Chapter 2 - IN THE DARK
The hand clamped around Elena’s wrist felt like iron.
It was rough, calloused, and entirely wrong. The scent of stale tobacco and peppermint washed over her—a smell she hadn't encountered since she was ten years old, standing beside a closed casket in a rainy cemetery.
"Elena, don't scream," the voice repeated, pulling her backward as the dining room erupted into absolute chaos.
Glass shattered. Heavy tables were flipped. The flashes of gunfire from the hallway illuminated the banquet hall in stroboscopic bursts of yellow light. In one of those flashes, Elena saw Vincent lunging toward the spot where she had just been standing, his face twisted in absolute terror.
"Vincent!" Elena cried out, but the sound was drowned by the deafening roar of a shotgun downstairs.
Her father yanked her hard into the adjoining corridor. The darkness here was suffocating.
"Keep quiet, Ellie," Arthur hissed, using her childhood nickname. "We don't have time. They're going to kill everyone in that room."
Elena stumbled over the thick carpet, her heavy silk wedding dress catching on the corner of a console table. She wrenched her arm, trying to break his grip. "Let go of me! You're dead. You died twelve years ago!"
"I survived," Arthur snapped, dragging her toward the east wing. "And right now, I'm the only thing keeping you alive. Your new husband is a monster. He set this whole thing up."
"You're lying." Elena planted her feet, forcing him to stop. Her chest heaved. The adrenaline was overriding her shock. "Vincent didn't bring those men. He didn't bring Camilla."
In the dim moonlight filtering through the corridor windows, Arthur turned to face her. The twelve years had not been kind. His face was deeply lined, his eyes sunken and desperate. He wasn't wearing a tuxedo like the other guests. He wore a cheap trench coat, soaked with rain.
"Vincent is a Moretti," Arthur said, his voice dripping with venom. "They take what they want and they bury the rest. I had to disappear, Ellie. For your safety. But when I saw you were marrying him... I had to come back."
He reached out to touch her cheek. Elena flinched away.
As he moved, something slipped from the pocket of his trench coat and hit the hardwood floor with a heavy, metallic clink.
Elena looked down.
It was a gold pocket watch. The casing was dented, the chain broken. But even in the gloom, Elena recognized the intricate engraving of a swallow on the lid.
It was Vincent’s watch. The one he had shown her last month, an heirloom passed down from his grandfather. Vincent never took it off his vest.
Elena looked up, her blood turning to ice. "Where did you get that?"
Arthur’s eyes darted to the floor. "He dropped it. I picked it up to give it back."
"He was wearing it ten minutes ago," Elena said, stepping backward. "And you weren't in the dining room until the lights went out."
A new realization, sharper than a knife, sliced through her panic. The photograph Camilla handed her. It was dated three months ago. Her father and Vincent, standing together.
"You didn't come to save me," Elena whispered. "You're working with the men who just attacked this house."
Arthur’s desperate expression vanished. The warmth left his face, replaced by a cold, calculating stare that made him look like a stranger. He lunged, grabbing both of her arms this time.
"You're coming with me, Ellie. You're my insurance policy."
"Let her go."
The voice echoed from the end of the hall.
Elena turned her head. Vincent stood in the doorway of the library. His tuxedo jacket was gone. His white shirt was soaked with blood on the left shoulder, and he was breathing heavily.
In his right hand, he held a sleek black pistol, aimed directly at Arthur’s chest.
"Vincent!" Elena sobbed.
Vincent didn't look at her. His gray eyes were locked on her father.
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"I told you what would happen if you ever came near her again," Vincent said, his voice frighteningly calm. "Tell her, Arthur. Before I put a bullet in your throat. Tell her what you did to her mother."
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