Chapter 5 - Brother’s BloodThe gas hit my lungs instantly, burning like liquid fire. My vision blurred, the rows of server racks stretching and warping into vertical smears of gray and blue.
I stumbled backward, clawing at my throat, but the heavy steel door wouldn’t budge. My knees buckled, and I crashed hard onto the cold concrete floor.
Through the haze of the narcotic gas, heavy footsteps echoed down the concrete stairs.
A pair of expensive, handmade Italian leather shoes stepped into my field of vision. I forced my heavy eyelids upward.
Standing above me was Marcus Rosetti, Dominic’s younger brother. He wore a crisp silver suit, a diamond signet ring gleaming on his right pinky finger, and an easy, relaxed smile that didn't reach his dead, shark-like eyes.
“Well, well,” Marcus murmured, crouching down beside me and tapping my cheek mockingly with the back of his fingers. “The stray dog knows how to sniff out trash. Too bad curiosity killed the accountant.”
“You…” I wheezed, tasting copper in my mouth as my lungs screamed for clean air. “You’re the leak. You sold out your own niece.”
Marcus laughed softly, a low, melodic sound that sent chills down my spine. “Sold out? Please. Dominic is a dinosaur. He thinks running drugs and protection rackets with a code of honor will keep us on top. The world is changing, Julian. The Syndicate offered us a partnership that makes our current empire look like a lemonade stand. All we had to do was hand over the shipping routes—starting with getting rid of little Lily.”
“Dominic will tear you apart,” I spat out, my vision darkening at the edges.
“Dominic won’t have the chance,” Marcus replied smoothly, pulling a sleek, encrypted flash drive from his pocket and plugging it into the console. “By the time he finishes dealing with the board of directors upstairs—who are currently being poisoned with slow-acting neurotoxins in their coffee—this entire estate will be legally transferred to my name. And you? You’ll be found at this terminal, the tragic, disgraced whistleblower who couldn’t handle the pressure and killed himself.”
He stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his trousers.
“It’s been fun, Julian. Rest in peace.”
As Marcus turned to walk toward the hidden elevator, my hand—scraping blindly across the concrete floor—brushed against a heavy steel wrench left behind by a maintenance worker.
My survival instincts, honed by months of starving in alleyways and fighting for breath, flared into a blinding white-hot rage.
With the last ounce of my strength, I lunged forward from the floor, hurling the heavy wrench with every bit of power I had left.
May you like
Crack.
The wrench struck Marcus squarely behind the knee. He screamed in agony, his leg buckling beneath him as he crashed hard onto the concrete.
