Chapter 10 - Blood on the Marble
Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat. The gun in his hand wavered between Julian and the woman on the landing. ""You... you're dead. I watched the divers scour the bay for two weeks.""
""You watched your hired divers, Arthur,"" Elena said, descending the steps one by one, her weapon fixed entirely on Sterling's forehead. ""You didn't know the Coast Guard recovery team was answering directly to the Federal Task Force.""
The enforcer moved forward, raising the crowbar, but Marcus stepped out from the hallway shadows, his weapon trained behind the man’s ear. ""Drop it,"" Marcus growled. ""Or you won't live to see the arraignment.""
The enforcer cursed softly and let the iron bar clatter against the marble.
Arthur backed toward the shattered French doors, his chest heaving, realization finally suffocating his arrogance. ""Elena... think about what you're doing. The Sterling foundation holds notes on half your maritime fleet. If I go down, Northwood Shipping goes into bankruptcy.""
""Let it burn,"" Julian said, stepping into Arthur’s peripheral vision. ""We built that company with our bare hands. We can build it again without your blood money.""
Arthur snarled, his finger tightening on the trigger as he swung the revolver back toward Julian.
Crack.
The shot echoed deafeningly in the enclosed foyer. Arthur’s revolver spun out of his grip as a bullet from Elena's pistol struck the antique mahogany banister an inch from his fingers, showering him with splinters. Simultaneously, Marcus tackled the stunned enforcer to the floor, pinning him under his full weight.
Julian surged forward, kicking Arthur’s fallen weapon across the floor, driving his fist squarely into Sterling's jaw. The elder patriarch collapsed onto the drenched foyer rug, dazed and helpless.
Sirens wailed in the near distance—not local cruisers, but the deep, synchronized air horns of federal black SUVs tearing through the estate gates.
Julian stood over Arthur, his knuckles bruised, breathing hard. Then, he turned.
Elena stood at the base of the staircase, lowering her firearm. The weapon slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the soft rug. For a long, fragile moment, neither of them moved. The three years of grief, the empty beds, the cold headstone in the memorial garden—all of it seemed to dissolve beneath the fierce warmth of her gaze.
May you like
""Julian,"" she choked out, her voice breaking.
Julian closed the distance in two strides, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her against his chest with a desperate, crushing intensity. She buried her face in his neck, sobbing freely as the weight of survival finally gave way to safety.
