Chapter 7 - Blood on the Marble
The storm hit the estate at 5:30 AM—not a storm of weather, but of gunfire.
The heavy glass doors of the grand foyer shattered as Julian’s hired mercenaries breached the mansion. Suppressed automatic fire echoed through the corridors as Julian's men quickly eliminated the few security guards who remained loyal to Lucas.
Julian walked down the grand staircase, a pistol in his hand, looking down at the bloody chaos with calm satisfaction. He pulled his phone out and dialed the offshore board members.
"It's happening now," Julian said coldly. "By six o'clock, I will be the sole executor of the Moretti estate and all shipping assets."
"And the girl?" the voice on the phone asked. "The maid’s child?"
"She dies with Lucas," Julian spat. "No loose ends."
Suddenly, the lights throughout the entire thirty-thousand-square-foot mansion flickered and went black.
The emergency back-up generators failed to kick in—Lucas had personally severed the main power relays five minutes earlier.
Panic rippled through the mercenaries in the dark foyer. Night-vision goggles were hastily pulled down, flooding their vision with green-hued light.
"Keep moving!" Julian shouted, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Find Lucas!"
From the shadows above the grand staircase, a voice spoke—cold, deep, and carrying the authority of a man who had survived a hundred wars.
"You always were impatient, Julian."
A flash of muzzle light illuminated the second-floor landing.
Lucas fired three precise shots. Three mercenaries dropped instantly to the marble floor.
The remaining men opened fire, riddling the balcony with high-caliber rounds, but Lucas was already moving—a ghost in the house he had lived in his entire life. He knew every shadow, every hidden passageway, every creaking floorboard.
He dropped down behind two mercenaries near the library, neutralizing them before they could even turn their weapons. He moved with brutal, terrifying efficiency, fueled by three years of buried rage and the terrible truth he had uncovered that night.
Julian retreated into the grand dining room, his face pale as he heard his hired men falling one by one in the dark house.
"Lucas!" Julian screamed into the darkness, his voice betraying his rising panic. "You can't win this! The board owns everything! They own the police, they own the docks, they own the judges! Even if you kill me, you're a dead man!"
A heavy thud echoed as the last mercenary was thrown through the glass doors of the dining room, motionless.
Then, heavy footsteps approached the doorway.
Lucas stepped into the room, holding his empty sidearm, his face spattered with blood—none of it his own.
The morning sun was just beginning to cut through the high windows, casting long, dramatic shadows across the room.
Julian aimed his gun directly at Lucas’s chest. His hand was trembling.
"Why, Julian?" Lucas asked, his voice deathly quiet. "I trusted you with my life. I gave you half of everything I owned."
Julian’s eyes burned with envy and hatred. "You gave me crumbs! Your father built a empire, and you wanted to destroy it for a music teacher! You were going to hand everything over to charities and walk away! I built this company as much as you did! I deserved to lead!"
"Is that why you killed Isabella?" Lucas asked, stepping closer despite the gun pointed at him. "Is that why you killed a four-year-old boy in a car on the highway?"
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Julian sneered, dropping all pretense. "She made you weak, Lucas! And the kid was going to grow up just like you! I had to clean the slate so you’d focus on the business! But you became obsessed with revenge instead of profit! You forced my hand!"
"You didn't clean the slate, Julian," Lucas said softly. "You wrote your own death warrant."
