Chapter 6 - Bloodlines and Blackmail
The air inside the penthouse dropped several degrees. Marcus Voss was Declan’s father’s younger brother—a man who had spent two decades bitter that the family crown had been passed to a twenty-five-year-old Declan instead of him.
"Marcus always was a parasite," Declan said, his tone devoid of any emotion now. It was the flat, terrifying voice of an executioner. "Where are they?"
"They took the private freight elevator," Gavin reported over the comms. "They bypassed floors ten through forty. They're heading straight for the residence. We have four minutes before they breach the mechanical access doors."
Declan didn't hesitate. He pulled me up from the bed, his grip firm and steady. "Safe room. Now."
Behind the master closet’s mahogany shoe shelving lay a vault constructed of eight-inch reinforced titanium, equipped with independent oxygen scrubbers, satellite communication, and enough provisions to survive a siege.
"Declan, don't leave me in there alone," I pleaded, clutching his lapels as he guided me into the reinforced room. "If Marcus is working with Savannah, they aren't here to negotiate. They want you dead."
"They won't get past the hallway, Amelia," Declan said, his eyes fierce and unwavering. He reached to his side, pulling a small silver key from his chain and pressing it into my palm. "If the main ventilation shuts down, this key unlocks the private emergency chute behind the food stores. It drops directly into the municipal transit tunnels three levels below the street. A car is permanently stationed there."
"Declan—"
"Listen to me," he commanded, framing my face with his hands and pressing a fierce, desperate kiss to my lips. "You and our son are my only legacy. If anything happens to me, you run. You take the money in the Geneva vault and you never look back. Do you understand me?"
"I love you," I cried, tears spilling over my cheeks. "Don't ask me to survive without you."
His expression softened for a fraction of a second, a fleeting glimpse of the man who had sat for hours watching me paint seventeenth-century varnish. "I love you, Amelia. Which is why I am going to end this tonight."
He stepped backward and hit the release latch. The heavy steel door slid shut with a pneumatic hiss, locking into place with four deafening hydraulic thuds.
Inside the vault, the monitor screens flickered to life, showing the black-and-white feeds of the penthouse living room and hallway.
On the screen, the freight elevator doors chimed open.
Marcus Voss stepped out first—an older, greying man with Declan’s sharp cheekbones but none of his composure, wearing an expensive camel-hair coat and carrying a submachine gun with nervous, twitching hands. Behind him walked Savannah Calloway.
She looked nothing like the polished, elegant socialite from the press conference. Her designer dress was torn and stained, her blonde hair hung in greasy, unwashed strands around a hollow, frantic face, and in her hands she carried a detonator taped to a block of commercial plastic explosives strapped around her chest.
She was a suicide bomber with a pedigree.
"Declan!" Marcus’s voice crackled through the security audio feed. "Come out, nephew! Let's talk about the succession plan!"
Declan walked calmly into the center of the vast living room, empty-handed, his coat unbuttoned, his posture completely relaxed. He looked like an emperor greeting beggars.
"You brought a corpse to a boardroom meeting, Marcus," Declan said, his voice carrying clearly over the microphones. "Savannah has twenty minutes before the cyanide capsule in her teeth dissolves from sheer terror. Did she forget to tell you she's already a dead woman?"
Savannah screamed, a wild, unhinged sound that echoed through the penthouse. "Where is she, Declan?! Where is the little art student?! Bring her out, or I level this entire tower into the street!"
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Watching through the monitor, my breath caught in my throat. Savannah didn't just want power. She was completely, irreparably insane with grief and humiliation.
And Declan was standing less than ten paces away from her trigger finger.
