Chapter 7 - The Final Stand
Viktor pulled the trigger, but before his rifle could cycle its first round, Dominic fired.
The massive twelve-gauge blast struck Viktor’s tactical vest with the force of a freight train, lifting the two-hundred-pound brute off his feet and slamming him backward into the shattered glass window of an Escalade.
The remaining Russian mercenaries, realizing their leadership was gone and they had walked directly into a well-prepared ambush, began to break formation, scrambling back toward their vehicles.
"Don't let them leave the property," Dominic commanded into his comm-link.
From the treelines flanking the estate, twenty more armed men—loyal captains summoned by Marcus via encrypted satellite phone before sunrise—emerged from the woods, cutting off every escape route. The courtyard turned into a brief, violent storm of shouting, flashing muzzle fire, and falling bodies. Within three minutes, it was over.
The surviving mercenaries dropped their weapons, raising their hands as Dominic’s men swarmed them, zip-tying their wrists and shoving them face-down onto the frozen grass.
Marcus walked out the front doors, wiping a streak of carbon soot from his forehead. He looked around the carnage of the driveway, then over at Dominic, who was calmly reloading his shotgun.
"Well," Marcus grunted, surveying the wrecked SUVs. "That should lower our property value."
"Clean up the yard," Dominic ordered, handing the shotgun to a nearby guard. "Put the prisoners in the lower horse stables. I want Viktor and Nathan conscious when I go down to talk to them."
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"And Claire?" Marcus asked cautiously.
Dominic’s jaw tightened. "She stays locked in the drawing room. Let her sit with her ledger. Let her see what her grand society future bought her."
