - The Siege at Dawn"Sniper!" Tristan screamed, collapsing to his knees and clutching his shattered hand as blood pooled onto the Persian rug. "Weston, help me! There's an extraction team outside!"
Weston didn't look at his brother. His eyes were fixed on the shattered window, then swung slowly toward Holly, who had already drawn a matte-black tactical sidearm from the hidden lining of her thrift-store boots with terrifying speed.
"That wasn't my team," Holly said, her voice entirely flat as she checked the magazine clip. "My extraction doesn't arrive until 0400 hours. Which means someone else just joined the party."
Downstairs, the estate's security alarms suddenly shrieked to life, flashing crimson emergency lights through every corridor of the mansion. Heavy boots thundered against the grand staircase—dozens of armed men storming the upper levels.
"Tristan!" Weston roared, grabbing his brother by the collar of his shirt and hauling him to his feet despite the bleeding hand. "Who did you sell us out to? Who's at the gates?"
"Not me!" Tristan sobbed, coughing up blood as panic took over. "I swear to God, Weston, I only worked with the syndicate's financial advisors! I didn't hire a hit squad!"
The heavy oak doors of the library splintered inward as a breaching charge blew the hinges clean off. Smoke and dust billowed into the room. Through the haze, masked figures in tactical black gear poured into the library, assault rifles raised, wearing the insignia of the notorious Blackwood Syndicate—Weston’s most ruthless rivals in the eastern seaboard underworld.
At the front of the squad stood Marcus Vance, a scarred syndicate enforcer who had spent a decade trying to usurp the Hargrove empire.
"Well, well, well," Vance sneered, lowering his night-vision goggles as he stepped over the ruined doorframe. "The mighty Weston Hargrove, cornered like a rat in his own house. And look—family reunion and all."
Weston shoved Tristan behind him, his hand finally drawing his own custom firearm from his holster with deadly calm.
"Vance," Weston said, his voice lethal. "You're a long way from Atlantic City. And your funeral is going to cost you more than you can afford."
"Oh, save the tough-guy routine, Weston," Vance laughed, signaling his men to spread out. "The board has voted. The Hargrove monopoly is over. We take the servers, we eliminate the bloodline, and by sunrise, there won't be a single piece of evidence left to prove you ever existed."
Vance’s eyes drifted toward Holly, who was standing quietly near the bookshelf, her hands resting innocently at her sides.
"And who's this?" Vance grinned wickedly. "The new nanny? Well, honey, wrong house, wrong employer. Boys, clean up the trash."
Three syndicate operatives raised their rifles, aiming directly at Holly.
May you like
Holly sighed, chewing her gum with lazy indifference.
"You really shouldn't have interrupted my story time," she whispered.
