Chapter 2 - THE SILVER LIGHTER
The metallic click beneath the white linen tablecloth sounded louder than a gunshot.
Ethan didn't flinch. His eyes locked onto Marcus Vance, the man who had taught him how to shoot, how to drive, and how to survive the brutal underworld of Chicago. Marcus sat completely still, a charismatic smile frozen on his face, but his right shoulder dipped just enough to confirm he was holding a weapon aimed squarely at Ethan's chest.
"Marcus," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly calm. "Take your hand out from under the table."
"I can't do that, brother," Marcus replied smoothly, glancing at the terrified guests. "Because if I do, my finger slips. And I’d hate to ruin Vanessa’s beautiful red dress."
Vanessa let out a strangled gasp. She tried to push her chair back, but Marcus grabbed her wrist with his free hand, anchoring her in place.
"Let her go," Ethan warned.
"She's my insurance policy," Marcus sneered. He looked down at the brass floor vent where Claire's trembling fingers were still visible. "I told you to make sure the wife was dealt with, Vanessa. I didn't tell you to keep a pet in the cellar."
Vanessa burst into tears. "I couldn't do it! I couldn't kill her, Marcus! You said you just needed her shares in the company!"
The room erupted in gasps. The polished, elegant fiancée wasn't the mastermind. She was a pawn, terrified and drowning in a scheme far larger than a stolen marriage.
"You stupid, weak girl," Marcus spat.
He didn't shoot Ethan. Instead, Marcus kicked the heavy oak dining table upward with brutal force. Crystal glasses shattered. Plates flew. In the chaos, Marcus shoved Vanessa into Ethan's path and bolted toward the terrace doors.
I didn't think. I just reacted.
As Marcus sprinted past me, I shoved my heavy silver serving tray straight into his shins.
He tripped, crashing hard onto the marble floor. He scrambled to his feet instantly, disappearing into the dark gardens, but he left something behind on the polished tiles.
I knelt down and picked it up.
It was a heavy, sterling silver lighter.
Ethan rushed to my side, his security team already swarming the terrace. He looked at the lighter in my hand, and all the color drained from his face for the second time that night.
"That was my father's," Ethan whispered. "He had it in his pocket the night he was murdered in the warehouse fire."
Before I could ask how Marcus had obtained a dead man's lighter, the heavy cellar doors in the hallway burst open. Two guards carried Claire into the dining room. She was frail, filthy, and shivering uncontrollably.
Ethan dropped to his knees, wrapping his expensive suit jacket around her fragile shoulders.
"I've got you, Claire. You're safe," he choked out, burying his face in her tangled hair.
But Claire didn't hug him back. She gripped his lapels, her hollow eyes wide with a terror that went far beyond Marcus Vance.
"Ethan," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "Where is Leo? Where is my baby?"
Ethan froze, his hands trembling. "Leo is at the boarding school in Geneva, Claire. He's safe."
May you like
Claire let out a gut-wrenching scream.
"No he isn't! Vanessa brought him down to the cellar yesterday! She told me if I ever made a sound, I would never see our five-year-old son again!"
