Chapter 6 - Blood on Velvet
Chaos erupted instantly.
Women shrieked in terror as wineglasses shattered across the marble. The crowd surged in a blind stampede toward the exits, knocking over floral arrangements and velvet chairs in the pitch-black darkness.
The moment the lights died, Alessandro’s hand clamped around Sophie’s wrist like an iron band.
"Stay low!" he commanded over the din.
Two muzzle flashes strobed from the VIP terrace, casting strobe-like pulses of blue-white light over the screaming patrons. Alessandro drew his weapon, firing two deafening rounds in return. A heavy thud followed as a shooter collapsed from the balcony above.
"They're not trying to kill the crowd," Alessandro growled against Sophie’s ear, his voice deadly calm amid the hysteria. "They're covering a snatch-and-grab. They want the music box!"
"Alessandro, display case four!" Sophie shouted, pointing toward the stage where a flashlight beam was cutting across the broken glass. A man in tactical gear was already reaching into the velvet pedestal.
"Move!" Alessandro yelled.
He pulled her behind the heavy mahogany stage pillars. With terrifying speed and precision, Alessandro leaned around the marble column and fired three successive shots. The man at the display case crumpled, the heavy black walnut music box slipping from his dying grip and sliding across the polished floor toward the edge of the stage.
Sophie didn't hesitate. Adrenaline surged through her veins, drowning out fear. She dropped to her knees, disregarding the silk of her gown, and lunged across the open wood. Her fingers closed around the cold brass handles of the music box just as a spray of automatic gunfire chewed into the floorboards inches from her feet.
"Sophie!"
Alessandro threw his entire body across hers.
He was a human shield, his massive, muscled frame locking over her as wood splinters and ricochets filled the air. Sophie felt the violent shudder that ran through his body as a bullet struck him—a muffled, wet impact followed by a sharp intake of breath.
"Alessandro!" she gasped beneath him.
"I’ve got you," he grunted, his voice tight, strained with agonizing control. "I’ve got you... hold the box."
Marco and four Moretti security men suddenly flanked the stage, opening up a barrage of suppressing fire that drove the remaining Russo gunmen back toward the service corridors.
"Boss! SUV is at the side ballroom exit! We have to move now!" Marco roared, his weapon blazing.
Alessandro pushed himself up. His face was pale, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, his jaw clamped so tight the veins in his neck were bulging. He hauled Sophie to her feet with his uninjured arm, wrapping his coat around her.
As they stumbled through the smoke-filled service corridor and into the cold night rain, Sophie’s hand brushed against his side. It came away warm, wet, and glistening crimson.
"You're hit," she whispered in horror as they were shoved into the armored interior of the SUV. The heavy doors slammed shut, and the vehicle tore away from the curb with smoking tires.
"Just a scratch," Alessandro lied through gritted teeth, collapsing against the leather seat.
Sophie ripped away his torn silk shirt. The bullet had torn through his right flank, just below the ribs, narrowly missing his spine. Dark blood was pouring over his black tattoos, soaking into the leather seat.
His eyelids fluttered, his breathing shallow. "Sophie... the box... open it."
"Not until I stop this bleeding!" she cried, tears finally spilling down her fair cheeks. "Marco, drive faster! He’s dying!"
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Alessandro’s bloody, trembling hand reached up, cupping her cheek with surprising tenderness. His dark eyes held hers, fierce and defiant even on the brink of unconsciousness. "I’m not dying tonight, Sophie Dubois. Not until you get your answers."
***
