Chapter 2 - The Inner Circle's RotThomas Warren’s estate in Chestnut Hill looked like a fortress of old-money respectability. Ivy crawled up red brick walls, manicured boxwoods lined the circular drive, and a bronze fountain trickled in the courtyard.
It was a lie wrapped in mahogany and gold.
Nicholas’s convoy of three black SUVs didn't bother using the intercom. The lead vehicle rammed directly through the wrought-iron security gates, the metal screeching like a dying animal before crumpling inward.
Within seconds, four of Thomas’s private security detail rushed from the front portico, their handguns drawn.
They didn't get a chance to raise them.
Marcus and his tactical team moved with brutal, terrifying efficiency. There were no warnings, no negotiations. Three muffled thuds of silenced rounds, and the guards melted into the shadows of the hedges, unconscious or neutralized.
Nicholas stepped out of the center vehicle, his long charcoal coat sweeping against the wet pavement. He walked up the grand stone steps, pulled a heavy brass-handled door open, and stepped inside.
Thomas Warren was waiting in the sunroom.
He was seventy-two years old, impeccably dressed in a custom wool vest, holding a crystal glass of scotch. He didn't look like a monster. He looked like a grandfather waiting for Sunday tea.
"Nicholas, my boy," Thomas said, taking a slow sip of his drink. His hand didn't even shake. "I must admit, your security is slipping. The front gate appears to be broken."
Nicholas closed the French doors behind him, locking them with a sharp click.
"You always did love expensive ironwork, Thomas," Nicholas said, walking toward him with measured, deliberate steps. "Too bad it didn't hold up."
Thomas sighed, setting his glass down on a mahogany side table. He glanced past Nicholas, noticing Marcus standing in the doorway, and then let out a tired, almost disappointed breath.
"I see the maid's brat had a bigger mouth than I anticipated," Thomas murmured, shaking his head. "I told Daniel to make sure she was dealt with before she was placed in your kitchen. Sloppy work. Help is impossible to find these days."
Nicholas stopped three feet away from him. The air between them felt thick enough to chew.
"You killed my father," Nicholas said. It wasn't a question.
"Your father was a sentimental fool," Thomas replied smoothly, his eyes flashing with sudden, venomous coldness. "He wanted to share the empire with the Sterlings. He wanted peace. And peace, Nicholas, is bad for business. Just like you're becoming bad for business."
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Thomas smiled, a thin, razor-sharp curve of the lips.
"And you think you've won because you didn't drink your coffee this morning? Look closer, boy. The machine was already set. The wheels were turning before your little pet even woke up."
