Chapter 15 - The Final Account
Down in the concrete-reinforced interrogation annex beneath the garage, the smell of damp earth and cold steel hung heavy in the air.
The captured operative sat strapped to a heavy metal chair, spitting blood from a split lip while Marcus stood over him with a digital tablet.
The heavy steel door swung open, and Gideon Vale stepped into the room.
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t make threats.
He simply walked slowly around the chair, his cold gray eyes examining the mercenary like a surgeon inspecting a diseased specimen.
“Who sent you?” Gideon asked softly, resting his hands inside his trouser pockets.
The operative sneered, a defiant grin crossing his bruised face.
“You think taking down Julian Thorne means you own the city, Vale?
There are boards higher up than Julian.
People who funded his shipping lines before you were even smuggling whiskey across the border.”
Gideon didn't blink.
He simply nodded to Marcus.
Marcus pressed a button on the wall console, unlocking a secondary security monitor that displayed a live exterior feed of the Lake Geneva estate gates.
On the screen, a second tactical team could be seen quietly detaining three more armed operatives who had been waiting in a support van half a mile down the private road.
“Your backup was compromised before you even vaulted the fence,” Gideon said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
“Your comms were jammed the second you crossed the perimeter line.
And your employers in Zurich have already been cut off from every offshore account they used to wire your retainer.”
The operative’s defiant grin faltered, his eyes widening in sudden, genuine panic.
“How...?”
“Because you are amateurs playing a game designed by professionals,” Gideon interrupted, stepping right into the man’s personal space.
“You tell your paymasters in Europe one thing, and you tell them clearly: The Vale family is closed for business.
If anyone else ever sets foot on this property with a weapon, I won't just kill them—I will dismantle their entire syndicate brick by brick until nothing is left of their name.”
Gideon turned around, adjusting his cuffs, and walked toward the heavy steel exit.
“Clean him up, dump him outside the local sheriff’s precinct, and send the message to Zurich.”
Upstairs in the master suite, the house was entirely quiet.
Mallerie sat in the center of the large king-sized bed, finishing a chapter of a book while Owen slept peacefully in his crib nearby.
The door opened quietly, and Gideon walked in, his expression serene, the shadows of the interrogation room completely wiped from his face.
He walked over to the crib, adjusted Owen’s blanket with practiced gentleness, and then sat down on the edge of the mattress beside Mallerie.
Mallerie looked up, closing her book and searching his face.
“Everything handled?” she asked softly.
“Completely,” Gideon replied, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close against his side.
“Just a stray dog wandering where it didn't belong.”
Mallerie rested her head against his broad shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of cedar and clean linen.
“We’re safe here, aren’t we?” she whispered.
Gideon kissed her temple, his arms holding her with a fierce, unbreakable possessiveness.
May you like
“Always, Mallerie,” he murmured, staring out the window toward the moonlit lake where their future lay peaceful and unthreatened.
“Always.”
