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CHAPTER THREE: COLLISION COURSE

Bishop drove absentmindedly along the dirt road away from Morissette's house, unable to subdue thoughts of returning to apologize. He made a left turn onto a long stretch bordered by dwarf trees and a rocky descent.

He barreled furiously down the road, angry at his insensitivity and impulsiveness. Thoughts of his arranged marriage made his hands tremble. His car began reflecting his loss of control, threatening to swerve over the rocky hillside.

He brought the car to a screeching halt just short of going airborne. He pulled out a cigar, lit it, and felt its calming effects.

"Time to clear my head," he thought.

Soon he reached the major highway—a symphony of engines, rubber on tar, and honking. At the intersection beyond the grassy knoll, he checked for oncoming vehicles and pulled forward onto the tarred section.

He'd barely steered right when he noticed a bright light from his left peripheral. Sensing danger, he turned to see he was seconds from impact. He veered desperately away, but it was futile. The 3,500-ton truck slammed into his car, spiraling it several yards sideways.

Back at the estate, Marius watched his brother's car leave, took a final drag from his cigar, and tossed it off the balcony. He walked back inside, pausing to glance at his father's portrait before encountering Ali at the stairwell.

"Your brother seemed agitated," Ali observed.

"Bishop's in love," Marius explained. "And his feelings will get in the way of family business."

"You beheld this Colombo bride yet?" Ali asked.

"No one knows what to expect."

"Then you should understand Bishop. He naturally expects the worst."

"What's worse than losing the family legacy to heartstrings?" Marius gestured for Ali to walk with him. "Father wanted tools, not sons. That's why he sent us to the army as soon as we came of age."

"He loved you both very much," Ali said softly.

"That's debatable. His idea of love was distorted."

"You're wrong. He just didn't know how to show it. You two were his most prized possessions."

They entered the kitchen. Marius's eyes darted to the rows of pans hanging above the fireplace, reflecting moonlight chaotically as northern winds rocked them.

"Is anyone else here?" Marius asked suddenly.

"No. I sent everyone home like you asked."

"Clear the house! Quickly!"

Marius swept through militarily, moving toward the open window. The howling wind grew louder. Someone had definitely entered through here.

Then he saw it—dark liquid on the marble floor. Blood.

The trail led toward the ice chest. He armed himself with a broad knife and inched forward. He swung the chest open to find a medium metal box inscribed with "M."

As he reached for it, he felt a tight knot around his throat. The garrote threw him into a frenzy. He kicked furiously, but his assailant used his body weight against him. Panic set in as he clawed backward, getting lifted into the air. His head grew light, the garrote cutting through skin, drawing blood. His throat began to creak, nearing collapse.

He stretched desperately for the knife, his strength waning. His arms dropped, submitting to his assassin's will. Blackout was nearly complete when he heard a sharp cry and felt sharp pain. The grip loosened.

He wheezed and coughed, resting against the ice chest. His attacker was leaking badly—two bullets to the back, one nicking an artery. Then Marius felt the pain in his left shoulder. A bullet hole.

Ali had saved his life, though the third shot hit Marius. The butler examined the body, finding a silver ring, gold necklace, cellphone, and a card with a "C" shaped like a noose.

"f*****g Cortizos," he cursed.

Then they noticed the metal box had been forced open. Inside was the severed head of the family's consigliere, Freddie Mareno. Blood still dripped from his neck.

Marius wheezed, his voice grainy. "This was coordinated. If they took Freddie out and came after me, they definitely went after Bishop."

The assassin's phone rang. Ali answered on speaker.

A deep, accented voice: "The brother was lucky. We couldn't finish him—EMTs were conveniently nearby. Did you get the other one?"

"Faust!" Ali identified the downed assassin.

Ali stooped to Faust's level, then plunged his thumb into the bullet wound. Faust cried out in pain.

"Your friend has abandoned you, Faust," Ali said with a devilish smirk. "I don't blame him. You cry like a little girl."

He pulled his gun and fired into the back of Faust's skull.

"That's weird," he commented. "His brain matter went the wrong way."

Marius felt his stomach twist, realizing he'd never truly known Ali—this psychopathic, seasoned killer who'd hidden his nature so perfectly.