Chapter 11
The explosive intrusion of the two Moretti enforcers shattered the agonizing tension of the dining room. The heavy walnut doors splintered, scattering jagged fragments across the pristine marble floor. The bright, golden light from the crystal chandeliers caught the glint of their raised assault rifles. Ethan Blackwell did not dive for cover. He moved with a terrifying, fluid grace that belied his massive, tailored frame.
Before the enforcers could even steady their sights, Ethan spun on his heel. He didn't fire wildly; his movements were executed with lethal, robotic precision. The suppressed handgun coughed twice in rapid succession. The sharp cracks echoed off the ivory-paneled walls.
The first enforcer dropped instantly, a flawless shot perfectly centered in his chest. The second man fired a frantic burst, the bullets shattering a silver candelabra and sending white roses and hot wax raining down onto the polished walnut table.
Ethan stepped into the line of fire, entirely unfazed. He raised his weapon and delivered a second, decisive strike. The remaining enforcer crumpled against the heavy silk curtains, neutralizing the immediate threat.
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The dining room fell into a heavy, ringing silence, broken only by Vanessa’s hysterical, breathless sobbing near the marble fireplace. Ethan stood amidst the ruin of his engagement dinner, his breathing perfectly even, completely untouched by the violence.
"Did you believe... two men... could secure my throne?" Ethan murmured, his volume incredibly low as he slowly turned his attention back to the cowering woman.
