Chapter 7 - THE TRUE MASTERMIND“Get everyone out of the estate! Now!” Damian roared, his voice echoing through the mansion like thunder.
Tony’s voice on the phone shouted frantically, “Boss, what’s happening?!”
“The clock is rigged! Evacuate the staff and get Hannah and Ellie to the armored transport immediately!” Damian slammed the phone down, sprinting back toward the drawing-room where Hannah was still recovering.
He didn't care about the billions in assets, the centuries-old artwork, or the sprawling mansion. All that mattered was the little girl who had saved his life with a box of crayons, and her mother.
Damian swept Ellie up into his arms, wrapping his heavy wool coat around her, while grabbing Hannah by the arm to support her weak frame.
“Can you walk, Hannah? Lean on me!” Damian ordered, pushing open the heavy glass doors leading to the rear courtyard just as the security alarms shrieked a deafening warning.
As they burst into the open morning air, the front gates of the estate blew open with an ear-splitting explosion.
A convoy of three black armored SUVs rolled through the smoking wreckage, tires screeching against the gravel driveway. The doors flew open, and a dozen heavily armed mercenaries poured out—not wearing the green snake insignia of the Vanguard Syndicate, but the personal crest of the Cross family guard.
And stepping out from the lead vehicle, cane in hand and wearing an expensive tailored overcoat, was a silver-haired man with cold, piercing blue eyes.
Julian Cross.
“Well, well, little brother,” Julian called out, a smug, aristocratic smile playing on his lips as he surveyed the burning perimeter. “I see you received my housewarming gift.”
Damian handed Ellie gently to a loyal guard, whispering, “Take them to the bunker, don't look back.” Then he stepped forward into the courtyard, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“You’ve lost your mind, Julian,” Damian spat, walking toward his brother with deliberate, deadly strides. “Using mercenaries to bomb your own blood?”
Julian chuckled, adjusting his silk gloves. “Blood? Damian, you’re so naive. Father left everything to you because you played the dutiful son. But you went soft. You started a charity fund for maids and firefighters? You actually care about the people we own?” Julian’s smile vanished, replaced by a mask of pure fury. “You destroyed what our family built over a century. And today, I’m taking it back.”
Julian snapped his fingers. Two guards grabbed Damian from behind, pinning his arms, while Julian stepped closer, pulling a small silver detonator from his pocket.
“Say goodbye to your little kingdom, Damian,” Julian whispered, his thumb resting over the red button.
Before Julian could press it, a sharp, childish voice cut through the courtyard silence like a siren.
“Bad man!”
Everyone froze.
From behind the stone fountain where the guards had momentarily placed her, three-year-old Ellie had slipped away. She was holding a fistful of mud and small gravel, marching straight toward Julian Cross with the fearless determination of a miniature general.
Julian blinked in astonishment, looking down at the toddler. “What is this stray rodent doing here?”
“You’re not allowed to break Mr. Cross’s house!” Ellie declared fiercely, stopping right in front of Julian’s expensive Italian leather shoes. And before anyone could stop her, she hurled a fistful of wet mud straight onto Julian’s polished boots and trousers.
Julian looked down at his ruined suit, his face contorting in rage. “Get this filthy brat out of my sight! Shoot her!”
The guard holding the rifle raised his weapon toward Ellie.
That was the moment Damian snapped.
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With a roar of pure primal fury, Damian wrenched his arms free, shattering the grip of the two guards holding him. He slammed his elbow into the nearest man’s face, snatched the man’s tactical baton, and lunged across the gravel.
The courtyard erupted into chaos.
