Chapter 7 - The Threat at the Threshold
The Grand Marlowe glittered like a diamond against the dark Philadelphia sky. Limousines lined the boulevard, depositing dignitaries, patrons of the arts, and socialites onto the red carpet.
Hannah stepped out of Dominic’s limousine, feeling the flash of cameras and the curious stares of the crowd. For seven years, she had opened car doors for these people. Tonight, Dominic Moretti walked with her arm-in-arm through the main lobby, his head held high, proudly declaring her presence to the elite world that had once ignored her.
Harlan, the manager, bowed so deeply when he saw them that he nearly lost his balance.
“Mr. Moretti! Miss Cole! Welcome! Box Six has been prepared to your exact specifications!”
“Thank you, Harlan,” Hannah said with a gentle smile. “Carry on.”
They ascended the marble staircase, passing the historic photographs in the corridor. Luca and two additional plainclothes bodyguards flanked them at a respectful distance, scanning every alcove and exit.
Inside Box Six, the ambiance was magical. The velvet curtains framed the magnificent view of the stage below, where the orchestra was already tuning their instruments. A silver ice bucket held vintage champagne, and two velvet chairs sat side by side, the third chair deliberately removed.
Dominic pulled out her chair, kissing the crown of her head as she sat. “Comfortable?”
“It feels different without the leaking umbrella,” she teased.
Dominic laughed, sitting beside her and taking her hand across the armrest. “I prefer you in emerald silk, though the wet blazer had its own charm.”
The lights dimmed. Down below, the conductor stepped onto the podium to deafening applause. The baton rose, and the haunting, powerful chords of Rachmaninoff’s masterpiece filled the auditorium.
Hannah leaned against Dominic’s shoulder, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against her cheek. For the first time in her thirty-two years, she felt completely, undeniably safe.
Thirty minutes into the performance, during a thunderous swell of percussion, Luca stepped silently through the curtain and tapped Dominic’s shoulder.
Dominic frowned, leaning back. “What is it?”
“A security breach at the loading dock, sir,” Luca whispered, his hand on his concealed sidearm. “Internal alarms tripped in the electrical basement. I need to take Marcus to verify. Stay inside the box. Gabriel will hold the curtain.”
Dominic hesitated, glancing at Hannah, then nodded. “Two minutes, Luca. If it’s nothing, get back here.”
Luca nodded and slipped out.
Hannah felt a sudden, cold prickle of intuition at the base of her neck. The theater box, usually so warm and intimate, suddenly felt horribly exposed. The music swelled below, masking the faint scuffle that occurred in the corridor just outside their curtain.
There was no gunshot. No shout. Only the soft thud of a body hitting carpet.
Before Dominic could turn his head, the velvet curtain was ripped aside.
A shadow moved with terrifying speed. A heavy blow struck the back of Dominic’s head, sending him crashing forward onto the floor, his vision swimming with stars.
“Dominic!” Hannah screamed, jumping to her feet.
A gloved hand grabbed her by the hair, violently jerking her backward. A thick, muscular arm locked around her throat, cutting off her air, while cold, oily steel pressed mercilessly beneath her jawline.
Hannah clawed at the forearm, choking, her eyes wide with terror as she looked down at the floor.
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Dominic pushed himself up, blood trickling from his hairline. He turned around, his eyes locking onto the nightmare unfolding before him.
Victor Rossi stood behind Hannah, grinning like a demon, his finger wrapped tight around the trigger of a silenced pistol pressed directly into her flesh.
