Chapter 4 - BLOOD IN THE WINE CELLAR
The air in the basement was noticeably colder than the upper floors. The scent of spilled wine, damp stone, and copper hung thick in the narrow corridors.
Roman moved like a panther—fluid, noiseless, and deadly. Claire trailed two paces behind, her hands steady on the revolver, her eyes sweeping the perimeter just as her father had taught her years ago.
They reached the edge of the main wine cellar. Through the timber archway, the heavy iron door leading to the storm drain swung open. Three men slid into the room, their boots clicking against the wet concrete floor.
“Scout’s dead,” one of the men whispered over a low-frequency radio. “Found him in the pantry. Neck snapped. Looks like he got surprised.”
“Where’s Vale?” a voice crackled back through the radio.
“Inside. The place is on lock. We need to find the override panel in his study and blow the doors from the inside. The Bishop wants Vale alive if possible, but the girl dies on sight.”
Claire’s heart slammed against her ribs. The girl dies on sight. Victor Vance knew she was here. He knew she had witnessed the scout’s death.
Roman leaned close to her ear, his breath warm against her neck. “Take the guy on the left. On three.”
Claire nodded, raising her firearm and aligning the front sight with the chest of the left-hand mercenary.
“One,” Roman whispered.
“Two.”
“Three.”
BANG.
Claire pulled the trigger. The heavy report of the revolver shattered the silence of the basement. The bullet struck the left mercenary square in the chest, knocking him backward against a rack of vintage Merlot. Glass shattered, showering the floor in dark red liquid.
At the exact same instant, Roman stepped into the doorway, firing three rapid shots from his suppressed pistol. The two remaining mercenaries dropped instantly, killed before they could even raise their weapons.
The echo of the gunfire died down, leaving only the sound of running water from the open drainage hatch and Claire’s heavy breathing.
Roman stepped forward, swiftly clearing the bodies and kicking their dropped weapons away. He looked back at Claire, a glint of fierce pride in his eyes.
“Good shot,” he said.
Claire lowered her weapon, her hands slightly numb from the recoil. “I told you I knew how to shoot.”
Roman crouched beside the mercenary leader and yanked off his helmet. The man was young, barely thirty, with a tactical tattoo of a crow on his neck—the signature mark of the Corvus Security Group, a elite mercenary outfit known for high-stakes corporate hits.
Roman reached into the dead man’s tactical vest and pulled out a radio unit. He pressed the broadcast button.
“Victor,” Roman said into the transmitter, his voice smooth, calm, and utterly terrifying.
A pause filled the speaker with static. Then, a low, raspy laugh responded.
“Roman,” Victor Vance’s voice echoed through the small radio speaker. “I see you found my welcoming committee.”
“You sent four men into my home,” Roman said, stepping over the dead mercenary. “All four are dead. Your dark zone failed.”
“A minor inconvenience,” Victor replied smoothly. “I didn’t expect a simple maid to offer so much resistance. Claire Bennett, isn't it? Charming girl. It’s a pity she brought herself into the middle of a blood feud.”
May you like
Roman’s eyes darkened into ice. “If you speak her name again, Victor, I won’t just kill you. I’ll dismantle everything you’ve built over the last ten years, piece by piece.”
“You don’t have time for threats, Roman,” Victor sneered. “Check your main gate camera feed. I’m not in the woods. I’m at your front door with heavy armor. And I have someone you might want to see.”
