Chapter 3 - Five Suits in the Ballroom
The double oak doors of the ballroom swung wide open, the brass handles rebounding against the wood with a sharp crack that echoed like a gunshot through the vaulted ceiling.
Dominic walked in first. His eyes bypassed the fifty staring socialites, bypassed the glittering chandeliers, and landed squarely on me. The moment he saw the faint trace of red wine on my cuff and the tightness in my jaw, his dark eyes hardened into frosted obsidian.
The four brothers followed him into the room, fanning out with effortless, disciplined precision.
Margaret Cole gasped, clutching her emerald necklace as if the room had been breached by barbarians. “Richard! Call security immediately! What is the meaning of this vulgar intrusion?!”
Two of the estate’s private security guards stepped forward from the terrace archway, their hands moving toward their holsters.
Dominic didn't even turn his head. He merely lifted his right hand, displaying a sleek titanium badge clipped to his breast pocket.
“Stand down,” Dominic spoke, his voice low, gravelly, and vibrating with absolute command. “This detail is operating under federal security escort protocol Alpha-Nine. If either of you touches your service weapon, you will be in federal custody before your feet leave this marble.”
The guards looked at the badge, recognized the signature insignia of Aegis Defense, and stepped back against the wall, lowering their eyes.
Adrian scrambled forward, his face flushing crimson with a mixture of fear and bruised pride. “This is my private residence! You have no right to barge in here! Elena, tell your brothers to get out!”
Luca Moretti, the attorney, stepped forward, unbuttoning his tailored suit jacket to pull a dark leather folio from his interior pocket.
“This residence does not belong to you, Adrian,” Luca said smoothly, his voice cutting through the room with razor-sharp legal precision. “The deed to the Cole estate was collateralized thirty-six months ago through a second-lien mortgage held by the Moretti Heritage Trust. Technically, you are standing on our carpet.”
Richard Cole lunged forward, his cigar shaking between his fingers. “That's preposterous! I founded Cole Construction forty years ago! I borrowed that liquidity from an offshore commercial syndicate in Zurich!”
Matteo Moretti stepped up beside Luca, a cold, mocking smirk playing on his lips.
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“The Zurich syndicate was Solstice Maritime Holdings, Richard,” Matteo remarked casually. “And I am the sole managing director of Solstice Maritime. You've been paying your interest to my family’s accounts every quarter for three years.”
Richard’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The patriarch of the Cole empire swayed slightly on his feet, his face turning the color of wet plaster.
