Chapter 8 - THE TRAP IS SETThe study went dead silent.
The air felt heavy, charged with a lethal fury that could level buildings. Ezra didn't curse. He didn't smash the glass screen. He just stood motionless, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the mahogany desk.
For eight years, Marcus Vance had played the role of the loyal brother, the grieving family member, the trusted advisor.
And all along, Marcus had murdered Colette Valente, tried to erase his own niece, and framed rival factions to consolidate power within the Valente empire.
"Boss," Viktor whispered, stepping into the study from the private elevator foyer. "We secured the hotel perimeter. Local police are asking questions about the commotion in the lobby, but our legal team has them contained. However... we just intercepted an incoming secure satellite transmission."
Ezra turned slowly, his slate-grey eyes flashing with dangerous clarity. "From whom?"
"Marcus Vance," Viktor replied, stepping forward to hand Ezra a encrypted tablet. "He’s hosting an emergency board meeting tonight at his estate in Greenwich. Agenda item number one: 'Restructuring of corporate leadership following the tragic confirmation of young Rosalie's disappearance.'"
A cold, terrifying smile touched the corners of Ezra’s mouth.
"He thinks I'm still mourning," Ezra murmured softly. "He thinks my daughter is dead, and his secret is buried forever."
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Ezra looked back toward the living room, where Rosie was gently stroking Brutus’s head as the mastiff finally let out a long, exhausted sigh of relief, its breathing growing stronger.
"Viktor," Ezra commanded, his voice ringing with absolute, unyielding power. "Prepare the armored fleet. We are going to a family reunion."
