Chapter 3 - THE BROKEN WATCH
The temperature in the room plummeted.
I stared at the shattered silver pocket watch. I knew the rumors about Victor’s older brother, Dominic. He had been killed in a car bombing five years ago—an unsolved murder that had forced Victor to take the reins of the Romano empire. Dominic had left behind a young son, Elian, whom Victor guarded with a terrifying, obsessive secrecy.
Answer One, Open Two. The watch proved Matteo was behind Dominic’s murder. But if Matteo had Elian now, how had he bypassed Victor’s impenetrable security?
“If you have touched one hair on that boy’s head,” Victor said, his voice dropping to a gravelly, demonic whisper, “I will burn you alive, Matteo.”
“The boy is perfectly safe,” Matteo said, picking up his wine glass. “For now. He’s coloring in a very secure location. You have until midnight to sign over the North Side shipping routes. If you don't, little Elian is going to have a tragic accident. Just like his father.”
Camilla let out a terrified whimper. She was backing away toward the door, realizing she had walked into a warzone. “I didn't know,” she stammered, looking at Victor. “I swear to God, Victor, I didn't know about the boy.”
“Shut up, Camilla,” Matteo snapped. His nephew stood up, pulling a suppressed pistol from his waistband.
“Sign the transfer, Victor,” Matteo ordered. “Or my nephew shoots your pretty little typist first, then Leo, and then we work on your knees.”
I gripped the edge of the table. My heart battered against my ribs. I thought of my father, lying in his hospital bed, waiting for me to call him tomorrow.
I looked at Victor. I expected him to surrender. He loved his nephew more than his own life.
Instead, Victor looked at me. His dark eyes locked onto mine, communicating a silent, intense command. Trust me.
“Miss Hastings,” Victor said calmly. “Did you bring the physical contracts?”
“Yes, Mr. Romano,” I said, my voice remarkably steady. I reached down for my leather briefcase resting against the leg of my chair.
“Put your hands on the table!” the nephew barked, aiming the gun directly at my chest.
“She’s just getting the paperwork, you idiot,” Victor said smoothly.
I unlatched the briefcase. I didn't reach for paper.
Three days ago, Victor had handed me a heavy, cold object and told me to keep it in a false compartment at the bottom of my bag. “Never bring it out unless I ask for the physical contracts,” he had said.
I wrapped my hand around the grip of the compact Glock 19.
I pulled it from the briefcase and threw it straight across the table to Victor.
The room exploded into motion.
Victor caught the weapon mid-air. He didn't hesitate. He fired two suppressed shots before Matteo’s nephew could even pull his trigger. The nephew collapsed backward, crashing into the dessert cart in a tangle of limbs and shattered glass.
Matteo roared, diving under the heavy oak table.
Leo grabbed Camilla by the collar of her ivory dress and shoved her brutally out of the line of fire. “Move!” Leo shouted at me.
Victor grabbed my hand. His grip was bruising, pulling me away from the table as a barrage of bullets tore through the drywall from the restaurant corridor. Matteo’s men were outside.
“The kitchen!” Victor yelled over the deafening gunfire.
We sprinted through the swinging doors into the commercial kitchen. Chefs and dishwashers were already screaming, diving under stainless steel prep stations. Pans of boiling water hissed as bullets struck the stoves behind us.
We reached the back alley. The cold Chicago night air hit my face, biting through my wet, wine-stained silk dress.
Victor’s armored SUV was idling in the alley.
Victor threw the back door open, shoving me inside. Leo jumped into the driver’s seat. Victor climbed in last, slamming the heavy ballistic door shut just as Matteo’s men burst into the alley, firing wildly. The bullets pinged harmlessly off the reinforced glass.
“Drive!” Victor commanded.
Leo slammed on the gas. The heavy SUV rocketed out of the alley, tires screeching against the wet pavement.
I fell back against the leather seat, gasping for air. My hands were shaking so violently I couldn't clasp them together. I had just survived a mob shootout.
I turned to look at Victor, expecting him to bark orders on his phone.
Instead, Victor was leaning heavily against the window, his eyes tightly shut.
“Victor?” I whispered.
May you like
He moved his hand away from his chest. His crisp white shirt was soaked in dark, glistening blood. He had taken a bullet meant for me.
And then, sitting in the cup holder between the seats, a cheap, plastic burner phone began to ring.
