Chapter 6 - The Traitor Unmasked
Marco stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, his hand resting heavy on the grip of his holstered firearm. His eyes narrowed as they locked onto me standing in the shadows.
"Elena," he sneered, his voice dripping with sudden malice. "What are you doing wandering around at this hour?"
I forced my expression to remain blank, swallowing the thick lump of panic in my throat. "I was just going down to the kitchen to make some tea for myself. Is there a problem, Marco?"
Marco took two slow, menacing steps toward me. "How much of that conversation did you hear?"
"What conversation?" I asked, pulling off a performance of pure confusion. "I just got off the elevator. Did you need something from the kitchen?"
Marco stared at me, searching my eyes for any sign of deception. For three unbearable seconds, I thought he was going to buy the act. Then, his eyes dropped to my trembling right hand, which was clutching the fabric of my sweater.
His face hardened into a brutal mask. "You heard everything."
Before I could scream, Marco lunged forward, grabbing my forearm in a vice-like grip and slamming me hard against the wall. The back of my head rattled against the plaster, making stars dance in my vision.
"You're going to keep your mouth shut, maid," Marco growled, pressing his heavy forearm against my throat, cutting off my air. "If you say one word to Castalano or Moretti, I won't just kill you. I'll make sure your little daughter in the yellow dress disappears into the river."
The mention of Mia ignited a wild, animalistic fury inside my chest. Fear evaporated, replaced by raw maternal instinct.
I drove my knee up violently into his groin.
Marco groaned in agony, his grip slipping from my throat. I didn't waste a single second. I grabbed a heavy bronze vase resting on the hallway console table and smashed it directly across the side of his face.
The vase shattered into a dozen pieces. Marco stumbled backward, blood pouring from his nose, swearing loudly.
I turned and ran as fast as my legs could carry me, my lungs burning, screaming at the top of my voice: "RENZO! SECURITY!"
Footsteps echoed wildly down the corridor. Doors slammed open.
Marco recovered quickly, drawing his suppressed pistol and sprinting after me. "Shut up, you bitch!"
I turned the corner toward Vincent's study, but my shoe caught on the edge of the hallway runner carpet. I went crashing down onto the hard floor, skidding across the wood.
Marco caught up in two strides, standing over me with his gun pointed directly at my forehead. "End of the line, Elena."
BANG!
A deafening shot echoed through the hallway. But it didn't come from Marco's gun.
Marco's eyes went wide with shock. He dropped his weapon, collapsed forward onto his knees, and crashed to the floor, unconscious.
Standing ten feet away at the end of the hall was Vincent Castalano, a smoking black pistol held firmly in his right hand. Renzo was right behind him, flanked by four fully armed guards.
Vincent rushed forward, dropping his gun into his holster and sliding down onto the floor beside me. He grabbed my shoulders, his dark eyes frantic with an emotion I had never seen on his face before: sheer panic.
"Elena," Vincent rasped, his voice rough and breathless. "Are you hit? Look at me. Are you hurt?"
"I'm... I'm okay," I sobbed, the adrenaline finally washing out of my system, leaving me shaking violently. "Marco... he's working with Victor Vance. He was trying to get the keycards..."
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Vincent pulled me into his chest, wrapping his strong arms tightly around me. "Hush now," he whispered fiercely against my hair. "You're safe. I've got you."
As I pressed my face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of cedarwood and expensive rain, I realized something terrifying: the most dangerous man in the city was holding me like I was the most precious thing in his world.
