Chapter 8 - THE RECKONING IN THE SNOW
-21
Upstairs, the expansive, luxurious chalet had been transformed into a silent, deadly hunting ground.
Sebastian moved through the darkened hallways like a phantom, his footsteps completely silent against the imported Persian rugs. The auxiliary power had been deliberately cut by an external charge, plunging the mansion into an eerie twilight illuminated only by the pale, ghostly glow of the blizzard pressing against the glass windows.
He heard them before he saw them—the crunch of heavy tactical boots on the hardwood floor of the main foyer, followed by the low, muffled chatter of encrypted radio comms.
"Sector One is clear. Advancing toward the West Wing," a harsh voice whispered through a hidden ear-piece.
Three figures clad in matte-black tactical gear emerged from the shadows of the grand staircase, their assault rifles raised, sweeping the corners with military-grade precision. They were professionals—men trained to extract targets without leaving a trace, operating under the assumption that an isolated billionaire in an alpine chalet would be caught completely off guard.
They didn't know who they were hunting.
Sebastian stepped silently out from behind a towering marble pillar just six feet behind the trailing operative. Before the man could pivot, Sebastian’s arm flashed out, locking around his throat in a brutal chokehold while his other hand disarmed the assault rifle with a swift, snapping motion.
The operative dropped silently to the floor, unconscious.
The two remaining guards spun around at the sound of the scuffle, their weapon flashlights slicing through the dark.
"Target spotted! Fire!"
Crack! Crack-crack!
Bullets chewed through the expensive wood paneling and shattered a nearby crystal vase, raining glass across the floor. Sebastian rolled behind a heavy mahogany dining table just as a barrage of high-caliber rounds tore through the furniture.
He didn't panic. He drew the Glock 19 from his shoulder holster, sighted through the dim ambient light, and fired twice through the wooden surface of the table.
Thwack! Thwack!
Both guards stumbled backward, their tactical vests absorbing the impact of the non-lethal heavy rounds, but the sheer force of the kinetic energy knocked them off balance. Before they could recover, Sebastian vaulted over the table, using the butt of his pistol to crack the visor of the lead operative's helmet, sending him crashing hard onto the marble floor.
The last remaining guard dropped his weapon, raising his hands in surrender as the cold barrel of Sebastian’s Glock pressed firmly against the center of his forehead.
"Who sent you?" Sebastian snarled, his voice dropping into a terrifying, lethal register that made the frozen air in the room feel like liquid nitrogen. "Arthur? Or Daniel?"
The guard panted heavily, his eyes wide with absolute terror behind his tactical mask. "It... it was Daniel! He bypassed the old man's orders! He wanted the kids eliminated so he could secure the primary inheritance without loose ends!"
Sebastian’s breath caught. Daniel. Not old Arthur. His own cousin—the man he had trusted to manage the corporate portfolio—had authorized a black-ops hit on his own flesh and blood.
A dark, incandescent rage exploded behind Sebastian’s eyes. He struck the guard across the temple with the heavy steel frame of the pistol, dropping him instantly into the unconscious heap beside his comrades.
Then, he stood up, holstered his weapon, and walked over to the secure satellite communications console in the study. The backup power was still functional enough to route an encrypted, high-priority transmission across the Atlantic.
He punched in the direct, unlisted personal cell phone number of Daniel Vale in Chicago.
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It rang twice before a nervous, breathless voice answered. "Hello?"
"You missed, cousin," Sebastian whispered, his voice dripping with an icy, murderous promise that carried across thousands of miles of ocean. "And now, it’s my turn."
