Chapter 8 - Blood at the Altar
The morning of the wedding arrived under a bright, cloudless blue sky.
The grand courtyard of the Hale estate was transformed into an ocean of white roses, silver chairs, and crystal chandeliers suspended from towering oak trees. Over two hundred guests—politicians, business tycoons, and high-ranking figures from across the East Coast—filled the venue, completely unaware of the war waiting just beyond the iron gates.
At 1:55 p.m., Dominic stood at the head of the altar, wearing a flawless black tuxedo. Beside him stood Marcus Vance as his best man, carrying a heavy concealed sidearm beneath his formal jacket.
At the back of the aisle, the heavy oak doors opened.
Claire walked out, bathed in sunlight. Her ivory lace dress flowed around her like a dream, her veil trailing behind her. She held a bouquet of white orchids, her face radiant, her eyes locked entirely on Dominic.
As she reached the altar, Dominic took her hand, his fingers clasping hers with iron warmth.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered softly.
“You don't look so bad yourself, crime boss,” she whispered back, a bright smile lighting up her face.
At precisely 2:00 p.m., the minister raised his hands. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—”
SCREECH!
The heavy iron gates at the perimeter of the estate were suddenly rammed open by three black armored vans.
Gasps and screams erupted from the guests as the armored vehicles tore across the pristine lawn, skidding to a halt around the perimeter of the courtyard. Dozens of heavily armed men in black tactical gear poured out, led by Victor Vane himself—a tall, scarred man holding an assault rifle.
“NOBODY MOVE!” Victor Vane bellowed into a loudspeaker, his voice echoing across the courtyard. “THIS ESTATE IS UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT! HALE, ON YOUR KNEES!”
The high-society guests shrieked in terror, scrambling beneath tables and chairs.
Dominic didn't flinch. He didn't move an inch. He slowly pulled Claire behind his broad frame, keeping her safely protected behind him, a cold, terrifying smile spreading across his lips.
“You’re ten seconds late, Victor,” Dominic said, his voice echoing loudly over the panic.
Victor Vane frowned, confused by Dominic’s calm demeanor. “What did you say? Mercer disarmed your security! Your guards are gone!”
“Jack Mercer is in my basement in zip-ties, Victor,” Dominic replied smoothly. “And my guards aren't gone. They’re right behind you.”
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
From the rooftops of the mansion, from behind the stone garden walls, and from inside the glass conservatory, forty elite tactical operators in heavy body armor stepped into view, their sniper rifles and automatic weapons trained directly on Victor Vane’s men.
The tables had turned in a single heartbeats. Victor’s thirty mercenaries were completely surrounded in an open courtyard, caught in a lethal crossfire.
“DROP YOUR WEAPONS!” Marcus Vance barked over a megaphone. “NOW!”
Victor Vane’s face went white with horror. He looked around wildly, realizing too late that Jack Mercer’s daily reports had been a trap designed to draw the entire Vane Syndicate leadership out into the open.
Panic erupted among Victor’s men. One mercenary panicked and raised his rifle toward the altar.
SNIPER SHOT.
A high-caliber round echoed from the mansion roof, striking the mercenary square in the chest and dropping him instantly.
“FIRE!” Victor screamed in desperation.
A brief, violent gunfight erupted across the courtyard. Dominic’s team executed their trap with surgical, lethal precision. Within ninety seconds, twenty of Victor’s mercenaries were neutralized, while the remaining ten dropped their weapons and raised their hands in terror, collapsing to their knees in the grass.
Victor Vane tried to turn and run back toward his armored van, but Dominic stepped down from the altar platform, moving with terrifying speed.
Dominic caught Victor by the collar of his tactical vest, swinging him around and slamming him hard against the hood of the black van. Dominic disarmed him with one hand, pressing the barrel of his own custom sidearm directly against Victor’s forehead.
“You tried to ruin my wedding,” Dominic growled, his voice vibrating with absolute lethality.
“Dominic... please...” Victor gasped, trembling in terror. “We can make a deal... the docks... the shipping routes...”
“My wife doesn't like uninvited guests,” Dominic said coldly.
May you like
THUD.
Dominic brought the heavy steel handle of his pistol down across Victor’s jaw, knocking the syndicate boss unconscious onto the grass, where Marcus’s men immediately bound him in heavy steel cuffs.
