Chapter 6 - The First Blood
The loud echo of the slamming doors caused a sudden hush to fall over the massive ballroom.
My men instinctively reached inside their jackets, recognizing the subtle shift in the room's atmosphere.
Vanessa remained standing at the head table, her smile never faltering for a single second.
She dramatically gestured toward the far end of the room where her father, Don Marino, was sitting.
Don Marino stood up slowly, leaning heavily on a silver-tipped walking cane.
He declared that the Marino family valued transparency above everything else in this sacred partnership.
He falsely claimed that he had uncovered a plot by a traitor within my own ranks to sabotage the wedding.
I knew immediately that they were framing one of my men to start the violence on their terms.
Before I could issue a command, a dozen Marino enforcers pulled submachine guns from beneath the serving tables.
They did not aim at the crowd, but directly at the senior members of my crew.
I flipped the heavy mahogany table forward, shattering crystal glasses and plates everywhere.
I yelled for my men to take cover as the deafening roar of automatic gunfire erupted.
The ballroom descended into absolute chaos, with terrified guests screaming and diving for the exits.
I drew my weapon and fired three precise shots, dropping the enforcers nearest to my position.
I searched through the thick smoke and flying debris for Vanessa, but she had already slipped away through a concealed service door.
The Marino family had clearly planned this ambush meticulously, using the rehearsal dinner as a trap.
I crawled behind a shattered marble pillar, reloading my weapon with practiced speed.
My men were fighting back fiercely, but we were heavily outnumbered in the enclosed space.
I needed to break the line and get to the communications room to call in my reserve forces.
I signaled to three of my best shooters to lay down suppressing fire toward the main staircase.
They unleashed a barrage of bullets, forcing the Marino gunmen to duck behind the catering stations.
I sprinted across the open floor, sliding behind the heavy oak double doors of the hallway.
The marble floors were slick with spilled champagne and fresh blood.
I pulled out my phone to call Grant, desperately needing to know if the safehouse was secure.
The line rang twice before a burst of static crackled in my ear.
May you like
Grant answered, but his voice was weak and strained with agonizing pain.
He told me that the helicopter pilot had been a Marino spy, and they had just crashed into the forest.
