Chapter 3 - Blood on the PavementBefore Vance could elaborate, the front window of my living room shattered in a thunderous explosion of glass.
"Get down!" Vance roared, tackling me to the floor just as a volley of suppressed gunfire ripped through the room. Splinters of wood exploded from the walls, and porcelain vases shattered into a million pieces above our heads.
Glass rained down on us like jagged hail. My ears rang with a high-pitched, deafening whine.
"They found us too fast," Vance muttered, drawing a sleek, black firearm from his holster with terrifying fluidity. He didn't panic; he moved like a machine built for war. "The tracker in the letter. Damn it, I told Carl it was too risky to leave the original document."
"A tracker?!" I screamed over the sound of breaking glass and heavy boots stomping onto the front porch.
"Stay low, Elena!" Vance barked, firing three rapid shots through the shattered window frame. A muffled grunt echoed from outside, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the concrete walkway. "Carl left you a fortress, but we only have minutes before the clean-up crew of the Iron Cobra cartel arrives. They want that key, and they won't care if you're breathing when they take it."
The front door burst open with a deafening crash. Heavy boots echoed in the hallway—two, maybe three men, armed and moving with military precision.
Vance grabbed my arm with a grip of steel, hauling me toward the back of the house. "Through the kitchen! There's a panic room built beneath the floorboards of the pantry. Carl anticipated this exact scenario."
"I'm not running anymore!" I yelled, pulling my arm away. Adrenaline surged through my veins, overriding the terror. For twenty-eight years, I had been played, manipulated, and lied to. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my short life hiding in a hole like a frightened animal. "Carl lied to me, but he’s gone. You work for me now, Vance! If this is my war, I want to know who we're fighting!"
Vance stopped, looking back at me with a sudden, sharp glint of respect in his cold eyes. For a fraction of a second, he didn't see the quiet hospice volunteer anymore. He saw the woman whose blood ran through the veins of the Syndicate's deadliest legacy.
"The Iron Cobra is led by Viktor Novak," Vance said rapidly, keeping his gun trained on the hallway. "Viktor was Carl's oldest rival. When Carl fell ill, Viktor assumed the throne was his for the taking. But Carl outsmarted him. By marrying you and legally naming you his sole heir, you bypassed the Syndicate's traditional succession laws. Viktor cannot legally seize the assets or access the offshore accounts without your signature or your death certificate."
Heavy footsteps were closing in on the kitchen. The shadow of a man fell across the doorway.
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"Then let's give him neither," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I reached down and snatched the heavy brass key off the coffee table.
Vance smirked—a dangerous, razor-sharp smile. "Now you're speaking Carl's language."
