Chapter 20

Wael Khalil raised his machete, the cold steel catching the light as he dashed into the Al-Mansour villa. Behind him, a dozen armed men followed, their boots thundering against the polished floors. The air in the manor instantly curdled with the scent of impending violence. "Tariq! Run! Get out of here now!" Layla Al-Mansour's voice cracked with desperation. She lunged forward, her hand outstretched toward her husband, but a firm grip clamped onto her shoulder. Karim Al-Farsi pulled her back, his face twisted in a sneer. "Stop interfering with that loser, Layla. He brought this on himself. Let the trash be swept away." Omar Al-Mansour, clutching his bruised side, pointed a shaking finger at Tariq. "Brother Wael! There he is! That's the piece of garbage who threatened me! He's as good as dead today, isn't he?" Wael slowed his pace as he neared the center of the room, his eyes fixed on the target. "Don't you worry, Omar. I'll make sure he never speaks again. He's a dead man walking." "It's him, Brother Wael! Make him kneel!" Omar yelled, his confidence surging as he stepped toward Tariq. "I want to see him crawl on the floor like the dog he is!" Hana Al-Mansour stood perfectly still, her expression unreadable as she watched the godson of Fadi Nasser close the ten-meter gap between himself and Tariq Al-Khoury. The guests held their breath, waiting for the first spray of blood. Wael Khalil stopped. His machete, once held high, began to dip. His aggressive stride stuttered into a halt as he peered closer at Tariq's face. The color drained from Wael's cheeks, turning his skin a sickly, ashen gray. "Is... is it him?" Wael's voice was barely a whisper, thick with an incredulous terror. Omar didn't notice the change. He rushed forward, arm pulled back for a punch. "Of course it's him! Look at this pathetic face! I'm going to—" Before Omar's fist could connect with Tariq, a heavy palm lashed out. *Smack!* The sound of the slap echoed through the silent villa like a gunshot. Omar spun around, his head whipping back as he collapsed to the floor. Before he could even register the pain, a heavy boot slammed into his ribs, sending him skidding across the marble. "You idiot! You absolute moron!" Wael roared, his chest heaving. "Are you trying to get me killed? Are you trying to get us all buried?!" Omar clutched his burning cheek, looking up from the floor with wide, bewildered eyes. "Brother Wael? What are you doing? I'm the one who called you! What did I do wrong?" Hana Al-Mansour's eyes widened. She began to wave over the young men of the Mansour family who were standing near the edges of the room. "Don't let this go too far," she muttered, signaling for them to intervene. "Brother Wael, please, stop!" one of the young men called out, stepping forward timidly. "There must be a mistake. Omar is your friend!" Wael Khalil whirled around, pointing his machete at the group. "Anyone who steps forward dies! I'll kill every single one of you if you try to stop me!" The young men scrambled back, tripping over their own feet to stay out of Wael's reach. Wael turned back to Tariq Al-Khoury. The transition was instantaneous. The murderous thug vanished, replaced by a man who looked like he was facing his own executioner. He dropped his weapon and bowed low, a trembling, flattering smile plastered on his face. "Mister Tariq... I—I didn't know it was you," Wael stammered, his voice dropping to a humble, pleading tone. "Please, forgive my ignorance. If I had known you were here, I never would have stepped foot in this house. This piece of trash Omar lied to me! Give me the word, and I'll kill him right here for insulting you." Tariq Al-Khoury looked down at the bowing man, his expression one of bored indifference. He didn't say a word for a long moment, letting the silence eat at Wael's nerves. Finally, Tariq raised a hand and gave a dismissive wave. "Get out," Tariq said. Wael felt as if a death sentence had been commuted. He scrambled to his feet but didn't leave immediately. He turned his gaze toward Omar, his eyes flashing with a renewed, vicious anger. "You heard the man," Wael barked at his goons. "Beat him! Beat him until he can't breathe! If he's still conscious in five minutes, it's your heads!" The group of men who had followed Wael in pounced on Omar like a pack of wolves. Fists and boots rained down on the Mansour heir. The sound of dull thuds and breaking furniture filled the room, punctuated by Omar's high-pitched shrieks. "Why?! Why are you doing this?" Omar wailed, his face already beginning to swell into a purple mess of bruises. "We're supposed to be brothers!" Wael stepped in and delivered one final, crushing kick to Omar's stomach. "Don't you fucking know how great Mister Tariq Al-Khoury is? You're a speck of dust compared to him!" "Great?" Omar wheezed, coughing up a spray of crimson. "He's a live-in son-in-law! He's a loser who washes our clothes! How can he be great?" Wael leaned down, grabbing Omar by the hair and pulling his face inches from his own. "If you ever dare to act like you're all that in front of Mister Tariq Al-Khoury again, I won't just beat you. I'll kill you and everyone who shares your name. Remember that." With a sharp wave of his hand, Wael led his men out of the villa as rowdily as they had entered, leaving a trail of destruction and a broken Omar Al-Mansour behind. The guests stood in stunned silence, their eyes darting between the groaning Omar and the calm, unmoved Tariq. The tension hadn't even begun to dissipate when the sound of heavy engines rumbled from the driveway. "Grandmother! Someone else is here!" a voice shouted from the entrance. Hana Al-Mansour smoothed her dress, trying to regain her dignity. "Who is it now?" Through the main doors stepped Adnan Bakri, the formidable boss of the Al-Hilal Hotel. He moved with the confidence of a man who commanded thousands, but his expression was uncharacteristically bright. Behind him, ten men dressed in sharp black suits marched in two neat rows. Outside, the headlights of five identical, gleaming Rolls-Royces illuminated the evening mist. Hana's breath hitched. "Director Bakri? What brings such an esteemed guest to our humble home?" Adnan Bakri didn't look at the mess on the floor or the terrified guests. He scanned the room with an eager smile. "Pardon the intrusion, Madam Al-Mansour. I am here on a very important errand. Is Mister Al-Khoury present?" Hana Al-Mansour blinked, her confusion deepening. She looked at the guests, then back at Adnan. "Mister Al-Khoury? I'm afraid I don't know who you are referring to." She turned to the crowd of relatives and socialites. "Does anyone here know a 'Mister Al-Khoury'?" The guests looked at one another, shaking their heads. In their minds, there were many powerful families in Al-Fajr City, but the name 'Al-Khoury' didn't belong to any of the elites they sought to impress. None of them, not even Hana, spared a glance toward the man standing quietly in the corner. ════════════════════════════════════════