Chapter 36
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed hallway. The heavy caliber bullet struck Silas in the side, tearing through his tactical vest just below the armored plating. He grunted, spinning violently backward and crashing into the plaster wall, dropping his rifle.
"Silas!" Clara screamed, diving to the floor and pulling Julian tightly into her arms, covering the boy with her own body.
Marco and his tactical team poured up the stairs instantly, opening fire on Graham. The former patriarch didn't even have time to scream. A dozen bullets shredded his body, throwing him backward into the study. Graham Hart was dead before he hit the Persian rug, his reign of terror finally, permanently extinguished.
Clara didn't look at her father's body. She scrambled across the hallway, sliding on her knees to reach Silas. He was slumped against the wall, clutching his bleeding side, his breathing shallow and ragged.
"Silas, look at me," Clara sobbed, ripping her tactical jacket open and pressing it fiercely against the gunshot wound to staunch the bleeding. "Stay with me. Marco! Get the medics up here now!"
Silas reached out with a trembling, bloody hand, gently touching Clara's cheek. He looked past her to Julian, who was weeping silently in the corner. "Is he... is he safe?"
"He's safe. You saved him," Clara wept, her tears mixing with the soot and blood on his face. "Please, Silas. Don't leave me."
"I'm not going anywhere," Silas gasped, coughing violently. "But I... I can't lead the retaliation. Thorne’s coalition... they will strike the ports tomorrow when they hear about this. You have to... you have to lead them, Clara."
"I can't," Clara shook her head frantically. "I'm not a boss, Silas. I don't know how to command a war."
"You are a Vance," Silas whispered fiercely, his eyes burning with unyielding belief in her. "You are my queen. Put the crown on, Clara. Burn them all."
His eyes rolled back, and he lost consciousness.
The medics arrived seconds later, swarming Silas, loading him onto a stretcher, and rushing him down the stairs toward the waiting triage vehicles.
Clara stood up slowly, her hands covered in her husband's blood. She turned to look at Marco. The veteran security chief was watching her, waiting for a command. The entire syndicate was watching her.
Clara walked into the study, stepping over her father's lifeless body without a single ounce of pity. She walked to the heavy mahogany desk and picked up the encrypted radio communicator that connected directly to the syndicate's lieutenants across the city.
She pressed the transmit button. Her voice, when she spoke, was no longer trembling. It was forged in absolute, terrifying steel.
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"This is Clara Vance," she announced to the underworld. "My husband is incapacitated. Effective immediately, I assume full tactical and financial command of this syndicate. Alexander Thorne and the European coalition have declared war on our family. By sunrise, I want every warehouse, every shipping port, and every front business associated with Thorne reduced to ash. No survivors. No prisoners."
She released the button and looked at Marco. "Arm every man we have. We are going to wipe Alexander Thorne off the face of the earth."
