Chapter 5 - The War for the Citadel
“Boss!”
Marcus burst through the double doors of the medical suite, his tactical vest half-zipped, an assault rifle clutched tightly in his gloved hands. His face was streaked with soot and sweat.
“We’re compromised! The eastern gates are down! A private militia—fully geared, heavy armor—they didn't trip the alarms; they bypassed the grid using military-grade decrypters! They’re moving through the lower gardens right now!”
Holden didn't panic. In the crucible of violence that had forged his life, panic was a luxury for the dead. The moment the first explosion echoed across the valley, every lingering trace of shock vanished from his eyes, replaced by a cold, calculating, lethal fury.
The man with the scarred face hadn't just lost a prisoner; he had sent a cleanup crew. They had tracked Elena all the way to the ridge, and they were willing to level the entire citadel to erase the last living piece of the Cross family tree.
“How many?” Holden asked crisply, shrugging off his heavy wool coat and reaching beneath his arm to pull a custom-weighted, black-finished SIG Sauer pistol from his shoulder holster, checking the magazine with a sharp, familiar clack.
“At least two dozen in the vanguard,” Marcus panted, scanning the room before his eyes locked on the little girl. “And more coming up the access road. Boss, we can't hold the courtyard against anti-material rifles. We need to get to the subterranean evac tunnel—now.”
Holden looked down at Elena. The little girl hadn't cried. She sat on the edge of the table, her amber eyes reflecting the amber emergency strobes, clutching her empty cocoa mug like a shield.
At her feet, Phantom had risen to his full, terrifying height. The Cane Corso let out a low, vibrating rumble that sounded like an engine revving before a race. He wasn't cowering from the distant explosions; he was leaning forward, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of cordite and foreign blood drifting through the ventilation shafts.
“An evac tunnel?” Holden said, a cold, humorless smile touching the corners of his lips as he racked the slide of his pistol. “Marcus... do you know who built this estate?”
Marcus blinked. “You did, boss.”
“No,” Holden corrected, his voice dropping into a dark, resonant register. “My brother Julian designed the foundations before he died. He built this house not as a mansion, but as a fortress. And he didn't build it to run away.”
Holden turned to the nurse. “Take her to the inner vault behind the library. Lock the steel door from the inside and do not open it for anyone—not even me—unless you hear three knocks followed by the whistle of the old tune.”
The nurse nodded frantically, grabbing Elena by the hand.
“Wait,” Elena said, pulling back her small hand for a fraction of a second. She looked up at Holden, her amber eyes shining with a strange, fierce light that looked so much like his brother it physically hurt. “Don't let them take my dog.”
Holden looked down at Phantom. The massive beast locked eyes with the billionaire, a silent, mutual understanding passing between man and beast that required no words, no training commands, and no hesitation.
“They won't get past the gate, Elena,” Holden said softly. “Go.”
The nurse whisked the little girl out through the secure back corridor.
Holden turned back to Marcus, raising his weapon as the first heavy thud of combat boots echoed down the outer hallway of the medical wing. The glass windows of the corridor shattered inward as a volley of suppressed rifle fire chewed through the frames, turning the pristine white walls into a shredded mess of drywall and plaster.
“Marcus,” Holden said, pulling the charging handle back on a spare carbine handed to him by his chief of security. “Let’s show these bastards what happens when you wake the dead.”
Marcus grinned—a feral, bloodstained grin of a soldier who had found his peace. “Gladly, boss. Which way?”
“All of them,” Holden replied.
He kicked open the side door of the medical suite, stepping out into the smoking hallway with a weapon in each hand, flanked by a one-hundred-and-thirty-pound Cane Corso whose jaws were bared in a silent, lethal promise of total destruction.
May you like
The battle for the Cross estate had begun. And by the time the snow fell over the ridge by morning, the underworld would learn a terrifying new lesson:
You can break a empire, you can burn a house to the ground, but you never, ever corner the blood of the Cross.
