Chapter 8
Xavier walked down the corridor toward the grand ballroom, Marcus flanking him slightly behind. The absolute stillness of Xavier's demeanor was terrifying. He didn't rush. His polished leather shoes fell in a slow, rhythmic cadence against the Persian runners. He was a predator entirely assured of his domain. Zariah was safe, locked behind steel with three loyal men guarding her door. Now, it was time for the reckoning.
They reached the heavy brass-studded oak doors of the ballroom. Vincent and two other heavily armed capos were standing guard outside. They straightened up immediately as Xavier approached.
"Status, Vincent?" Xavier asked, his voice a low, commanding rumble.
"We swept the room, Boss," Vincent reported, looking grim. "Fifty guests inside. Eight are dead, including the Lucchese assassin and the four traitors who opened fire. The rest are completely cooperative. Julian and Caroline are secured in the center."
"Open the doors."
Vincent threw the deadbolts and pushed the heavy oak doors open.
The grand ballroom was a graveyard of luxury. The natural cinematic lighting now illuminated bullet holes in the marble, shattered crystal, and the ruined, flower-covered wedding arch. In the exact center of the room, kneeling among the white petals and shattered porcelain of the antique vase, were Julian and Caroline Mercer.
Their hands were bound tightly behind their backs with thick plastic zip-ties. Caroline’s pale, fair skin was smeared with soot, tears, and chocolate frosting, her luxurious formal gown ripped at the hem. Julian looked pathetic, his nose broken, his expensive tailored suit covered in dirt and blood from the arch collapse.
The remaining guests were huddled against the far walls, completely silent, watching the boss enter.
Xavier walked slowly across the floor. He stopped a few feet in front of the kneeling couple. He looked down at them, his deep, rich ebony skin practically absorbing the light, his presence dominating the entire room.
"Xavier," Julian begged, his voice a wet, pathetic croak. "Please. I have money. I can fix this. I can call New York and call off the hit. Just let us live."
"You don't have money, Julian," Xavier corrected him smoothly. "While you were locked in this room, my offshore teams emptied your shell accounts. You are completely bankrupt."
Caroline let out a devastated, hysterical sob. "You can't do that! That's ours!"
"It was stolen from my father," Xavier stated coldly. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the small metallic digital drive. He held it up so they could both see it clearly.
Julian’s eyes widened in sheer panic.
"I watched your extraction video," Xavier continued, his voice dropping in volume until it was a lethal, quiet hiss. "I heard your plan for my daughter. I heard you discuss handing her over to Caroline to secure the trust fund after my murder."
"It wasn't my idea!" Caroline shrieked, desperately throwing herself forward on her knees. "Julian made me say it! He threatened me, Xavier!"
"Liar!" Julian screamed back at his wife, thrashing wildly. "You wrote the script! You were the one who wanted the kid!"
"It doesn't matter whose idea it was," Xavier interrupted. He looked at Marcus. "Bring me a chair."
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Marcus brought a heavy wooden dining chair over. Xavier sat down gracefully, adjusting his cuffs, his family signet ring catching the light. He looked at the two traitors like they were insects.
"The Lucchese family wants my empire," Xavier said. "And you two are going to help me destroy them."
