Chapter 7 - When the Lights Blew Out
The rooftop of the Drake Hotel was an expanse of black gravel, slick metal vents, and roaring wind that ripped the rain into horizontal needles. Above them, the twin turbines of a sleek, midnight-black helicopter cut through the storm clouds, its searchlight illuminating the sheets of water cascading across the ledge.
Margaux stood at the doorway, shivering violently, her soaked evening dress clinging to her skin. The sheer absurdity of the night crashed down upon her in a single, overwhelming wave: four hours ago, she had been stressing over place settings and vegan dietary cards. Now, she was standing on an exposed skyscraper roof in the middle of a mafia gang war, with dead men in the corridors below and Chicago’s most lethal predator holding out his hand to her.
""I can't get in that helicopter,"" she yelled over the deafening thrum of the rotors.
Adrian didn't retract his hand. He stepped into the pouring rain, closing the distance between them until he was standing on the threshold, blocking the wind with his broad frame. Water streamed down the sharp planes of his face, dripping from his jaw, but his eyes never left hers.
""Why not?"" he shouted back.
""Because I have a life down there!"" she cried, pointing toward the city below. ""I have a business! I have an apartment in Lincoln Park! I am an event coordinator, Adrian! I don't belong in your world of shadows, guns, and federal conspiracies!""
Adrian reached out, cupping her cold, wet cheek with his palm. His touch was burning hot against her chilled skin.
""Your world almost killed you tonight, Margaux,"" he said, his voice piercing through the roar of the engines with terrifying clarity. ""Those hypocrites in their tuxedos would have let you burn in that ballroom without a second thought. You protected my life twice in the span of two hours. Do you really think I’m going to let you walk back down into that snake pit alone?""
""You're the biggest snake in this city!""
""Then let me protect you from the small ones,"" he replied, his thumb sweeping across her bottom lip.
Before she could formulate an argument, the heavy fire door below them was kicked open with tremendous force. Three men dressed in dark windbreakers burst onto the landing, automatic weapons raised.
Moretti’s clean-up crew.
Adrian reacted with terrifying, instantaneous speed. He grabbed Margaux by the waist, threw her behind him onto the wet gravel of the roof, and drew his secondary weapon from his ankle holster.
The night erupted into flashes of orange muzzle fire.
The deafening chatter of submachine gun fire shredded the metal doorframe where Margaux had been standing a fraction of a second earlier. Adrian fired three rapid, precisely placed shots, his posture rock-solid despite the slick ground. Two of the attackers fell backward into the stairwell, but the third managed to sweep a burst of fire across the rooftop decking.
A sharp, searing pain tore across Adrian’s left shoulder.
He grunted, a low sound of pure rage, but didn't drop his weapon. He fired a single shot directly through the remaining attacker’s chest, dropping him instantly onto the landing.
Silence crashed back over the rooftop, broken only by the thumping helicopter blades and the patter of heavy rain.
Margaux scrambled forward on her hands and knees, terror gripping her chest like a vise. ""Adrian!""
He was kneeling on the gravel, his left hand clamped over his shoulder. Dark, thick crimson was already soaking through the torn fabric of his white dress shirt, mingling with the rainwater and running in pink ribbons across his knuckles.
""Get up,"" Adrian grunted through clenched teeth, his face pale beneath the rain. ""The pilot is signaling. We have thirty seconds before the port authority radar locks onto this bird.""
Margaux didn't listen. She ripped the hem of her satin dress, tearing a long strip of ivory silk with her bare hands. She lunged forward, wrapping the cloth tightly around his bleeding shoulder, pulling the knot with all the strength in her body.
Adrian let out a sharp hiss of pain, his jaw tightening until the muscle bulged. ""Margaux—""
""Shut up,"" she cried, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks. ""Shut up and listen to me, you arrogant bastard. You don't get to save my life three times and then bleed out on my watch! Stand up!""
Adrian looked at her—at her furious, tear-streaked face, her ruined dress, her bloody hands—and despite the pain, despite the bullet wound in his shoulder, that slow, devastating smirk broke across his mouth once more.
May you like
""Yes, sweetheart,"" he whispered.
With Margaux supporting his uninjured side, they staggered across the slick gravel toward the waiting cabin of the helicopter. The side door slid open, revealing two armed crew members who hauled them inside, sliding the door shut and sealing them in total, warm darkness just as the aircraft lifted into the Chicago night.
