“You sold out three generations of service for paper,” Vincent hissed.
“Paper buys island sun, Vincent.
Loyalty only bought me sixty-hour work weeks and your father’s lectures,” Julian countered.
Across the room, Marcus Vance shifted slightly, his silenced pistol remaining unwavering from Liam’s temple.
Arthur took a deliberate, leisurely step forward, his combat boots crunching over the shards of decorative porcelain scattered across the Persian rug.
The shotgun rested comfortably in the crook of his arm, his scarred lip curling into an arrogant smirk.
“Do you see the beauty of this, brother?”
Arthur said, gesturing broadly to the fractured study.
“You thought wealth was about corporate philanthropy, clean balance sheets, and keeping hands unstained.
But the foundation of Moretti Global was forged in dynamite, iron, and blood.
Our father built an empire by breaking men, not coddling them.
And tonight, I strip you of every illusion you’ve spent five years cultivating.”
Emma felt the pulse thumping wildly in her throat, but when she looked toward Liam, she saw the sheer terror in her little brother’s eyes.
That look severed every thread of fear holding her back.
It was the same fury that had driven her to step between Victoria Sterling and the frail old woman at the grand banquet.
She was not a trained killer, and she was not a billionaire with armies at her call, but she refused to let these predators use her as an instrument to break Vincent or butcher her brother.
“Arthur,” Emma spoke, her voice surprisingly steady, cutting through the low whine of the wind against the fractured glass.
“You talk about strength, but you’re hiding behind an old man holding a child hostage and a bought guard holding a waitress.
If you’re the rightful heir to an empire, why do you look so pathetic?”
Arthur’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a venomous scowl.
“Shut her up, Julian.”
Julian tightened his grip, pulling Emma back half an inch.
But that split-second shift in attention was the only opening Vincent needed.
With blinding speed born of years of combat discipline, Vincent didn’t fire at Arthur.
Instead, he twisted sideways and discharged two rapid rounds directly into the reinforced glass wall behind Julian and Emma.
The compromised safety glass, already stressed by hurricane-force winds, exploded outward with the deafening roar of a bomb blast.
A violent vacuum of wind and driving rain burst into the room, tearing loose paperwork, shattering crystal, and throwing everyone off balance.
Julian stumbled backward on the slick hardwood floor as gale-force air hit him like a physical wall.
“Now, Emma!”
Vincent roared over the tempest.
Chapter 23 – Fracture Point
Julian gagged as cartilage compressed under Emma’s desperate strike, his grip slipping from her jacket.
Free for a fraction of a second, Emma dropped straight to the floor, rolling beneath the arc of Julian’s wild counter-swing.
“Liam, down!” she screamed into the howling wind.
Chaos erupted inside the grand library.
Arthur fired his shotgun, the heavy blast tearing a gaping hole through the solid oak desk where Vincent had been standing an instant earlier.
Wood splinters flew like shrapnel.
Vincent was already moving—a lethal specter in the storm-tossed dark.
He vaulted over a collapsed leather sofa, bringing his shoulder hard into Arthur’s midsection.
The two brothers collided with bone-jarring impact, crashing against the far wall lined with leather-bound books.
Across the room, Marcus Vance tried to re-aim his pistol at the scrambling boy, but Liam, fueled by pure adrenaline, hurled the heavy metal flashlight directly at the old man’s face.
The flashlight caught Vance squarely on the bridge of his nose with a wet crunch.
Vance stumbled back with a cry of pain, blood spurting between his fingers, his shot veering wildly into the ceiling plaster.
Emma lunged across the slick floor, wrapping her arms around Liam and dragging him behind the heavy overturned mahogany credenza.
“Stay down, stay behind me!” she gasped, pressing her forehead against his trembling hair.
“Emma, I’m scared!”
Liam cried, gripping her shirt until his knuckles turned purple.
“I know, baby.
Keep your eyes shut.
Do not look.”
Behind them, the struggle was ferocious.
Arthur was larger, built like a battering ram from years of rough living in the Eastern European black markets, but Vincent moved with cold, mechanical precision.
Arthur drove a heavy combat boot into Vincent’s ribs, knocking him back, but Vincent absorbed the hit, driving an open-palm strike beneath Arthur’s chin that snapped the elder brother’s head backward.
Julian, having recovered from Emma’s blow, leveled his weapon at Vincent’s exposed back.
“Boss, move!” he yelled, finger tightening on the trigger.
“Julian, behind you!”
Vance shouted through a mask of blood.
The reinforced double doors of the library were suddenly kicked off their hinges with a thunderous bang.
