Chapter 3 - The Midnight Summons
The lights in the penthouse blinked out, plunging the sixty-first floor into shadowy silhouettes illuminated only by the stormy sky outside. Red emergency auxiliary lights flickered to life along the baseboards, casting long, bloody shadows across the marble floor.
“Stay behind me,” Cassian ordered, his entire demeanor shifting instantly from intrigued suitor to lethal predator. He drew a matte-black firearm from his shoulder holster with fluid, practiced grace.
“I am not getting shot in a cardigan,” Margot muttered, grabbing her laptop and tucking it securely under her arm.
“Your cardigan is safe, Ms. Reeves,” Cassian said, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips even as the distant sound of shattering glass echoed from the emergency stairwell. “Dante, take the service lift corridor. Bottleneck them at the fire door.”
Dante moved like a phantom into the darkness. Cassian took Margot’s wrist, his grip warm, firm, and surprisingly protective. He guided her through a concealed doorway hidden behind a mahogany bookshelf into a secure private study reinforced with bullet-resistant steel doors.
“Stay here. The door locks from the inside,” Cassian told her, his eyes locking onto hers in the crimson emergency glow. “Do not open it for anyone except me.”
“And how do I know it’s you?” she demanded, her voice tight but remarkably steady despite the adrenaline surging through her.
Cassian stepped into her personal space, his gaze dropping to her lips before meeting her eyes with blistering heat. “Because I am the only man who will ever look at you like this.”
Before she could process the weight of his words, he slipped out into the corridor and the heavy steel door sealed shut with a mechanical click.
Outside, muffled gunshots echoed, followed by the heavy thuds of close-quarters combat. Margot’s heart raced against her ribs. She was a forensic accountant from the suburbs whose biggest daily thrill was uncovering an unauthorized expense account, not an action hero caught in a mob war.
Yet, as she sat on the leather sofa inside the secure room, she refused to cower. She opened her laptop, hot-spotting her cell phone's encrypted cellular network. If Raymond Forti was attempting to assassinate Cassian tonight, he would be coordinating his escape route in real-time.
She accessed the Chicago traffic camera grid via an administrative backdoor she had discovered three weeks prior. Within three minutes, she pinpointed a black Cadillac Escalade idling in a blind alleyway two blocks west of the tower, its engine running and plates obscured.
Fifteen minutes later, the mechanical lock clicked. The door opened.
Cassian stood in the doorway. His white shirt was torn at the shoulder, a smear of soot across his cheek, and his knuckles were split and bloody. But his posture was unbroken, his breathing steady.
“It's clear,” he said quietly.
Margot didn't flinch at the blood. She stood up, turned her laptop screen toward him, and pointed to a blinking red coordinate on the satellite map. “Raymond is waiting at the corner of Franklin and Adams. Black Escalade. If you dispatch your south-side units now, you can cut off his access to the interstate.”
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Cassian stared at the screen, then looked up at Margot. The look in his eyes was no longer just fascination; it was awe.
“You never cease to amaze me,” Cassian whispered. He stepped forward, reaching out with a hand that was steady despite the violence he had just dispensed. With infinite gentleness, his thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away a speck of dust near her glasses. “Pack your things, Margot. You're moving into my private estate tonight. You're far too valuable to let out of my sight.”
