Chapter 5 - Blood on Grand RiverThe hours ticked by like dripping lead.
Sienna couldn't focus on the ledgers. The silence of the massive library, usually a sanctuary of concentration, now felt suffocating, pregnant with the heavy, invisible threat of violence playing out across the dark streets of Detroit.
She paced the Persian rug, Bruiser trailing behind her step for step, his heavy paws making a soft, rhythmic thud against the wood.
"Where is he?" she muttered to the dog. Bruiser let out a low huff, resting his heavy chin on her shoe.
At 2:15 AM, the heavy front doors downstairs unlocked with a loud click.
Sienna’s heart leaped into her throat. She grabbed a heavy brass paperweight from her desk, holding it like a club as she crept toward the library landing. Heavy footsteps echoed up the grand staircase—uneven, dragging, heavy.
The doors pushed open.
It wasn't Julian.
It was Marcus Vance, bleeding profusely from a jagged slash across his shoulder, half-carrying another wounded guard. Behind them, stepping into the dim light of the foyer with a smoking cigarette between his fingers and blood splattered across his pristine white shirt, was Dante Rossi—the ruthless capo of the East Side syndicate.
And behind Rossi, flanked by four masked gunmen holding submachine guns, was Julian Rourke.
Julian’s hands were zip-tied behind his back, his suit jacket torn at the shoulder, a dark bruise swelling along his jawline. But his eyes—those chilling, amber-flecked eyes—were fixed entirely on the top of the stairs, right where Sienna stood frozen with a brass paperweight in her hand.
"Well, well, well," Dante Rossi laughed, his voice dripping with venom as he stepped into the light of the grand hall. He took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. "The great Reaper, brought low by a simple ambush. And look what we have up here—a little pet bird in the cage."
Dante motioned to one of his gunmen. "Go grab her. Let's see how brave the boss's new secretary is when she's watching him bleed out."
The gunman started sprinting up the stairs toward Sienna.
Time fractured.
Sienna didn't think. She didn't calculate the risk, the debt, or her mother's hospital bills. With a primal yell, she hurled the heavy brass paperweight straight at the gunman’s head. It caught him square in the temple with a sickening thud, sending him tumbling backward down the wooden steps.
Dante’s smile vanished. His face twisted into pure fury. "Kill her! Kill the bitch right now!"
The remaining three gunmen raised their submachine guns, pivoting toward the landing.
They never got the chance to pull the trigger.
From the dark shadow beside the library door, Bruiser exploded into motion.
Seventy pounds of pure, unadulterated muscle launched through the air like a furry cannonball. He hit the first gunman mid-chest, sending him crashing backward over the grand mahogany railing into the marble foyer below.
Before the second gunman could swing his barrel around, Bruiser’s jaws clamped onto his forearm with the bone-crushing force of a hydraulic press. A shrieking howl echoed through the hall as the man’s weapon clattered harmlessly against the stone floor.
"Shoot the damn dog!" Dante screamed, panicking as he drew his own pistol.
Before Dante could level his gun at Bruiser, Julian—moving with blinding, impossible speed despite his zip-tied hands—slammed his shoulder hard into Dante’s chest, sending the East Side capo crashing backward into a towering bookshelf. Heavy leather ledgers rained down around them like black snow.
"You're done, Dante," Julian whispered, his voice slicing through the chaos like a razor.
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Marcus Vance, despite his bleeding shoulder, lunged forward and disarmed the remaining gunmen in seconds, slamming their heads against the marble floor until they stopped moving.
The grand hall fell dead silent, save for the heavy panting of Bruiser, who stood standing over a groaning gunman, his amber eyes locked menacingly onto Dante Rossi, who was pinned beneath Julian’s heavy boot.
