Chapter 9 - The Trap In The Vault
Slipping away from the gala was easier than expected. While Julian deliberately provoked an intense confrontation with Nikolai’s top lieutenants near the main bar—drawing every security guard in the room to the commotion—I slipped through the kitchen service corridor, the encrypted flash drive hidden inside my diamond clutch.
I ascended the back stairs to the fourth floor. The corridor was dark, lined with heavy oak bookshelves and antique oil paintings.
At the end of the hall stood the heavy mahogany door to Nikolai’s private office.
Using the biometric bypass device Julian had provided, I pressed the small gadget against the electronic keypad. The screen flashed green with a satisfying click. I slipped inside, closing the heavy door behind me.
The office was chilled, dominated by a massive server terminal glowing in the corner.
My hands shaking, I rushed to the terminal and plugged the flash drive into the main port. Lines of green data cascaded across the screen like waterfalls.
Downloading shell accounts... 42%... 68%... 85%...
“Come on, come on,” I whispered, staring at the progress bar.
100%. Download Complete.
I yanked the flash drive out and shoved it into my clutch.
Suddenly, the heavy door swung open behind me.
“Miss Vance,” a gravelly voice echoed through the dark office.
I spun around. Nikolai Ivanov stood in the doorway, a silenced pistol raised directly at my heart. Behind him stood two armed guards.
“Did you truly believe Julian Rourke could outmaneuver me in my own sanctuary?” Nikolai sneered, stepping into the room. “You are a clever little rat, but your fiancé made a fatal error. He let himself care about you.”
Panic seized my chest. “The files are already transmitted to federal servers, Nikolai. You’re finished.”
“Perhaps,” Nikolai snarled, his finger tightening on the trigger. “But you won’t be alive to see the trial.”
Before he could pull the trigger, the reinforced glass window behind him exploded inward in a shower of deadly shards.
A grappling hook severed the frame. Julian swung through the shattered window like a vengeful shadow, kicking the first guard through the heavy wooden desk with bone-crushing force.
Gunfire erupted.
I dropped to the floor behind the leather sofa as Julian drew his weapon, firing two shots that dropped the second guard instantly.
Nikolai scrambled backward, raising his gun toward Julian.
“Julian, watch out!” I screamed, grabbing a heavy brass desk lamp from the side table and hurling it with all my strength.
The heavy lamp struck Nikolai squarely in the face, breaking his nose with a loud crack and throwing off his aim. His bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the marble fireplace.
Julian was on him in an instant. With terrifying, brutal efficiency, Julian disarmed the older mob boss, slamming him against the wall and pressing the cold barrel of his gun directly under Nikolai’s chin.
Nikolai spat blood, his eyes wide with genuine terror for the first time. “Rourke... if you kill me, the council will declare war!”
“The council already authorized your execution twenty minutes ago,” Julian whispered coldly, his voice dripping with venom. “The moment I transmitted your treasonous accounts to the five families. You’re done, Nikolai.”
Julian struck him across the temple with the butt of the pistol, knocking the syndicate boss unconscious onto the Persian rug.
Sirens wailed in the distance—dozens of FBI and police cruisers surrounding the Metropolitan Club below.
Julian dropped the weapon and turned toward me. His tuxedo was torn, blood staining his white shirt, but his eyes were filled with pure, desperate relief.
“Harper!”
He crossed the room in two strides, falling to his knees and pulling me fiercely into his arms. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, sobbing as adrenaline crashed over me.
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“You came for me,” I cried, clutching his broad shoulders.
“I will always come for you,” Julian murmured against my hair, kissing my temple, my cheeks, my lips with overwhelming tenderness. “I told you... you’re mine.”
