Chapter 6 - The Broken Line
The disclosure of Marcus’s internal treason fractured the Wellington alliance from within. Within forty-eight hours, Julian’s legal teams had subtly leaked the Panama transaction records to Charles Wellington’s private attorneys. The result was an immediate, violent internal civil war within the Wellington boardroom.
But Marcus wasn't a man who accepted defeat gracefully. Driven by desperation and the fear of his father’s wrath, he decided to bypass the legal avenues entirely.
On a cold, foggy Thursday night, the security alarms of the Nero estate exploded into life.
The high-pitched wail of the sirens shattered the silence of the library. Instantly, the lights inside the mansion flickered out, replaced by the dim, red glow of the auxiliary backup loop.
"Down!" Julian roared, throwing his body over mine as a spray of automatic gunfire shattered the massive glass windows of the library, showering us in glittering shards.
Marco and three other guards burst into the room, their weapons raised, their tactical gear reflecting the red emergency lights. "Boss! They breached the southern wall! It’s a private mercenary crew from the city—Marcus’s personal enforcement line!"
Julian stood up, pulling a heavy, silver-plated Sig Sauer pistol from his shoulder holster with a practiced, terrifying click. His face was completely calm, his silver eyes flashing with a prehistoric, lethal fury.
"Marco, clear the perimeter," Julian commanded, his voice a low, steady vibration that seemed to calm the chaotic roar of the gunfire outside. "Elena, take Isabella to the subterranean vault behind the wine cellar."
"No!" I shouted, grabbing the sleeve of his black shirt. "Julian, he’s coming for me. If you go out there—"
Julian turned, reached out, and pulled me into his chest with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs. He caught my face in his large, warm hands, his mouth finding mine in a deep, desperate, and fiercely possessive kiss that tasted of rain and survival. It was a kiss that didn't ask for permission; it claimed my entire soul.
May you like
"Stay in the vault, Isabella," he whispered against my lips, his gray eyes burning through the darkness. "I survived the streets of Naples and the docks of Brooklyn before Marcus Wellington was even born. I am not going to let a spoiled Manhattan boy touch what belongs to me. I will come back for you."
Before I could answer, he turned and vanished into the smoky corridor, his gun raised, his silhouette looking like a god of war stepping into the fray.
