Chapter 6 - Blood on the Marble
The lower level of the mansion echoed with the muffled pops of suppressed gunfire. Julian Vance’s men had breached the service entrance, moving with tactical precision, expecting to find an estate in disarray following the rumored terminal illness of its patriarch.
They expected a dying man in a wheelchair.
They met Declan Cole in the dark.
Declan moved through the familiar corridors of his home like a ghost. He knew every creak of the floorboards, every shadow cast by the grandfather clocks, every blind spot in the architectural arches. When the first intruder rounded the corner of the portrait gallery, Declan didn't hesitate. Two controlled shots dropped the man instantly, the heavy brass shells clattering against the marble floor.
""He's armed! He's mobile!"" a voice shouted from the foyer, panicked and discordant. ""The intel was bad! Cole isn't sick! I repeat, Cole is—""
The warning was cut short as Declan flanked the grand staircase, firing with cold, surgical efficiency. Marcus and three loyal house guards pushed from the west wing, boxing the remaining mercenaries into the open foyer.
Within four minutes, the firefight was over.
Six men lay disarmed or dead on the marble floor. The smell of cordite and ozone hung heavy in the air, mixing with the rain blowing in through the shattered glass of the entrance doors.
Declan walked slowly down the sweeping staircase, his coat unbuttoned, the Colt .45 lowered at his side. He stepped over the broken glass and stopped before the leader of the assault team—a mercenary with a shattered shoulder who was crawling toward the exit.
Declan placed the heel of his boot firmly on the man’s wounded arm, pinning him to the blood-slicked stone.
""Who paid the retainer?"" Declan asked, his voice flat, devoid of anger, which made it infinitely more terrifying.
The man groaned, spitting blood onto the rug. ""Vance... Vance and the blonde woman. Ward. She met him in Providence yesterday morning. Promised him your shipping manifests and the gate codes for two million in cash.""
Declan took a slow, deep breath. He looked up at Marcus, who was tying the hands of the surviving gunman.
""Where is Serena now?"" Declan asked.
""She’s waiting at the marina in Newport,"" Marcus replied, wiping sweat from his forehead. ""She has a chartered yacht ready to run for international waters as soon as Vance’s crew confirmed your death.""
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Declan lifted his boot from the mercenary’s arm. He turned toward the double doors, where the autumn storm raged against the coastline.
""Prepare the boat,"" Declan said softly. ""It's time to bring my fiancée her settlement.""
