Chapter 7 - The desperate gambit
The accusation hung in the bright, cinematic air of the ballroom like a drawn sword. The elegant music stopped entirely. The guests backed away, leaving Celeste standing completely isolated in her blood-red gown.
“You are out of your mind,” Celeste spat, pointing a shaking finger at the old man, but the terror in her eyes was unmistakable.
Dominic stepped forward, his massive frame shielding Clara. He pulled the charred, heavy parchment from the inner pocket of his charcoal tuxedo and held it up.
“My brother found the original transfer deed,” Dominic declared, his voice booming with intimidating power. “He found out my father forged the documents to steal this estate and the syndicate's legitimate holding companies from Evelyn Bennett. He wanted to return it. So Celeste cut his brakes. And an hour ago, she poisoned my lawyer, Marcus Thorne, to stop him from legally returning the assets to Clara today.”
The elders began to murmur, their faces hardening. Murdering a syndicate boss's brother was a crime punishable only by total erasure.
Celeste looked around the room. She saw the loyalty of the elders shifting. She saw the guards at the doors resting their hands on their weapons. She had lost the political war. But Celeste was not a woman who surrendered.
She let out a piercing, sharp whistle.
Instantly, the heavy glass windows of the ballroom overlooking the terrace shattered inward. There was no gunfire, but a dozen men dressed in tactical black gear swung into the room on ropes, armed with heavy batons and stun weapons. Celeste had anticipated failure. She had hired an outside mercenary crew, bypassing the syndicate's security entirely.
Screams erupted as the elite guests scattered in panic, high heels slipping on the marble floor.
“Take the girl!” Celeste screamed, pointing frantically at Clara. “If she dies, the bloodline ends! The deed means nothing!”
Dominic moved faster than a man his size should be able to. He grabbed Clara by the waist, practically lifting her off the ground, and pulled her behind a massive marble pillar just as two mercenaries lunged at them.
Dominic didn't draw a gun. He was a brawler, a man raised in the violent shadows of the underworld. He caught the first mercenary’s baton with his bare hand, twisting the man's wrist until he dropped it, then delivered a devastating, crushing blow to the man’s jaw, dropping him instantly.
“Stay behind me,” Dominic roared to Clara, ripping off his charcoal tuxedo jacket to free his arms. The white dress shirt stretched tight over his heavy muscles.
The ballroom descended into chaotic, cinematic combat. The syndicate guards engaged the mercenaries in brutal hand-to-hand combat amidst the overturned tables and shattered crystal. It was a beautiful, terrifying display of high-society violence.
Celeste, realizing she could not win the physical fight, slipped through the chaos. She knew there was only one place to go. The hidden study. If she could destroy the portrait and find the remaining hidden documents, she could still leverage a deal.
Clara peeked around the pillar. She saw Celeste slipping out the side door, heading toward the residential wing.
“Dominic!” Clara shouted over the noise, pointing toward the door. “She’s going to the study! She’s going to destroy my grandmother’s room!”
Dominic threw a mercenary into a catering table, his chest heaving, his fair skin flushed with adrenaline. He looked at Clara, his dark eyes fierce and protective.
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“Go to the study. Use the hidden passage. I will hold them here and follow you,” Dominic commanded, handing her the heavy brass key. “Do not let her inside that room, Clara. It belongs to you.”
Clara took the key, her fingers gripping the cold brass. She hiked up the skirt of her midnight-blue gown and ran, leaving the chaotic ballroom behind, plunging into the dark, quiet halls of the mansion to confront the woman who had terrorized her.
