553 "The Five-Dollar Blood Oath: When a Little Girl's Desperate Coin Bought the Vengeance of the City's Most Feared Underworld King"

The four Vanguard operatives at the base of the stairs instantly raised their assault rifles, their fingers tightening on the triggers.

They never got the chance to fire.

From the shadows of the upper gallery and the arched side hallways, heavy automatic gunfire erupted in a synchronized, deafening roar. Bullets tore through the stone pillars, and the four operatives crumpled to the floor before they could even adjust their aim.

From the broken skylights above, dark tactical ropes dropped down, and Viktor, along with three other veteran members of Andrew’s inner circle, repelled into the foyer with military precision.

Victoria gasped, stumbling backward as the smoke filled the grand entrance, her face draining of all color. "No... no, this is impossible! My men secured the perimeter!"

"Your men answer to payroll checks written by a corporation," Andrew said, walking slowly down the remaining steps until he stood mere feet away from her. "My men answer to blood, loyalty, and survival. You miscalculated, Victoria. You thought money bought power. In this city, power belongs to whoever is willing to pay the ultimate price."

Victoria’s hand darted inside her designer handbag, her fingers closing around the grip of a concealed micro-pistol. She whipped it out with desperate speed, aiming directly at Andrew’s chest.

Click.

The hammer fell on an empty chamber.

Andrew reached out, his large hand wrapping around her wrist with iron force and twisting it upward until the small pistol clattered uselessly against the marble floor. He didn't squeeze hard enough to break bone, but his grip was inescapable.

"The safety was on, Victoria," Andrew said coldly, his face inches from hers. "You were always better at paperwork than combat."

Before Victoria could scream or spit another curse, the heavy oak doors of the foyer burst open once more.

A sharp, familiar voice cut through the smoke.