Chapter 6 - The Counter-Strike of the Patriarch
The prediction proved accurate within forty-eight hours.
On Saturday evening, while a massive thunderstorm battered the glass windows of the Thorne estate, Victor Rossi made his move. He didn't use lawyers, and he didn't use corporate press releases. He went back to the old ways—the brutal, underground methods that the Rossi family had used to control the docks for three generations before trying to look respectable in high society.
Marcus was sitting in his private study at the estate, reviewing financial data on his laptop, when the main security alarms began to chime in a low, rhythmic pattern. The lights in the house flickered once, then died, plunging the massive stone mansion into a deep, smoky darkness.
Instantly, the backup generators kicked in, illuminating the hallways with a dim, amber emergency glow.
Marcus stood up, his hand automatically reaching into the drawer of his mahogany desk, pulling out a sleek, matte-black semi-automatic pistol. Before he could step toward the door, Vance, his private security director, burst into the room, his tactical vest loaded with extra magazines, his face grim.
"Sir, we’ve got a breach at the southern gate," Vance reported rapidly. "Three blacked-out SUVs cut through the perimeter fencing. They used a high-grade military jammer to knock out our main satellite links. It’s an extraction team. They aren't here for the company assets, Marcus. They’re here for Khloe."
"Where is she?" Marcus demanded, his heart leaping into his throat.
"We moved her into the panic suite in the basement the second the perimeter fence was compromised," Vance said, checking his weapon. "My team is holding the main staircase, but they brought heavy hardware. This isn't a corporate intimidation tactic. This is a hit."
Marcus didn't hesitate. He racked the slide of his pistol, his eyes flashing with a primal, protective fury. "Hold the staircase with everything you have, Vance. If a single one of those bastards steps onto the second floor, terminate them. I’m going down to the basement."
Marcus sprinted through the darkened corridors of his home, his old military training kicking in as he moved silently past the oil paintings and antique furniture. Downstairs, the sound of muffled gunfire and breaking glass began to echo from the grand foyer—the Rossi enforcers were trying to force their way through the armored doors.
He reached the heavy iron door of the basement panic suite, entering the security biometric code rapidly. The thick steel plate slid open with a soft hiss, and he stepped inside, locking it instantly behind him.
Khloe was sitting on a leather couch in the corner, a wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her face pale but her expression remarkably calm. She looked up as Marcus entered, her eyes focusing on the weapon in his hand.
"They're here, aren't they?" she asked quietly.
May you like
Marcus walked over, kneeling in front of her and resting his hand on her knee. "Victor Rossi is trying to use force to create leverage. He thinks if he holds you, he can force me to drop the charges against Isabella and restore his shipping contracts."
He reached out, cup-ping her cheek with his hand. "But he forgot one thing, Khloe. This isn't his dock anymore. This is my home. And I will burn the entire city to the ground before I let anyone touch you again."
