Chapter 7 - The Trial of Steel
The air on the porch turned razor-thin.
Leo’s body went rigid beside Kayla, his knuckles turning white inside his jacket pocket. "Say the word, Boss," Leo murmured under his breath. "My team is positioned on the roof of number 38."
"No," Kayla said quietly.
She looked at Dominic Vance. She saw the same insatiable, toxic greed that had destroyed Richard’s youth and turned his family into monsters. Dominic didn't see human beings; he saw assets, leverage, and territory.
"You haven't changed, Dominic," Kayla said, her voice smooth as glass. "When Richard was dying in that hospital room, you didn't call once to ask if he was in pain. You called his lawyers to ask if his power of attorney had expired."
"Sentiment is for the poor, Kayla," Dominic sneered, taking another step up the stairs. "And as you can see, I am not poor. Hand over the tag."
"I don't have it," Kayla said.
Dominic’s pale eyes narrowed into slits. "Don't play games with me, woman. I know you took it off the dog's collar."
"I did," Kayla admitted. "And three hours ago, I gave it to someone who actually knows how to use it."
Before Dominic could react, the heavy glare of high-beam headlights flooded Ashgrove Street from the south.
A sleek, silver Maybach pulled up behind Dominic's black Suburbans. The driver’s door opened, and Victor Vance stepped out, wearing his navy blue suit, carrying his silver-tipped cane. In his gloved right hand, Victor held up the small metallic tag stamped RICHARD.
"Looking for this, big brother?" Victor asked, his voice echoing across the wet street.
Dominic spun around, his face twisting in sudden rage. "Victor! You backstabbing snake!"
"I may be a snake, Dominic," Victor said, walking calmly toward the edge of the lawn, flanked by six of his own personal security guards, "but I am a Vance. And unlike you, who ran off to France to hide while Richard built this empire, I bled on these docks. When Kayla called me two hours ago and offered me the true key to Richard's legacy, she made one condition."
"What condition?" Dominic hissed, his hand reaching toward his armpit holster.
"That I eliminate you from the board permanently," Victor replied smoothly.
In a fraction of a second, the quiet neighborhood exploded into motion.
Dominic’s bodyguards drew their weapons, but Leo and his snipers on the roof of number 38 opened fire first. Precision suppressed shots shattered the pavement at the bodyguards' feet, disarming two of them instantly while Victor's men tackled the remaining security team to the ground.
Dominic drew his nickel-plated pistol, pointing it directly at Victor's chest, but before his finger could squeeze the trigger, a heavy leather boot struck his wrist with blinding speed.
Kayla had moved off the porch steps like a shadow.
With a fluid, lethal martial efficiency that belied her thirty-nine years, she kicked the gun out of Dominic’s grip, grabbed his collar, twisted his arm behind his back, and slammed him face-first against the hood of his own Suburban.
Dominic gasped for air, his nose bleeding against the wet steel of the car hood. "You... you were just a nurse!" he choked out in disbelief.
"I was an army trauma specialist before I met Richard, Dominic," Kayla whispered in his ear, holding his wrist in a joint-lock that threatened to snap his radius bone with a millimeter more pressure. "Richard didn't marry me because I was soft. He married me because I was the only person alive who could keep him—and men like you—in line."
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She released him, stepping back cleanly as Victor's men moved in with zip-ties, binding Dominic’s hands behind his back.
Victor walked over, looking down at his defeated older brother with cold detachment. "Put him on a cargo vessel bound for South America," Victor ordered his men. "Strip his accounts. Let him see what it feels like to start from nothing."
