Chapter 10 - The Trap Snaps: Victor Vance’s Final Mistake in the Botanical Gardens
The old concrete drainage tunnel beneath the Lake Forest estate was dark, damp, and smelled of stagnant river water and rusted iron.
Victor Vance led his three heavily armed hitmen through the narrow pipe, clutching an assault rifle in his sweating hands as he approached the iron grating that opened directly into the estate’s private botanical gardens.
“We’re almost at the exit,” Victor whispered harshly over his shoulder, his voice echoing off the damp concrete walls. “Stay low, move fast, and shoot anything that breathes.”
They reached the end of the tunnel, where the rusted iron grating had already been quietly unbolted from the outside.
Victor pushed the heavy metal grate open, stepping out of the dark pipe and into the bright sunlight of the sprawling botanical gardens, surrounded by towering palm trees and exotic orchids.
“Clear,” one of the hitmen muttered, stepping out behind him with his rifle raised.
“Move in toward the conservatory glass,” Victor hissed, signaling toward the shimmering glass structure fifty yards away through the greenery.
They took three steps forward along the paved stone pathway.
Suddenly, the automated overhead sprinkler system clicked loudly—not with water, but with the sharp, metallic sound of a dozen heavy tactical spotlights flashing on simultaneously, blinding them with glaring white light.
Before Victor could even raise his assault rifle, a deep, commanding voice echoed from the surrounding trees through a loudspeaker.
“Drop your weapons and hit the dirt, or you will be perforated where you stand.”
Victor spun around in panic, searching the shadows of the palm trees.
From the bushes surrounding the pathway, six elite Vitali security operatives stepped out silently, their tactical rifles aimed with absolute, unyielding precision directly at Victor and his men.
And standing right in the center of the path, blocking their only retreat back into the drainage tunnel, was Graham Pierce, holding a suppressed pistol with casual ease.
“Drop the guns, Victor,” Graham said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. “You’re trespassing.”
“Shoot them!” Victor screamed in blind panic, raising his rifle toward Graham.
Before Victor’s finger could even touch the trigger, a single suppressed shot cracked through the air.
Crack.
The bullet struck the pavement inches from Victor’s right boot, sending a shower of sharp stone fragments flying against his shins.
A second later, two of Adrian’s enforcers rushed forward with terrifying speed, tackling Victor to the ground and wrenching the assault rifle from his grip with brutal efficiency.
His three hitmen dropped their weapons instantly, raising their hands in the air as they realized they were hopelessly outgunned and completely surrounded.
“Tie them up and drag them down to the basement cells,” Graham commanded coldly, stepping over Victor’s thrashing body. “Put them right next to Salvatore and Celeste.”
As Victor was hauled away kicking and screaming curses into the dirt, the garden returned to a peaceful, undisturbed quiet.
Inside the glass conservatory fifty yards away, Adrian and I watched the entire brief spectacle unfold through the sparkling panes.
Adrian lowered his tablet, turning his attention back to me with a warm, approving smile.
May you like
“Well,” Adrian chuckled softly, lifting his coffee cup. “It appears our breakfast remains uninterrupted after all.”
I smiled back, clinking my cup against his in a silent toast to our new beginning.
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