Chapter 5 - The Line in the Dirt
The silence that fell over the farm was absolute.
Wendell’s two guards drew their weapons, stepping forward. But before they could take two steps, the five guards Lucas had brought with him pulled their own weapons, creating a Mexican standoff in the middle of the dirt driveway.
“You took my mother and father,” Lucas whispered, taking a slow step toward his uncle. “You forced me to spend twenty-five years sitting in dark rooms, drinking myself to sleep because I thought I was the reason my family burned.”
“You were a child!” Wendell spat. “You were weak! Your father was going to sign the ports over to the city board!”
“And now you come to my home,” Lucas continued, his voice dropping into a register of pure, unadulterated death. “You stand on my land. And you threaten my children.”
“They aren't just your children, Lucas!” Wendell barked, signaling his men. “They are the Dracott bloodline! They hold the secondary key to the Swiss trust! With them, I don't need your permission to empty the vaults!”
Wendell raised his gun, aiming it straight at Bella. “Hand the boys over, girl, or I start shooting!”
Before Wendell’s finger could apply pressure to the trigger, Lucas moved with horrifying speed.
He didn't draw his gun. He lunged forward, grabbing Wendell’s wrist and wrenching it upward.
CRACK!
A gunshot exploded into the sky as Wendell’s arm snapped back. Lucas slammed his elbow into Wendell’s jaw, sending the older man crashing into the gravel.
At the same instant, Lucas’s security team fired.
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
The silenced shots were sharp and precise. Wendell’s two mercenaries dropped instantly into the mud, their weapons skittering across the driveway.
Bella screamed, throwing her body over Noah and Leo on the porch, shielding them with her arms as the brief, violent clash ended in less than five seconds.
Lucas stood over his uncle, panting heavily, his face flushed with rage. He pulled his Colt .45 and pressed the barrel directly between Wendell’s eyes.
“Give me one reason,” Lucas growled, his jaw working violently. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't burn you in this dirt right now.”
Wendell spat blood onto Lucas’s shoes, glaring up at his nephew with pure hatred. “Do it. Shoot your own blood. Prove to that girl and those boys that you’re nothing but a murderer.”
Lucas froze.
He looked up.
Across the lawn, standing on the small wooden porch, was Bella. She was holding both of their sons tightly against her chest. Leo and Noah were crying, their small hands clutching her sweater, but their storm-gray eyes were locked on Lucas.
They were watching him.
Lucas looked down at the man who had destroyed his childhood, then looked back at the woman and children who held his future.
Slowly, the violent fire in Lucas’s eyes died down, replaced by a deep, terrifying quiet.
He lowered the gun.
“Cyrus,” Lucas commanded quietly.
His head of security stepped forward. “Yes, Mr. Dracott?”
“Take my uncle to the federal authorities in Chicago,” Lucas said flatly. “Hand over the forensic evidence from the 1999 fire, the Swiss banking records, and the wiretap logs. Let him spend the rest of his life in a maximum-security cell thinking about the family he failed to destroy.”
May you like
Wendell’s eyes widened in sheer horror. “Lucas! No! You can’t put me in a federal prison! The Morettis will kill me in a week!”
“Then you’d better start praying, Uncle,” Lucas said coldly as his men dragged Wendell away toward the cars.
