Chapter 2 - SHATTERED GLASS AND BROKEN TRUST
The silence in Aurelia was absolute, a heavy, suffocating blanket that descended the moment the advisor’s hand twitched toward his jacket. Every man at Dominic Vale's table was a hardened veteran of Chicago’s brutal underworld, and their instincts were honed to a razor's edge. But before their hands could even brush the cold steel concealed beneath their tailored suits, my own instincts—buried for five long, agonizing years—took over.
I wasn’t just Claire, the quiet waitress from Indiana. I was a Mercer. And Mercers never hesitated.
As the advisor, Silas, withdrew the sleek, suppressed pistol from his holster, the ambient light of the restaurant caught the jagged burn scars on his wrist. The scars Audrey had seen. The scars that condemned him. I didn't think; I moved. I grabbed the heavy, solid brass water pitcher from the neighboring table and hurled it with every ounce of strength I possessed.
The brass collided with Silas’s forearm with a sickening crunch. His finger jerked on the trigger. The gunshot was muffled by the silencer, but the bullet tore through the grand crystal chandelier above us. Shards of glass rained down like lethal snow.
"Down!" I screamed, lunging forward. I didn't dive for cover; I dove for Audrey. I threw my body over her small, trembling frame, shielding her from the falling crystal and the sudden eruption of chaos.
Dominic Vale moved like a shadow unleashed. He didn't flinch at the shattering glass. With terrifying speed, he vaulted the table, his knee driving squarely into Silas’s chest. The air left Silas’s lungs in a violent rush as he crashed to the hardwood floor. Before the traitor could reach for his dropped weapon, three of Dominic’s enforcers had their guns pressed directly to his skull.
The restaurant was in pandemonium. Patrons were screaming, scrambling for the exits, overturning tables in their desperate bid to escape the crossfire. My manager was cowering behind the mahogany bar, his face the color of ash.
"Get him up," Dominic commanded, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that somehow cut through the roaring din of the panicked crowd. His men hauled a bleeding, gasping Silas to his knees. Dominic didn't look at him immediately; his piercing, stormy grey eyes locked onto me. I was still crouched over his daughter, my hands gently hovering over her ears, my body acting as a human shield.
Slowly, I pulled back. I looked down at Audrey.
Are you hurt? I signed, my fingers moving in rapid, fluid motions.
She shook her head, her wide, terrified eyes fixated on her father. She gripped her wet stuffed rabbit so tightly her knuckles were white.
Dominic stepped closer, his imposing figure blocking out the light. He looked from his daughter to me, his gaze calculating, dissecting. He noticed the perfect execution of my throw, the lack of fear in my eyes, the trained way I checked the perimeter even as I knelt on the floor.
"You saved my daughter," Dominic said, the words heavy. "But you throw a pitcher like someone who knows how to kill."
Before I could answer, Silas let out a wet, desperate laugh. "You're a fool, Dominic! You think I acted alone? The Romanos know everything. They know the girl is your weak point. They..."
Dominic didn't let him finish. He drew his own weapon and, with a swift, merciless motion, struck Silas across the jaw with the heavy grip. The advisor slumped forward, unconscious.
"Clean this up," Dominic ordered his men, his voice devoid of emotion. "And get the cars ready. We are moving to the stronghold."
He turned back to me, extending a large, calloused hand. I hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it. His grip was firm, electric, pulling me to my feet with effortless strength.
"You're coming with us," Dominic stated. It wasn't a request.
"I have a life here," I lied, keeping my voice steady. "I'm just a waitress."
Dominic scoffed, a dark, humorless sound. "A waitress who reads sign language, recognizes an assassin's draw, and disarms him with a pitcher. You're coming, Claire. If the Romanos sent Silas, they will kill anyone who gets in their way. You're a target now."
Audrey tugged on my apron.
May you like
Please come, she signed, a single tear cutting a path through the dust on her cheek.
I looked at the little girl, then at the man who commanded Chicago’s underworld. Five years of hiding were over. The ghosts of my past were clawing their way out of the grave. I nodded once.
