Chapter 5 - The Blood Betrayal
Marcus took a step backward, his hand sliding instinctively toward the holster beneath his suit jacket. The four armed enforcers in the room shifted uncomfortably, looking between their boss and their longtime commander.
"Boss, you're delusional," Marcus laughed nervously, though sweat was beading on his forehead. "The poison—if it was poison—could have come from anywhere. A rival syndicate, a disgruntled vendor—"
"It wasn't a syndicate," Aleandro interrupted, his voice ringing with a terrifying, absolute finality. "Because no rival syndicate knew that I take a glass of unsealed scotch from that exact crystal decanter every afternoon at precisely 4:15 PM. Only one person in this house manages my private schedule, my security overrides, and my kitchen access."
Aleandro stopped two feet from Marcus.
"Ten years, Marcus," Aleandro said quietly. "You buried my enemies. You stood by me when the car bomb took Isabella and Kiara. I trusted you with my life."
"And what did that get me?!" Marcus suddenly snapped, his mask of loyalty shattering as he drew his pistol and aimed it straight at Aleandro’s chest.
The room erupted in chaos. Sophia screamed, pulling Emma down behind the heavy mahogany desk. The four enforcers raised their weapons, aiming at Marcus.
"You grew weak, Aleandro!" Marcus shouted, his face twisted with bitter resentment, spittle flying from his lips. "Ever since your wife and kid died, you’ve been running this empire like a mourning monk! You refused to expand into the Jersey ports. You blocked the new drug routes. You were going to hand the entire syndicate over to the council next month and retire to a quiet life! If you died of a 'natural heart attack' in your locked study, the board would have stepped in, and I would have taken the throne!"
Marcus’s finger tightened on the trigger. "And it would have worked! If it weren't for this damn brat wandering down the hall with her medical trash!"
Marcus swung the barrel of his gun away from Aleandro, aiming it directly down at the desk where little Emma was hiding.
"Starting with her," Marcus snarled.
Before Marcus could pull the trigger, a deafening explosion echoed through the study.
Bang.
Marcus’s eyes widened. He dropped his pistol, clutching his right shoulder as blood burst through his tailored white shirt. He spun around and collapsed hard against the heavy oak doors.
Aleandro lowered his own custom 9mm Sig Sauer, smoke curling lazily from the barrel. He hadn't even flinched.
"Nobody," Aleandro whispered, walking forward and pressing the cold steel barrel of his gun against Marcus’s forehead, "touches what belongs to my house."
Marcus gasped, trembling in terror.
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"Take him down to the basement vault," Aleandro ordered without looking back at his enforcers. "Strip him of his rank, seize every cent in his offshore accounts, and let him rot in the dark until federal prosecutors arrive in the morning."
Two enforcers grabbed the screaming traitor and dragged him out of the room, leaving a dark smear of blood across the polished marble floor.
