Chapter 8 - Vengeance in the Grand Hall
Before Lucas could register my words, the massive chandelier suspended seventy feet above the grand foyer dropped three feet on its iron winch, the steel cables snapping with a deafening screech.
Glass and crystal rained down like a crystalline storm.
From the shadows of the second-floor gallery, Alexander dropped down onto the guard holding Oliver’s car seat like a striking panther. With a single fluid sweep, he disarmed the man, caught the car seat in his left arm, and fired two precise rounds into the ceiling, the muzzle flash illuminating the entire hall.
""Down!"" Alexander roared.
Pandemonium broke out. Lucas’s hired mercenaries scrambled for cover, but Roman and a dozen loyal Whitmore enforcers breached through the rear terrace doors and library windows simultaneously. The crossfire was short, brutal, and utterly decisive. Within forty-five seconds, every one of Lucas's hired guns was disarmed and pinned against the floor.
Victoria screamed, diving behind a velvet sofa, clutching her head in terror.
Lucas spun around, raising his revolver toward me, his face twisted in pure desperation. ""If I go down, the Bennett bloodline dies with me!""
He pulled the hammer back, but he never got the chance to pull the trigger.
A loud crack echoed from the front doorway.
Lucas gasped, his eyes going wide as his gun slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the marble floor. A bright red stain bloomed across his shoulder. He collapsed onto the staircase, groaning in agony.
Standing in the open doorway, leaning against the doorframe with a smoking pistol in her hand, was Eleanor.
Her knuckles were white around the grip, her breathing heavy, but her aim had been true. Behind her stood Margaret Bennett, our mother, tears streaming down her face as she looked at both of her living daughters in the same room for the first time in twenty-six years.
Alexander walked down the stairs slowly, holding Oliver securely against his chest. The baby had stopped crying the moment he smelled his father's leather jacket.
Alexander stood over Lucas, his boot coming down firmly on his brother’s chest.
""You broke the cardinal rule of this family, Lucas,"" Alexander whispered, his voice like grinding granite. ""You touched my wife. You endangered my son. And you brought a war into my home.""
""Alexander... please..."" Lucas gasped, coughing blood onto the white marble. ""We're brothers... the same father...""
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""My father is dead,"" Alexander said coldly, stepping off him. ""And you will spend the rest of your miserable life in a federal black site where the sun never rises. Roman! Call the federal marshals. Give them the Sterling accounts, the Moretti wiretaps, and every single document in Lucas’s private safe.""
Roman nodded, hauling Lucas up by his collar and dragging him out toward the waiting security vans.
