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The ballroom of The Grand Sterling glistened like an ice palace drowned in amber light, smelling faintly of expensive champagne, high-stakes panic, and illicit money. Anna stood near a towering arrangement of white orchids / Chapter 8 / 20

Chapter 8 - Blood and Code

Chaos erupted in a fraction of a second. Berto moved with terrifying, lethal speed, lunging across the floor and tackling the nearest gunman before he could adjust his aim. Shots ricocheted off the concrete walls, sending sparks flying into the dark corners of the hallway.

Anna scrambled behind a heavy steel pillar, her fingers flying across the smashed screen of the burner phone. Berto had left his encrypted master server protocol open on her office terminal back on the fifth floor—she knew the backdoor override code by heart, having typed it into his schedule logs a hundred times disguised as routine data entries.

Override-Castiano-Omega-9.

With a frantic tap, she triggered the emergency lockdown protocol for the entire building. The heavy steel fire doors slammed shut across every exit, trapping Dominic’s mercenaries in a cage of reinforced metal.

Dominic, recovering from the fire extinguisher blow, lunged past the struggling guards and grabbed Anna by the hair, yanking her upright with a furious snarl. "You little bitch—give me that phone!"

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Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering wheel of his matte-black Bentley, staring at the imposing wrought-iron gates of his own estate. To the world, the Sterling name was synonymous with untouchable wealth, bleeding-edge tech investments, and a picture-perfect modern family. But as the automated gates slid open with a soft, expensive hum, Arthur didn't feel like a master of a universe; he felt like a stranger walking into a trap he had built with his own hands.

Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering...

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverberating directly through the plaster of the master bedroom's walk-in closet wall.

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverbe...

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang of the Boston Harbor. It hit Dileia like a physical blow, cutting right through the thin polyester of her service uniform. She shivered, though she refused to wrap her arms around herself. Doing so would look like weakness, and tonight, weakness was a currency she couldn't afford to spend.

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang...

Before he could pull the trigger, a heavy shadow loomed behind him. Berto stood there, his suit torn, blood staining his white shirt, his eyes glowing with the fury of a man watching his world burn. He didn't say a word. He drove a heavy, brutal punch straight into Dominic’s jaw, following it with a second blow that sent the syndicate boss crashing unconscious onto the concrete floor.

Silence descended on the corridor, broken only by the heavy breathing of the two survivors and the groans of the trapped mercenaries.

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