Chapter 8 - THE RECKONING IN THE GRAND FOYERGlass rained down like diamonds, forcing Mateo's bodyguards to throw themselves over their boss.
"Find him!" Mateo snarled, wiping dust from his white suit, his face contorting with rage. "Rip this house apart brick by brick and bring me the boy!"
The mercenaries fanned out, clearing rooms with ruthless, military precision. But they didn't know the mansion the way Octavio did. Every shadow, every hidden corridor, every blind spot was designed by Octavio himself during the height of the cartel wars.
Bang. Bang.
Two mercenaries dropped in the west hallway before they even raised their rifles.
Clack-clack.
Another dropped near the library doors.
Octavio moved through the shadows like a ghost, an apex predator reclaiming his territory. He didn't speak; he executed every tactical sweep with cold, mechanical perfection. Within five minutes, half of Mateo's elite squad had been neutralized.
Enraged, Mateo retreated to the center of the grand foyer, drawing his own golden-plated pistol.
"Show yourself, coward!" Mateo screamed into the empty corridors. "You think you're still the king? You went soft the day Renata died! I'm the one who ordered her execution! I’m the one who had the device put in the boy's ear so we could listen to your every weakness!"
From the shadows of the upper balcony, a heavy figure stepped out into the moonlight streaming through the shattered skylight.
Octavio stood there, the tactical shotgun resting casually across his shoulder. His eyes were cold, dead pools of ice.
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"I know, brother," Octavio said softly, his voice carrying clearly across the grand hall. "And that is why you are already a dead man."
Mateo raised his golden gun to fire, but before he could pull the trigger, the front doors blew open once more—not from Mateo's men, but from an unexpected external force.
