Chapter 5 - THE COLLAPSE OF THE EMPIRE
The heavy glass paperweight struck the intruder squarely across the bridge of his nose with a sickening crunch, shattering his momentum just as my weight slammed into his chest. We crashed backward through a display cabinet filled with centuries-old Venetian glassware, sending a cascade of crystal shards raining down around us like frozen diamonds.
The suppressed pistol flew from his hand, skidding across the polished floorboards and disappearing under the heavy velvet curtains by the bay window.
The man—*D*—growled like an enraged animal, his hands flying to my throat with terrifying strength. His fingers dug into my windpipe, cutting off my air supply as we rolled across the shattered glass. Pain flared along my arms and back, but adrenaline fueled every fiber of my being. I thought of Leo. I thought of my little boy screaming in the dark, tortured night after night while this monster and the woman I intended to marry laughed behind our backs.
With a final, desperate surge of strength, I drove my knee upward into his midsection.
He doubled over with a sharp gasp of air, his grip on my throat loosening instantly. I didn't hesitate. I brought my clenched fists down behind his neck in a heavy hammer blow that sent him crashing face-first into the Persian rug. He went completely limp, unconscious and bleeding freely from his broken nose.
Heavy breathing filled the ruined study. I pushed myself up from the floor, coughing violently as I clutched my bruised throat. Clara was immediately at my side, her steady hands checking my pulse and dusting shards of glass from my suit jacket shoulders.
“Are you alright, Mr. Vance?” she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos.
“I’m alive,” I wheezed, straightening my collar with a trembling hand. “And Victoria isn’t going anywhere.”
We walked out of the study, leaving the unconscious assassin tied up securely with heavy velvet drapery cords courtesy of Clara’s swift improvisational genius. The grand hallway was dead silent. Downstairs, the crystal chandelier cast a brilliant, glittering light over the marble foyer, where Victoria stood by the front door, dragging a massive Louis Vuitton suitcase behind her.
She froze as we descended the grand staircase, her eyes widening in sheer terror as she looked past me, expecting to see her partner walking down the steps with a smoking gun. Instead, she saw only me—cold, ruthless, and entirely unbroken.
“James,” she stammered, her voice dropping all its previous arrogance, turning into a pathetic, trembling whine. “James, please. He forced me. That man… he threatened my life. He made me put those things in Leo’s room. I never wanted to hurt your son!”
I stopped three steps from the bottom, looking down at the woman I had nearly made my wife.
“You didn't just want to hurt him, Victoria,” I said, my voice echoing off the marble pillars of the foyer. “You wanted to destroy everything I loved so you could inherit a hollow shell.”
I pulled my phone from my suit pocket, tapped the screen, and placed it on speaker. The crisp, automated voice of the local precinct captain came through instantly.
“Vance, we got your emergency ping. SWAT unit is five minutes out from the gates. What’s the situation?”
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“Captain,” I said, locking my eyes onto Victoria as she collapsed to her knees in despair on the marble floor. “Send every available unit to the mansion. I have an assassin tied up in my study, and a high-profile criminal accessory ready for immediate arrest in my foyer.”
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