Chapter 22 - A Bloodline in the Shadows
The concussive blast of a flashbang grenade shook the villa's high ceilings, raining white plaster dust down onto the hardwood floors. I shoved Elena toward the hidden access panel behind the wine rack, stepping out into the main corridor just as two men in matte-black aquatic assault gear breached the double French doors.
They moved with military precision, their suppressed submachine guns raised, sweeping the entryway. These were not street thugs or hired cartel hitmen; their posture, tactical pacing, and synchronized angles belonged to top-tier state-sponsored operators.
I didn't give them room to acquire a target. Dropping low behind a structural pillar, I fired three rounds in rapid succession. The lead operator took two bullets to the chest plate, staggering backward, while the third grazed his neck, painting the wall with a spray of dark crimson. The second operative pivoted instantly, returning fire with a vicious burst that chewed through the plaster inches from my face.
"Target confirmed: Ethan Vance," a voice spoke calmly over their open comms channel in heavily accented French. "Take him alive if possible. The girl and the woman are secondary collateral."
Hearing them mention Lily ignited an animal fury in my veins. I lunged from cover, sweeping the fallen operator's carbine from the floor, bringing it up, and discharging a controlled burst through the glass coffee table, catching the second man beneath his ballistic vest. He collapsed with a choked gasp, dropping his weapon into the shattered crystal.
Silence suddenly engulfed the living room, broken only by the crackle of their radio earpieces and the rhythmic crashing of the tide against the cliffs below.
I bent down, ripping the comm unit from the dead man's ear.
"Ethan," a smooth, cultured baritone vibrated through the small speaker. It wasn't the voice of a mercenary; it was an older, refined voice that echoed with the terrifying familiarity of my own blood. "I see you inherited Arthur’s reflex speed. A pity he never taught you how to read a corporate manifest."
"Victor," I spat, stepping over the bodies as I moved toward the surveillance monitors to verify the perimeter. "You set one foot on this property and I will put you in the ocean where you belong."
A soft, theatrical laugh rasped through the static. "You think I want your beach house, my boy? I gave you that distraction so your harbor security wouldn't notice the dredging barge currently docking at Berth 4. By sunset, what your father stole from me will be in my possession. And as for Elena... you might want to ask her about her mother’s maiden name before you swear to protect her with your life."
My chest seized. "What are you talking about?"
"Arthur didn't hide Berth 4 to protect the Vance legacy from me," Victor whispered, his tone dripping with venomous amusement. "He hid it to protect it from *her*. Check the safe in Arthur’s private study in Manhattan, Ethan. Box 704. If you survive the next thirty seconds, of course."
The transmission cut with a sharp digital click.
A high-pitched whine began echoing from the ceiling above. I looked up to see a localized thermite charge burning through the central skylight.
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"Ethan!" Elena’s scream pierced through the bunker intercom.
I didn't hesitate. I sprinted across the ruined hall and threw myself through the heavy blast door of the basement cellar just as the roof gave way in a cascade of structural steel and deafening fire.
