Chapter 5 - Blood on the Marble
I didn’t hesitate. I sprinted barefoot down the marble corridors, ignoring the pain as my toes struck the edge of an ornate pedestal, and threw open the heavy oak doors of Gunther’s private office without knocking.
Gunther was seated behind his desk, surrounded by monitors. His hand instantly vanished into his desk drawer, emerging with the barrel of his weapon pointed straight at the door. When he saw it was me, disheveled, gasping for air, and clutching papers to my chest, his brow furrowed in shock.
“Kayla? What happened?”
“Victor,” I gasped out, stumbling into the room and slamming the heavy door behind me, engaging the brass deadbolt with shaking hands. “It’s Victor. He’s working with Dante Romano. They’re planning to breach the estate Saturday at 2:00 a.m. using an eight-minute camera reboot. He just got off the phone confirming the hit. They’re coming to kill you, Gunther. Both of us.”
Gunther didn’t flinch. His expression shifted into something profoundly terrifying—a calm, predatory stillness that made the temperature in the room drop twenty degrees. He stood up, slowly walking around the desk.
“Are you certain?” he asked, his voice chillingly soft.
I thrust the manifests into his hands. “Look at the weight logs from Gary. Victor has been running unregistered shipments through your corridor for eight months. He approved every clearance code. I heard him on the phone outside the east wing. He’s giving Dante the north fence.”
Gunther scanned the documents in seconds. His jaw set into stone. He didn’t scream, punch the wall, or show a shred of grief over his oldest friend’s betrayal. Instead, he pulled out a secure burner phone from his pocket and dialed a three-digit code.
“Marcus,” Gunther spoke into the receiver. “Initiate Protocol Blackout immediately. Lock down the lower gates silently. Do not alert Victor Cruz. Bring four loyalists from the downtown crew through the service tunnel. We have a leak to seal.”
Gunther hung up, turned to me, and opened a concealed gun safe behind the wood paneling. He pulled out a sleek compact 9mm pistol, racked the slide with a crisp, lethal snap, and handed it to me grip-first.
“Have you ever fired a gun?” he asked.
“No,” I said, my hands trembling as my fingers wrapped around the cold polymer grip.
May you like
“Point with both hands. Pull the trigger straight back. Don't close your eyes,” he instructed gently, placing his large, warm hand over mine to steady my aim. “Victor isn’t waiting until Saturday. If he suspects for a single second that you saw him, he will move the timeline up to tonight.”
Right on cue, the mansion’s chandeliers flickered, then died completely, plunging the estate into pitch-black darkness. From the floor below, the unmistakable sound of suppressed gunfire shattered the night.
