Chapter 2 - The Five-Minute Warning
The heavy oak doors of the grand ballroom clicked with a sickening, synchronized thud. The magnetic locks, designed to keep paparazzi out of high-profile events, had just turned the opulent space into a gilded cage. Three hundred guests, a mix of New York high society and underworld royalty, froze. The silence was heavier than the crystal chandeliers suspended above them. Then, the panic set in.
“Keep everyone away from the glass!” Daniel roared, his voice cutting through the rising tide of screams. He drew a matte-black sidearm from beneath his tailored jacket, ignoring the blood dripping from his temple.
Gabriel Romano did not draw a weapon. He didn’t need to. He stood at the head table, his eyes locked on Bianca. The beautiful bride was trembling, her pristine white Vera Wang gown suddenly looking like a surrender flag.
“Gabriel, I swear,” Bianca choked out, tears spilling over her immaculate makeup. “I only knew they wanted to talk to you. My father said they just needed leverage to force a negotiation. He promised no one would get hurt.”
“Leverage,” Gabriel repeated. The word sounded like poison on his tongue. He looked across the room toward the Russo family tables. Bianca’s father, Enzo Russo, was standing behind a flipped banquet table, shielded by three armed men. Enzo wouldn’t meet Gabriel’s eyes.
Natalie Shaw, crouching behind the massive floral arch she had meticulously designed that morning, felt her chest tightening. She was an event planner. She managed catering delays, drunken groomsmen, and unpredictable weather. She did not manage hostage situations. But as she watched Gabriel’s men form a human shield around him, a stark realization hit her.
Gabriel’s men were outnumbered. Half of the security personnel in the room were wearing the Russo family’s signature white carnation on their lapels. They had infiltrated the guard detail. The five-minute warning wasn’t just a threat—it was the time it would take for Teresa Romano’s outside forces to breach the reinforced doors while the Russos kept Gabriel pinned down inside.
“Four minutes, Gabriel,” Teresa’s voice echoed, this time piped directly through the ballroom’s surround-sound speakers. Natalie realized with horror that they had hijacked the DJ’s soundboard.
“Daniel,” Gabriel said calmly, his eyes scanning the room. “Can we break the glass?”
“Ballistic rated,” Daniel replied grimly. “It’ll take sustained fire, and the sniper on the roof will pick us off the second we compromise the pane. We’re boxed in. The main doors are deadlocked from the security mainframe.”
Natalie looked down at her hands. She was gripping her venue management tablet. The tablet that controlled the lighting, the temperature, the music, and the electronic locks. The network had been hacked, yes, but Natalie knew this venue better than anyone. It was a historic estate, built in the 1920s by a prominent bootlegger.
Taking a deep breath, she crawled out from behind the floral arch. “Mr. Romano!” she hissed.
Gabriel’s eyes snapped to her. A guard instantly leveled a weapon at her head, but Gabriel raised a hand, lowering the gun.
“You’re the coordinator,” Gabriel said, his voice entirely devoid of fear.
“The electronic locks are on a separate grid from the service corridors,” Natalie said quickly, her fingers flying across her tablet. “Behind the stage, there’s a hidden panel used by the orchestra to load in heavy equipment. It leads down into the old prohibition tunnels. The cameras down there have been dead for a decade. They can’t see us. I can get you out.”
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Gabriel looked at her. Really looked at her. He evaluated the risk, the timing, and her face.
“Lead the way,” he said.
