Justice of the Supreme War God

Chapter 3: Family Vengeance Plans

The Steel mansion sprawled across ten acres of prime Phoenix City real estate, all glass and steel and calculated intimidation. Inside Lucas Steel's private study, the sound of shattering crystal punctuated Liam's furious entrance.

"Father!" Liam burst through the mahogany doors, his right hand wrapped in white medical bandaging, his face still flushed with rage and humiliation. "We need to talk. Now."

Lucas Steel didn't look up from the contracts spread across his desk. At sixty-two, he'd built an empire through patience and calculated brutality—qualities his son conspicuously lacked. "Close the door, Liam. Your shouting disturbs the staff."

"Disturbs the—" Liam kicked the door shut with enough force to rattle the frame. "Did you hear what I said? That bastard broke my finger! He assaulted me in Diana Morrison's foyer while his wife watched!"

"His wife." Lucas finally raised his eyes, cold and gray as winter steel. "Explain."

Liam paced like a caged animal, words tumbling out in an angry torrent. "Diana married someone. Some nobody. She signed the papers yesterday—completely blindsided us. When I went to remind her about the arrangement with Ryan, this... this pathetic man interfered."

"Describe him."

"What?"

"The man. Describe him precisely." Lucas leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Details matter, Liam. You should have learned that by now."

Liam's jaw clenched. "Thin. Average height. Worn gray suit that looked like it came from a thrift store ten years ago. Shoes with holes in them. He looked like a beggar, Father. Like someone Diana picked up off the street out of spite."

"Yet this beggar broke your finger."

The words hung in the air like an accusation.

"He got lucky," Liam snapped. "I wasn't expecting—"

"Lucky." Lucas's voice could have frozen nitrogen. "You had four trained bodyguards with you. Mitchell alone has seventeen confirmed kills from his military service. Yet this 'lucky beggar' managed to break your finger and walk away unscathed. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

Liam's face darkened. "Are you saying this is my fault?"

"I'm saying you're leaving out details." Lucas stood, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the manicured grounds. "Breaking a finger with that kind of precision—clean snap, surgical accuracy—requires training. Military combat training or advanced martial arts. Not luck."

"He's just some broke nobody she married to avoid Ryan!"

"Perhaps." Lucas turned, his expression calculating. "Or perhaps Diana Morrison isn't quite as stupid as you believe. Tell me, did this man show fear? Hesitation? Any normal reaction to being outnumbered five-to-one?"

Liam opened his mouth, then closed it. The memory replayed—Marcus's perfect calm, that subtle shift in his stance, the way the bodyguards had hesitated despite their training.

"No," Liam admitted quietly.

"Then he's either insane or extremely dangerous. Possibly both." Lucas returned to his desk, pressing the intercom button. "Margaret, get me everything on Diana Morrison's recent marriage. Full background check on the husband—employment history, financial records, criminal background, military service if applicable. I want it within twenty-four hours."

"Yes, Mr. Steel," came the crisp reply.

Lucas released the button, his attention returning to his son. "Now, explain to me how we're going to tell the family council that Ryan's engagement fell through. Your uncle Patrick specifically brokered that arrangement. He's not going to be pleased."

Liam shifted uncomfortably. "We tell them Diana refused. That she violated the agreement."

"The 'agreement' was verbal, made between old men over brandy." Lucas's tone sharpened. "Diana never signed anything. Legally, we have no recourse. Socially, however..." A thin smile crossed his face. "The Morrisons still care about reputation. And this mysterious husband of hers—whoever he is—represents a weak point we can exploit."

"So we go after him."

"We investigate him," Lucas corrected. "We find every skeleton, every debt, every embarrassment in his past. Then we leverage that information to make Diana's life so miserable she divorces him voluntarily. If he's truly a nobody marrying for money, he'll crumble under the right pressure."

Liam's eyes gleamed with vindictive satisfaction. "And if he doesn't crumble?"

Lucas's smile widened, showing teeth. "Then we make him disappear. No one insults the Steel family and lives to boast about it. But first, we need information. Patience, Liam. Revenge is a dish best served cold."

"I want him to suffer," Liam said through clenched teeth, cradling his bandaged hand. "I want him to beg."

"And he will." Lucas's voice carried absolute certainty. "They always do."

Across Phoenix City, Marcus stood in the Morrison villa's east wing, examining the guest room that would serve as his quarters. It was, as Diana had promised, the smallest bedroom—though "small" by villa standards still meant two hundred square feet with an attached bathroom.

