Chapter 5 - The Snake's Nest
Hook: The brother celebrates his victory with a glass of wine, unaware that his "paralyzed" sister is already standing behind him.
High above the city, in the penthouse suite of the Permone Tower, Giddeon Permone was pouring himself a glass of a 1945 Romanée-Conti. He was a handsome man, dressed in a bespoke Italian suit, his hair perfectly coiffed.
His phone buzzed on the mahogany desk. He picked it up, expecting the commander of the Crimson Wolves to report that Seraphina was dead.
"Is it done?" Giddeon asked, sipping his wine.
"It is done," a voice replied. But it wasn't the commander's voice.
It was a woman’s voice. Smooth. Cold. Beautiful.
Giddeon choked on his wine, coughing violently as he dropped the crystal glass. It shattered on the Persian rug, the dark red liquid looking exactly like blood.
"S-Seraphina?" Giddeon stammered, his eyes darting around the empty, heavily guarded penthouse. "How... how are you alive? The hotel... the strike team..."
"Your wolves were sloppy, Giddeon," Seraphina's voice came not from the phone, but from the dark corner of the room, near the balcony doors.
Giddeon slowly turned around, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The shadow lengthened, and out stepped Seraphina. She was no longer wearing the dirty gray hoodie. She wore a tailored, midnight-black suit that fit her perfectly. She wasn't in a wheelchair. She was walking, her steps silent, her posture regal and terrifying.
"You... you can walk?" Giddeon whispered, his knees trembling. "The accident... the doctors said your spine was severed!"
"The doctors work for me, Giddeon. Not you," Seraphina said, walking over to the bar and pouring herself a glass of water. "I needed to know who killed our father. I needed to know which of my family members was greedy enough to sell our soul to the foreign syndicates. And you didn't disappoint."
Giddeon backed away, his hand creeping toward the drawer of his desk where a loaded pistol was hidden. "Seraphina, listen to me... it wasn't my choice! They forced me! The Obsidian Syndicate... they threatened my life!"
"I know," Seraphina said softly. "That’s why I already liquidated them. Their leadership in Geneva was taken care of exactly twelve minutes ago. You're the last loose end, brother."
Giddeon’s eyes flared with desperation. He ripped the desk drawer open, grabbed the pistol, and aimed it straight at Seraphina's chest.
"Don't move!" Giddeon screamed, his hands shaking violently. "I am the eldest! The empire belongs to me! If I kill you now, I can still blame it on the mercenaries! I will win!"
Seraphina didn't even look at the gun. She took a sip of her water.
"Fire it," she challenged him, her violet eyes locking onto his. "Do it, Giddeon. Let’s see if your finger can move faster than my shadow."
Giddeon snarled, tightening his finger around the trigger. But before he could pull it, the ceiling above him shattered. A figure dropped down with a flash of cold steel.
Slash.
Giddeon screamed as the gun flew from his hand, accompanied by three of his fingers. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his bleeding hand, looking up in horror at Marcus Vance, who stood over him, his blade dripping with blood.
"You are unworthy of the Permone name," Marcus said coldly.
Seraphina walked over, looking down at her sobbing, bleeding brother with no more emotion than one would show to an insect.
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"Please... Seraphina... we share the same blood!" Giddeon begged, rolling on the floor.
"We do," Seraphina agreed. "And that's the only reason you're going to survive tonight. But you won't be living in luxury anymore."
