Chapter 5 - The Chessboard Bleeds
The first shot didn't come from Adrian’s gun.
It came from the shadows near the grand piano.
Captain Vance, whom everyone had assumed fled the estate twenty minutes earlier, stepped out from behind the velvet drapery holding a Remington shotgun. Before Adrian’s tactical guards could swing their rifles around, the deafening roar of the 12-gauge shook the windows, catching the lead guard square in the chest and sending him crashing backward through a stained-glass window.
Chaos erupted in a fraction of a second.
Adrian dove behind a mahogany sideboard as a hail of return fire chewed through the expensive wood, sending splinters and shards of crystal glassware flying in every direction.
“Vance!” Dominic shouted over the gunfire, dropping into a tactical crouch while double-tapping a round toward the remaining guards near the entrance.
“Got 'em, boss!” Vance roared, pumping the Remington and firing a second shell that tore through the second guard's shoulder, dropping him instantly to the floor.
Brianna didn't scream. Years of analyzing high-pressure financial audits had trained her brain to process chaos in cold, methodical steps. When the first shot rang out, she didn't run toward the door—she dropped flat behind the heavy oak base of the raised dais, pulling her tablet close to her chest.
Across the room, Julian was crawling frantically toward the side exit, his expensive tuxedo stained with dust and spilled bourbon.
“Going somewhere, little brother?” a cold voice echoed through the smoke.
Adrian Vale, moving with terrifying speed despite his age, had flanked the sideboard, sliding across the polished floor with his suppressed pistol leveled directly at Julian’s back.
“Adrian, wait!” Julian screamed, pressing his palms against the floor as he turned to face him. “I gave you everything! I gave you the accounts! I gave you my father!”
“You gave me a headache, Julian,” Adrian said calmly, cocking the hammer of his pistol. “And loose ends get tied up.”
Before Adrian could pull the trigger, a heavy mahogany chair came flying through the air, hurled with terrifying force by Dominic. It struck Adrian square in the shoulder, knocking his aim wide. The bullet punched a hole through the floorboards an inch from Julian’s left ear.
Adrian cursed in Italian, rolling to his feet and bringing his pistol around to face Dominic, who was charging across the room like a freight train.
“Dominic—!” Brianna yelled from her hiding spot.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He closed the distance between them in three massive strides, ignoring the pistol leveled at his chest. As Adrian pulled the trigger, Dominic violently batted the barrel upward. The bullet zipped harmlessly through the ceiling, raining plaster dust down onto their heads.
Then Dominic slammed his fist into Adrian’s jaw with the force of a wrecking ball.
The sound of bone cracking echoed sharply over the fading gunfire. Adrian staggered backward, his pristine silver hair disheveled, blood pooling at the corner of his mouth. Before he could recover, Dominic grabbed him by the lapels of his suit and slammed him against the marble fireplace mantel, pressing his forearm hard against Adrian’s windpipe.
“It ends here,” Dominic growled, his face inches from the cartel boss's.
Adrian coughed, a bloody grin spreading across his bruised lips. “You think... you think killing me stops the board, Dominic? The syndicate in Europe... they already know. If I don't check in by midnight... your entire empire... your ports, your banks... will burn to the ground.”
Dominic didn't blink. He reached down, unclipped the encrypted satellite phone from Adrian’s belt, and tossed it across the room where it smashed against the stone hearth.
“Let them come,” Dominic whispered.
Behind them, a low, terrified whimper broke the silence.
Julian was on his hands and knees, scrambling toward the open terrace doors leading out to the dark Hudson River gardens.
“Vance,” Dominic said without looking back. “Stop him.”
Captain Vance raised the stock of his shotgun, but before he could pull the trigger, Brianna stood up from behind the dais, brushing a speck of dust off the emerald silk of her gown.
“No,” she said.
Dominic turned his head, his slate-gray eyes narrowing as he kept one hand pinning Adrian against the mantel. “What did you say?”
Brianna walked slowly down the steps of the dais, her heels clicking steadily against the oak floor. She stopped ten feet from where Julian was cowering on the terrace threshold.
“Don't shoot him, Dominic,” Brianna said, her voice completely level. “Sending him to an early grave is too easy. It’s what he wants.”
Julian looked up at her, his face streaked with tears and dirt, his eyes wide with terror. “Please... Brianna... tell him—”
“I told your brother everything,” Brianna interrupted, looking down at him with quiet disgust. “Every offshore account. Every shell company. Every straw buyer in Zurich, Malta, and the Caymans. As of twenty minutes ago, my firm’s automated compliance protocol filed an emergency fraud report with the U.S. Attorney’s Office and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Julian froze. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“You didn't just steal eighty-four million dollars from your family, Julian,” Brianna continued, stepping closer so the moonlight from the terrace illuminated her calm, unyielding face. “You laundered federal municipal bond funds through international terrorist-linked accounts. That’s not a syndicate offense. That’s a RICO violation with a mandatory minimum of forty years in a federal penitentiary with no parole.”
Julian let out a hollow, broken sound and collapsed forward onto his face, sobbing uncontrollably.
Dominic stared at Brianna, a slow, dark appreciation finally replacing the raw fury in his eyes. He shoved Adrian hard against the stone, letting the unconscious—or nearly unconscious—cartel boss slide to the floor in a heap.
Sirens began to wail in the distance, growing louder by the second as red and blue lights flashed through the tall windows of the Westchester estate.
“Federal marshals?” Dominic asked quietly, stepping over Adrian’s body to stand beside her.
“And local authorities,” Brianna replied, turning her head to look up at him. She didn't shrink away from his towering presence. Instead, she met his slate-gray gaze with an unshakable, steady intensity. “Your brother gets a jumpsuit and a concrete cell. You get your empire back—clean. And I get to go back to my office and finish my audit.”
Dominic reached out, his large, calloused fingers gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair from her forehead. His touch was surprisingly tender for a man whose hands had just been built for war.
“You’re a terrifying woman, Brianna Monroe,” Dominic murmured.
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“I told you,” she smiled slightly, adjusting the emerald strap of her gown. “People who want me smaller usually want me easier to control. You should have known better.”
***
