Chapter 2 - Blood on the White Roses
The underground garage was suffocating with the smell of diesel and damp concrete. Adrian didn't let go of my wrist, his grip unyielding yet carefully measured so as not to bruise. Behind us, his two enforcers, Marco and Dante, moved in tactical rhythm, their trench coats pushed back just enough to keep their holstered automatons accessible.
Parked near the freight exit sat the custom Rolls-Royce Phantom. The white satin ribbons and red roses had been torn from the hood, leaving scratches across the immaculate black paint. And sitting in the front passenger seat, clutching a cashmere wrap, was Lily Crawford.
The moment she saw Adrian emerge with me, her eyes widened. She scrambled out of the passenger side, teetering on silver stiletto heels, her pale hands trembling as she reached for Adrian’s arm.
“Adrian! Oh god, you’re bleeding!” she gasped, her voice pitching into that familiar, breathless cadence that had dominated my engagement for twenty-four months. “I was so terrified. The gunfire upstairs... I thought the Marcones had gotten you.”
Adrian didn't look at her hand, but he gently shook his arm free. “It’s glass from the lobby doors, Lily. Get in the back of the Suburban with Marco.”
Lily froze, her porcelain features contorting into subtle disbelief. “The Suburban? But Adrian, the vibrations make my nausea worse. You said I could ride in the Phantom with you until we reached the safehouse.”
“Get in the Suburban, Lily,” Adrian repeated, his tone dropping an octave, colder than I had ever heard him speak to her. “Evelyn rides with me.”
I pulled my arm back from his grasp. “I’m not riding in that car. That was my bridal carriage, and you let her play dress-up in it while you banished me to an airport transfer. Burn it for all I care.”
Before Adrian could answer, the heavy metal security gates at the garage entrance buckled with a deafening screech. An unmarked black Dodge Ram smashed through the barrier, tires smoking against the concrete floor. Two men leaned out of the open windows, automatic rifles raised.
“Down!” Adrian roared.
He threw his entire body weight over mine, driving me to the concrete floor behind the heavy reinforced bumper of the Phantom just as glass shattered above our heads. The deafening roar of automatic fire bounced violently off the low garage ceiling. The smell of burning rubber and sulfur filled my lungs.
Beside us, Lily shrieked in absolute terror, dropping behind a concrete pillar, clutching her ears. “Adrian! Adrian, help me!”
Adrian didn't even look toward the pillar. His hands were buried in my hair, pressing my face into his chest, shielding my head and torso with his broad back. I felt the violent jolt run through his body as a bullet ricocheted off the car frame inches above his shoulder, showering us in micro-shards of safety glass.
“Stay flat, Evelyn! Don't you dare move!” he barked through gritted teeth.
With one hand still pinning me protectively against the pavement, Adrian drew his custom weapon with the other, leaning around the wheel well and firing three rapid, precision shots. The Dodge Ram’s windshield spiderwebbed, its horn stuck on a relentless, wailing drone as the driver slumped forward. Marco and Dante unleashed return fire, advancing with brutal, military discipline until the second gunman fell silent.
Silence crashed back into the garage, heavy and suffocating, punctuated only by the dying hum of the truck’s radiator and Lily’s theatrical sobbing.
Adrian stood up slowly, dragging me up with him, his hands instantly checking my arms, my face, my waist. “Are you hit? Evelyn, look at me. Are you bleeding?”
“I’m fine,” I gasped, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged bird. My pristine Vera Wang gown was ruined, blackened by grease and grime, shredded along the hem.
Adrian turned around, his eyes wild and feral as he surveyed the carnage. Then his gaze fell upon Lily, who was sitting on the dirty ground, weeping into her palms, her white cocktail dress coated in dust.
“You told me your uncle’s logistics company secured this route,” Adrian said to Lily, his voice dangerously low.
Lily looked up through smudged mascara, her eyes wide with manufactured innocence. “What? Adrian, I don't know what you mean! I told you Uncle Thomas cleared the downtown corridor! It was supposed to be completely safe!”
“The Marcones don't move three heavy-duty trucks into the loop without logistics clearance,” Adrian said, stepping toward her with deliberate, terrifying slowness. “And the only person outside of my inner council who had the exact GPS coordinates for Evelyn’s boutique hotel was the phone you were holding when I sent the distress ping.”
Lily shrank back against the concrete column, the color draining from her face. “Adrian, please... you know I would never... I love you! I was just trying to protect our family!”
“Our family?” Adrian snarled. “You are not my family, Lily. You were my dead brother’s fiancée, and I honored his memory by keeping you alive and comfortable. But today you crossed a line that has no return.”
May you like
Adrian turned his back on her, walking back over to me. He took off his ruined tuxedo jacket, wrapping it firmly around my trembling shoulders.
“We’re taking the secondary vehicle,” he said to Dante. “Leave Lily here with two men. Confiscate her phone, her purse, and her passport. Put her in the safehouse cellar until I decide what to do with her.”
