Chapter 4 - THE GLASS SHATTERS
Chloe stared down at the dark red liquid inside the crystal flute as if it were a coiled viper. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her immaculate foundation looking chalky and dead.
"I... I shouldn't," Chloe stammered, her voice suddenly high and fragile, completely stripped of its earlier arrogance. She took a step back, bumping into the arm of the leather sofa. "My doctor said... with the excitement and the stress... I shouldn't drink red wine tonight."
"A single sip won't hurt, darling," Tessa said, taking another step forward, closing the distance between them. Her smile was sharp enough to draw blood. "Not for a vintage this rare. Your father specifically requested that we celebrate the union. Surely you wouldn't insult your own family's generosity?"
"Take the glass, Chloe," Richard Bishop said through gritted teeth, his voice hard as iron. He glared at his daughter, a silent, furious command burning in his eyes. He was a ruthless tactician, but he was realizing, second by second, that the room had slipped from his control.
Julian moved. His hand vanished beneath his jacket, reaching for the silenced nine-millimeter tucked into his shoulder holster.
Before the gun could clear the leather, the double doors behind them were kicked open with a thunderous crash that shattered the wood around the hinges.
Six Castell soldiers, fully tactical, armed with suppressed submachine guns, flooded the room in complete silence. The red laser sights painted three distinct dots on Julian Bishop's forehead, heart, and throat.
Julian froze, his fingers locked around the grip of his weapon, his breath hitching in his chest.
"Move your hand another inch, Julian," Roman said, stepping out from behind the bar, his voice ice-cold and utterly conversational, "and they'll be mopping your brains off my antique wallpaper before your father can draw his next breath."
Richard Bishop did not flinch, but the knuckles gripping his silver cane turned bone-white. "What is the meaning of this, Roman? You bring armed men into a family toast? Is this how you honor our agreement?"
"Our agreement died forty minutes ago, Richard," Roman said, walking over to the desk in the corner of the lounge. He picked up the folded cream funeral card and tossed it into the center of the glass coffee table. It landed face-up, the gold-embossed Castell crest catching the amber light. "*In Loving Memory of Roman Alexander Castell.* Very tasteful. Did you pick the font yourself, Chloe, or did you leave that to the funeral director you booked for Tuesday?"
Chloe let out a choked sob, dropping her clutch to the floor. The contents spilled across the Persian rug—a compact, a lipstick, and a tiny, dark amber glass vial with an eye-dropper cap.
The evidence was undeniable.
"You're making a catastrophic mistake, Castell," Richard said, his voice dropping into a venomous hiss. "You think you can take down the Bishop family in a single night? I have forty men stationed in the ballroom below. The police commissioner is sitting at table four. The moment I fail to walk out of this room, Chicago becomes an open war zone."
"Your forty men have already been disarmed, Richard," Tessa said, her voice calm, slicing through his threats with devastating precision. She held up her phone, displaying the live security feed from the ballroom. "While you were waiting for Roman to choke on your aconitine, my team slipped behind your lieutenants. Every weapon in that room has been accounted for. And Captain Miller? The man who was supposed to rule Roman's death a heart attack?"
She tapped the screen. A new feed appeared, showing Captain Miller sitting in the back of an unmarked black van in the underground garage, his wrists bound in heavy-duty zip ties, an FBI agent reading him his Miranda rights from a laminated card.
Richard Bishop’s jaw slackened. For the first time in thirty years of ruling Chicago’s underworld, genuine panic flickered in his cold eyes.
"You didn't just coordinate this tonight," Richard whispered, staring at Tessa with a mixture of hatred and horrified realization. "You've been building this federal wire for months."
"Tessa doesn't leave loose ends, Richard," Roman said, stepping behind Tessa, his broad shoulder brushing against hers in a solid, unyielding display of unity. "You thought you were targeting my executive director. You forgot she's the one who built the cage you just walked into."
"Roman, please!" Chloe suddenly threw herself forward, dropping to her knees on the rug, her hands clutching at the hem of Roman's trousers. "It wasn't my idea! My father made me do it! He said you would discard me the moment the routes were consolidated! He told me we had no choice!"
Roman looked down at her with pure, undiluted disgust. He did not kick her away, but he stepped back, leaving her hands grasping at empty air.
"You sent my director a bouquet of white lilies yesterday with a note telling her that her time was up, Chloe," Roman said softly. "You were measuring the curtains in my penthouse while planning my burial." He looked toward his head of security. "Take them down through the private freight elevator. Hand them over to Special Agent Harris. All three of them."
"You can't do this!" Julian snarled as two guards grabbed his arms, stripping his weapon and pinning him against the wall. "The commission will tear you apart for turning on another family!"
"The commission received a full copy of your funeral program and the toxicology report ten minutes ago," Roman replied, turning his back on them. "In this city, treason against the Castell family carries a death sentence. Giving you to the feds is me being merciful."
As the guards dragged the screaming Chloe and the cursing Bishops down the corridor, the lounge fell into a heavy, ringing silence. The storm outside lashed against the glass with renewed fury, but inside, the war was already over.
Tessa let out a long, ragged breath. Her knees trembled slightly, the adrenaline suddenly draining from her system, leaving behind the crushing weight of exhaustion.
She turned to leave. "I'll go supervise the cleanup in the ballroom."
May you like
Roman moved before she could take two steps. His hand shot out, catching her wrist, pulling her back into the center of the room with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"You're not going anywhere, Tessa," he said, his eyes blazing in the dim light. "We're not finished."
