Chapter 8 - Tracing The Signal Back To The Old Northern Ridge
“Nobody leaves,” Vincent repeated, drawing a heavy steel-framed pistol from his shoulder holster with practiced ease.
The click of the safety disengaging sounded like a gunshot inside the acoustically rich ballroom.
Isabella froze with her hand resting on the glass door handle, realizing the armed guards outside answered only to Vincent.
“Dominic, secure Bellamy in the basement vault,” Vincent ordered, walking toward the grand double doors. “Bring two tactical teams and meet me at the north ridge gate.”
“Consider it done, boss,” Dominic said, shoving Charles forward toward the service staircase with a heavy shove.
“Vincent, you’re making a monumental mistake!” Charles screamed as he was dragged away by two enforcers.
Vincent ignored the lawyer’s cries, striding out of the ballroom while leaving the stunned guests and Isabella behind.
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The rain outside had turned into a torrential downpour, lashing against the sprawling stone facade of the Moretti estate.
Vincent pulled his wool coat tight against his chest, stepping out into the freezing mud toward the dense woods of the north ridge.
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