PART 3: Calling the Five Brothers
PART 3: Calling the Five Brothers
Fierce sibling loyalty answers midnight distress calls.
I slipped quietly out of Maya’s bedroom, locking her door behind me to ensure she felt completely secure.
I walked into my own bedroom—the master suite that Marcus had slowly turned into a prison of neglect—and closed the door tightly.
I pulled my phone from my coat pocket.
My hands didn't shake.
My heart didn't race.
I unlocked the screen, bypassed my personal contacts, and dialed a private speed-dial number that hadn't buzzed in three long years.
It connected on the very first ring.
"Elena?"
A deep, gravelly voice echoed through the speaker—the voice of my eldest brother, Dominic, a former federal prosecutor who now ran one of the most ruthless corporate litigation firms on the East Coast.
"Dom," I said, keeping my voice dangerously level.
"Are you alright?" Dominic asked instantly, the tone of his voice shifting from casual to tactical in a fraction of a second. "Is it Marcus?"
"He raised a leather belt to Maya tonight," I whispered, the words dropping like lead weights into the phone. "She has welts across her back. He’s demanding ten thousand dollars by tomorrow morning, or he's throwing us out into the street."
A suffocating silence hung on the line for three agonizing seconds.
It was the kind of silence that precedes a hurricane.
"Put Dante, Leo, Julian, and Mateo on three-way conference right now," Dominic commanded, his voice dropping into a lethal, glacial register. "Where are you?"
"At the house on Crestview Drive," I replied.
"Pack a bag for you and Maya," Dominic instructed without hesitation. "Don't say a word to him. We’re twenty minutes out. Let’s see how tough Marcus feels when all five of us walk through his front iron gates."
The line clicked.
Within seconds, the conference chime signaled my other four brothers—all seasoned titans in law, finance, and security—had locked onto the call.
I didn't need to repeat myself.
They already knew every detail they needed to destroy the man who had dared to harm my child.
Downstairs in the Lion’s Den
Arrogant abusers walk blindly into traps.
I walked slowly down the grand staircase, my footsteps silent against the plush carpet.
From the open doorway of the living room, I could hear Marcus and Chloe laughing softly over the clinking of crystal whiskey glasses.
They were celebrating.
They genuinely believed they had won.
I stepped into the living room, keeping my posture straight and unyielding.
Marcus was pouring another finger of bourbon, while Chloe lounged lazily on the velvet sofa, wrapped in a silk robe, sipping her drink with a smug smirk playing on her lips.
"Well, look who decided to crawl out of the nursery," Marcus sneered, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Did you finish packing your bags, or do you need a reminder of the deadline?"
I didn't answer right away.
I walked over to the mahogany bar, picked up an empty water glass, and poured myself a drink.
"Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money, Marcus," I said calmly, turning to face him. "Especially for a man whose commercial real estate loans are currently leveraged to the absolute limit."
Marcus’s face tightened instantly, his smug expression flickering with sudden annoyance.
"What did you say?" he snapped.
"I said, you’re broke," I replied evenly. "Your primary developer account has been in default for two months, the bank is quietly reviewing your commercial collateral, and the only reason you’re still keeping up appearances is because you’ve been funneling money out of our joint household accounts."
Chloe scoffed loudly, setting her glass down on the coffee table.
"Oh, please, Marcus," Chloe rolled her eyes, addressing him directly. "Why are you even arguing with this pathetic nobody? She’s just a washed-up bakery assistant. She doesn't know anything about business."
Marcus puffed out his chest, stepping toward me with a menacing scowl.
"You listen to me, Elena," Marcus barked, pointing a finger inches from my face. "You have zero power here! This house is in my name, your daughter is my dependent, and by tomorrow morning—"
May you like
He stopped mid-sentence.
From down the long private driveway outside the iron security gates, a heavy, synchronized rumble of high-performance engines shattered the night air.
