Chapter 4 - The Betrayal of Vance
Through the narrow opening of the hatch, Eva watched in breathless horror as Victor Vance paced across the plush rug.
Victor was fifty-eight years old, a former special forces officer with graying hair, a broad jaw, and a icy demeanor that had earned him Roman’s complete trust for over a decade.
Sitting in a high-backed leather chair near the fire was Marcus Bolaro, Roman’s uncle. Marcus looked frail, a heavy wool blanket draped over his knees, his hands trembling as he gripped his glass of scotch.
“Is it done, Victor?” Marcus asked, his voice thin, raspy, and strained.
“The jammer is active,” Victor replied coldly, checking the magazine of his pistol before slapping it back into the grip. “The main security team is chasing ghost signals near the east gate. Sebastian won't survive the night in that vault. He’s sixty-eight and has no water.”
Marcus let out a long, heavy breath, taking a slow sip of his drink. “And Roman?”
“Roman is locked down in the central security hub,” Victor said with a cruel, satisfied grin. “He thinks the mansion is being attacked from the outside by the Moretti family. By morning, when we find Sebastian’s body in the vault and blame it on an external hit squad, Roman will execute the emergency retaliatory protocol. He will launch a full-scale war against Moretti.”
Marcus turned his head toward the fire, his eyes dark with ancient bitterness.
“Good,” Marcus whispered. “Forty years my brother ran this family. Then he died and gave everything to a thirty-five-year-old boy. The Bolaro syndicate belongs to those who built it, not the golden prince who sat in private schools while we bled in the streets.”
“What about the maid?” Victor asked suddenly, stopping near the fireplace. “Paul said a girl heard the knocking.”
“Kill her,” Marcus ordered without a second of hesitation. “Make it look like crossfire during the breach.”
Behind Victor, the wooden floorboard near the fireplace creaked softly.
Victor swung his pistol around instantly—but he was two seconds too late.
The hidden hatch burst open with a violent CRASH.
Roman vaulted out of the floor like a dark shadow, his heavy boot striking Victor directly in the chest. The force of the blow lifted the six-foot-two security chief off his feet, throwing him across the room into a heavy oak bookshelf.
Victor’s gun clattered across the parquet floor, spinning beneath the velvet sofa.
Eva scrambled out of the hatch right behind Roman, her eyes wide, her muscles tense and ready.
Marcus gasped, dropping his glass of scotch onto the hearth, where it shattered into a hundred glittering shards.
“Roman!” Marcus stammered, his face turning paper-white. “My boy! You... you don't understand—”
Roman stepped over the broken glass, his pistol aimed straight between his uncle’s eyes. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying vengeance.
“I understand everything, Uncle,” Roman said, his voice so quiet it sent a shudder straight down Eva’s spine. “You used my father’s hidden tunnels to kidnap Sebastian. You locked him behind the vault wall to starve him, hoping his death would start a war that would make you rich.”
Victor groaned on the floor, reaching into his boot for a hidden tactical knife.
Without even looking down, Roman shifted his weapon six inches to the left and pulled the trigger once.
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A single suppressed shot struck Victor’s shoulder, pinning him to the floorboards with a agonizing scream.
“Don't move, Victor,” Roman commanded softly. “The next one goes through your neck.”
