Chapter 9 - The Ghost at the Gate
The silence that followed Vance's words was heavier than the ocean fog.
Elena felt a cold spike of ice shoot straight down her spine. The memories of that rainy night in Boston—the sound of Julian’s manic voice, the smell of cordite in the warehouse, the terror of holding a syringe filled with paralytic—came rushing back like a tidal wave.
"How?" Victor asked. His voice was terrifyingly calm, devoid of all emotion.
"Inside help," Vance admitted, his jaw tightening with frustration. "Two guards were bought off by old Castellano loyalty funds hidden in an offshore account we hadn't seized yet. A transport van was ambushed on Route 50. Julian vanished into the mountains."
Vance stepped up one stair, holding out the manila envelope.
"We intercepted a encrypted transmission sent from a burner phone in Denver three hours ago," Vance continued. "Julian isn't fleeing to South America, Victor. He’s coming here. He knows you're in Oregon. He’s spent the last two months gathering what’s left of his old mercenary crew. He wants revenge before he disappears forever."
Victor slowly reached out and took the envelope. He opened the flap, pulling out three surveillance photographs.
The first showed Julian Castellano—his face thinner, his hair shorn short, a jagged scar running across his forehead from the crash at the docks—stepping into a stolen SUV. The second photo showed four heavily armed men loading military-grade rifles into a black cargo van.
"I have a tactical team forty minutes away in Euroka," Vance said. "We can relocate you and Miss Reyes to a safe house in Washington state within the hour—"
"No," Victor interrupted flatly.
Vance blinked. "What do you mean, no? Victor, he has automatic weapons and four professional hitmen. You don't have your guards anymore. You don't have your estate defenses."
Victor looked down at the photographs, then turned his dark eyes onto the federal agent.
"If I run now, Vance, he will track us to Washington. He will track us to Canada. He will track her mother and her sister," Victor said, his tone absolute, carrying the immovable weight of a mountain. "I spent three years hiding in a wheelchair to protect my family. I am finished running."
"Victor, please," Elena gasped, grabbing his arm. "You can't fight them alone! You don't have to do this anymore!"
Victor turned to her, taking both her hands into his. He looked into her eyes with a profound, terrifying clarity.
"I'm not fighting for an empire today, Elena," Victor whispered softly. "I'm fighting for our home. I won't let that snake take a single second of peace away from you."
He looked back at Agent Vance.
"Take Elena to her mother's house down the coast," Victor commanded the agent. "Put four of your best men on that bungalow. Lock the perimeter. Leave your secondary weapon and your tactical radio with me."
Vance stared at Victor for five long seconds, realizing there was no force on earth that could alter the former king's mind. Vance reached beneath his suit jacket, pulled out a black SIG Sauer 9mm pistol and three spare magazines, and laid them on the wooden porch railing alongside a encrypted radio.
"You have two hours before nightfall, Victor," Vance said quietly. "My strike team will be moving in from the south, but the coastal fog will slow them down."
"Two hours is more than enough," Victor replied softly.
Elena wrapped her arms tightly around Victor’s neck, burying her face into his chest, smelling the cedar and ocean on his skin. She didn't cry. She held him with everything she had, feeling the powerful, steady beat of his heart.
"You come back to me," she demanded against his ear, her voice fierce and unyielding. "Do you hear me, Victor Cole? You come back."
May you like
Victor held her close, pressing a deep, burning kiss against her lips.
"I will always come back to you, Elena," he whispered. "Always."