He moved to the window, noting sight lines, exit routes, defensive positions. Old habits. The kind of automatic threat assessment that came from conducting operations in hostile territory for over a decade.

His phone buzzed. Jacob's name flashed on the screen.

"Report," Marcus said quietly.

"Shadow Organization's Phoenix cell has gone dark, sir. Last communication was forty-eight hours ago. I've got teams moving to investigate, but it's looking like someone hit them first."

"Casualties?"

"Unknown. The safe house was clean—too clean. Professional extraction or elimination, hard to say which."

Marcus processed this information with the speed of long practice. "What about Diana's security profile?"

"No direct threats detected, but..." Jacob hesitated. "The Steel family just initiated a background check on you through three different private investigation firms. They're thorough, sir. Really thorough."

"Let them look." Marcus's voice held no concern. "They'll find exactly what I want them to find—a nobody with a spotty work history and mounting debts. Nothing suspicious."

"What if they dig deeper?"

"They won't find anything deeper to dig. Make sure of it."

"Yes, sir." A pause. "Sir, are you certain about this approach? Maintaining cover while Diana's in proximity to potential threats—it limits your response options."

"I've conducted operations under worse constraints," Marcus replied. "Diana's safety is the priority. Everything else is secondary."

He ended the call and continued his exploration of the villa, his trained eye noting details others would miss. Dusty packages in a storage room, each bearing the Steel family seal. A security system that looked impressive but had at least three obvious blind spots. Windows that locked from the inside but could be breached in under ten seconds with the right tools.

The villa was a fortress designed by people who'd never seen real combat.

Marcus spent the afternoon making mental notes, calculating angles, memorizing the estate's layout with the same meticulous attention to detail he'd once used planning military strikes in hostile territory. Patience was a weapon he'd mastered long ago.

By evening, his assessment was complete.

The next morning, Marcus woke at 0500 hours—old habits again—and made his way to the villa's expansive kitchen. The space was all granite countertops and professional-grade appliances that probably cost more than most houses.

He began preparing breakfast with the same precision he'd once used coordinating multi-pronged assaults. Flour, water, yeast—basic ingredients transformed through practiced technique into something meaningful.

Steamed buns. Simple, humble food.

As he worked, a memory surfaced—twelve years old, barely more than skin and bones, huddled in an alley behind a restaurant. A girl, maybe eight years old, with ice-blue eyes and dark hair, sneaking out with a cloth bundle. "You look hungry," she'd said simply, offering him two steamed buns still warm from her family's kitchen.

He'd never forgotten her kindness. Never forgotten her face.

Finding her again had taken twelve years of building power, accumulating resources, positioning himself in the right place at the right time. Diana Morrison had no memory of that alley, that night, that starving boy she'd fed without hesitation.

But Marcus remembered everything.

"What are you doing?"

Diana's voice cut through his reverie. She stood in the kitchen doorway, already dressed in a charcoal business suit that probably cost more than his car, her hair pulled back severely, her expression as cold as ever.

"Making breakfast," Marcus replied, transferring the buns to a plate. "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I kept it simple."

Diana's eyes flicked to the steamed buns, something unreadable crossing her face for just a moment. Then her mask slammed back into place. "I don't usually eat breakfast."

"You should. It's important."

"Don't tell me what's important." Her tone could have cut glass. "We have somewhere to be today. My great-grandmother's birthday celebration at the Morrison estate. The entire family will be there."

Marcus nodded, unsurprised. "What time?"

"Noon. Which means you need to look presentable." Diana's gaze swept over his worn suit with obvious distaste. "That won't do. I had clothes delivered for you—they're hanging in your room. Wear the navy suit. Try not to embarrass me more than absolutely necessary."

"I'll do my best."

"I doubt that's saying much." Diana poured herself coffee, her movements precise and controlled. "Fair warning—my family will probably treat you like garbage. My cousins are vicious, my aunts are judgmental, and my uncles will assume you're a gold-digger."

"And your great-grandmother?"

"She's the only one with sense, which is why I'm honoring her wishes by showing up with a husband." Diana's lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Even if that husband is..."

"A nobody in a cheap suit?" Marcus supplied helpfully.

"I was going to say 'temporary,' but sure, that works too." She set down her coffee cup with a sharp click. "Look, Hayes, I know you're in this for the money. Fine. That's the arrangement. But today, you're going to face some serious scrutiny from people who make the Steel family look like amateurs. Can you handle that?"

Marcus met her eyes steadily. "I can handle whatever they dish out, Mrs. Hayes."