Chapter 12 - The Ghost of the SyndicateGabriel was on his feet instantly, his hand reaching instinctively toward his shoulder holster as he shielded me behind his arm. We rushed out of the sunroom into the main hall.
A antique crystal vase lay shattered on the marble floor near the front entrance. Standing beside the front doors were four heavily armed men wearing tactical gear without insignia.
And standing at the front of the group was a man I hadn't seen in six years: Viktor Petrov, the ruthless boss of the Brighton Beach syndicate and Gabriel’s most dangerous rival.
"Petrov," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a deadly calm as six of his own security guards appeared from the side wings, guns raised and locked onto the intruders. "You crossed my perimeter. You have ten seconds to explain why you shouldn't leave here in a body bag."
Viktor smiled, displaying a row of silver-capped teeth. He looked at the shattered vase, then at the three boys who were cowering behind Mrs. Gable near the grand staircase.
"Relax, Gabriel," Viktor rasped in his thick Russian accent. "I didn't come to start a war. I came to see if the rumors were true. The great Gabriel Cross... brought down a United States Senator not for territory, but for a woman and three little bastards."
The word had barely left Viktor's lips before Gabriel moved.
With terrifying speed, Gabriel closed the distance between them, grabbed Viktor by the throat, and slammed him violently against the heavy oak front door. The metallic sound of ten weapons being cocked simultaneously echoed through the foyer.
"Say that word again," Gabriel whispered, his fingers tightening around Viktor's windpipe until the Russian's face turned purple, "and I will burn Brighton Beach to the ground before nightfall."
"Gabriel, stop!" I yelled from the stairs, pulling the boys back. "Not in front of the children!"
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Gabriel’s jaw twitched. He stared into Viktor's bulging eyes for two agonizing seconds before throwing him backward onto the floor.
"Speak," Gabriel growled, wiping his hand on his trousers as if touching Viktor had dirtied him. "Fast."
