Chapter 5 - Blood on the Marble Floor
The humiliation at the Drake Hotel broke Victoria Sterling’s remaining sanity. She realized that I wasn't an insecure girl she could intimidate into abandoning the girls. She realized that with me standing beside him, Vincent was more popular, more respectable, and more dangerous than he had ever been.
Four days before the custody evaluation, Victoria played her final, desperate card. She allied with the Petrov Syndicate, a ruthless Russian gang that had been trying to seize control of the Chicago docks for a decade.
It was a stormy Thursday evening. Vincent was thirty miles away at an industrial warehouse, lured out by a coordinated explosion on one of his commercial cargo ships.
I was tucked into the girls’ bedroom reading them The Secret Garden. The rain lashed against the tall bay windows, lightning flashing in jagged white streaks across the dark sky. Mia and Chloe were nestled against my sides, their warm little hands resting on my knees, listening intently to the rhythm of my voice.
Suddenly, the power cut out.
The mansion plunged into pitch darkness. Seconds later, the terrifying staccato sound of automatic gunfire erupted from the lower floor, followed by the muffled grunts of falling men.
My heart leaped into my throat. They're inside.
I slammed the book shut. ""Mia, Chloe, under the bed, right now! Not a single sound, do you hear me? Stay quiet and don't move!""
The girls scrambled under the heavy mahogany bed, pulling the dust ruffle down. I rushed to the nightstand, opening the secret biometric drawer Vincent had taught me to use on our second day. Inside lay a compact, loaded semi-automatic handgun. My hands were shaking, but the instinct to protect those innocent children overpowered every thread of fear in my body.
The bedroom door was kicked open with a splintering crash.
A massive man in tactical gear stepped into the room, holding an assault rifle, a cruel grin spreading across his bearded face. ""Look what we have here. The fat little bride. Hand over the girls, lady, and maybe we won't butcher you like a pig.""
He raised his rifle.
Adrenaline surged like fire through my veins. I didn't hesitate. I raised the handgun with both hands, exactly as Vincent had drilled into me, and pulled the trigger three times.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The deafening gunshots echoed inside the room. The intruder gasped, dropping his weapon as two bullets tore into his chest and one into his shoulder. He collapsed heavily against the doorframe, dead before he touched the carpet.
Footsteps pounded down the corridor. Two more armed mercenaries rushed into the doorway. I ducked behind a heavy oak dresser as bullets splintered the wood inches above my scalp. I fired back blindly, pinning them down, but my ammunition was running dry. The slide locked back—empty!
One of the Russian mercenaries lunged around the corner, grabbing my throat and slamming me against the wall. The air was crushed out of my lungs, black spots dancing in my vision as his iron fingers squeezed tighter.
""Bitch,"" he snarled. ""Say goodbye.""
Suddenly, a loud crack echoed from behind him.
A heavy silver candlestick slammed directly into the side of the mercenary's head with astonishing force.
The man stumbled, releasing my neck. I fell to my knees, gasping for breath, and looked up in complete shock.
Standing behind the mercenary, holding the bent silver candlestick with both tiny hands, was six-year-old Mia. Her eyes were blazing with fierce, protective fury.
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Before the mercenary could recover and turn on her, a shadow descended upon the room like an avenging angel of death.
Vincent had arrived.
