Chapter 15 - The Shattered Glass
The words struck Elena like a physical blow. Her knees felt hollow, the opulent ballroom spinning in sickening circles of gold and emerald.
*He harvested you.*
"Step back, Moretti!" Marco’s harsh command rang out, his gun clearing his jacket under the cover of his folded trench coat.
Lorenzo merely raised his glass with a sinister, triumphant smirk. "Just giving the lady a history lesson, Marco. Enjoy your night, Cinderella. The clock is striking midnight."
Before Elena could catch her breath, a sharp *SNAP* echoed through the ceiling arches.
The crystal chandeliers overhead flickered—and then the entire Drake Hotel plunged into pitch-black darkness.
Screams tore through the darkness. The chaotic scraping of chairs, the shattering of champagne glasses, and then—the unmistakable, rhythmic thud of suppressed automatic rifle fire.
"DOWN!" Marco roared, lunging forward to tackle Elena toward the marble basin of the fountain.
Bullets chewed through the plaster walls above their heads, sending showers of white dust raining down on Elena’s bare shoulders. In the pitch black, muzzle flashes lit the ballroom like strobes of lightning, illuminating masked gunmen in tactical gear sweeping into the room from the service entrances.
"Lily..." Elena’s mind instantly screamed, raw terror seizing her heart. Her daughter was safe at the manor, but the sheer ferocity of this ambush meant whoever was attacking wasn't just sending a message—they were trying to slaughter everyone in the room.
A heavy hand clamped onto Elena’s shoulder. She gasped, ready to strike, but the familiar scent of expensive tobacco and bergamot engulfed her.
"I have you," Vincent’s voice growled in the dark.
He pulled her behind the heavy stone pillar, shielding her completely with his broad frame. In his right hand, a chrome Beretta spat fire twice into the darkness. A masked attacker charging toward their flank dropped instantly to the marble floor with two shots to the chest.
"Vincent, they know!" Elena cried out, her voice competing with the terrifying din of screams and ricochets. "Moretti said—"
"Not now, Elena! Stay behind me!" Vincent barked, pulling a spare magazine from his tuxedo, reloading with terrifying mechanical precision. "Marco! Flank the service elevator! We move now!"
As they sprinted toward the kitchen corridors, a shadow darted out from behind an industrial freezer, raising a shotgun directly at Marco’s exposed back.
Time slowed to a crawling crawl. Marco didn't see him. Vincent was engaging two shooters at the end of the hall.
Elena didn't think. The lessons from the shooting range burned into her muscles. She snatched the discarded Glock from a fallen guard at her feet, raised both arms, leveled the iron sights at the shooter's chest, and squeezed the trigger.
*BANG.*
The shotgun blast blew harmlessly into the ceiling as the attacker collapsed against the stainless steel counters. Marco spun around, eyes wide with shock, looking from the dead gunman to Elena, whose hands were steady, smoke curling from the barrel of her weapon.
Vincent turned, his eyes locking onto hers through the drifting gunsmoke. For a fraction of a second, amidst the slaughter, an intense, feral pride flashed across his scarred face.
"Good girl," he breathed, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the loading dock where their armored convoy waited, engines idling.
They burst into the cold Chicago night, piling into the Maybach as tires squealed against the slick asphalt. Behind them, the Drake Hotel was consumed by fire and sirens.
Elena sat back against the leather seat, the adrenaline slowly draining from her veins, leaving behind a cold, sickening ache. She looked down at her hands—hands that had once washed floors and bandaged Lily’s scraped knees, now stained with black powder.
And then she looked at Vincent, who was checking his weapons, his face hardened like granite.
"Lorenzo told me something before the lights went out," Elena said, her voice shaking, breaking the silence of the speeding car.
Vincent paused, his dark eyes slowly lifting to meet hers.
"He told me that Marcus didn't find me by chance," Elena whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "He said you paid Marcus to herd me to your door. Tell me it’s a lie, Vincent. Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't know who I was before I walked into your manor."
Vincent stared at her, the jaw muscle feathering beneath his skin. For three agonizing seconds, he didn't blink.
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He didn't say it was a lie.
***
