Chapter 2 - THE SHATTERED GLASS
"Who the hell are you?" Dominic Vale’s voice was a jagged edge beneath the opulent hum of the dining room.
At the other end of the table, Isabella raised her crystal flute, the lethal bubbles fizzing against the rim. "To us, my love," she purred, her eyes glittering with a predatory warmth.
The room waited. The foreign investors, the rival capos, the bought translator—they all watched Dominic, holding their breath like jackals waiting for the lion to finally fall.
Evelyn didn’t blink. "I'm the woman who just bought you ten seconds of life," she whispered. "Drink that, and you’re dead."
Dominic didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes locked on his stunning fiancée. A slow, chilling smile spread across his face, the kind of smile that had made him the most feared man on the Eastern seaboard. He picked up the champagne flute with his free hand.
Evelyn’s stomach plummeted. He was going to drink it. He thought she was lying.
"To us, Isabella," Dominic declared, his voice echoing off the mahogany walls.
He brought the glass to his lips. And then, with a vicious, fluid motion, he crushed the crystal flute in his bare hand.
The sharp crack of shattering glass cut through the room like a gunshot. Champagne and blood sprayed across the pristine white linen tablecloth.
Isabella flinched, her perfect mask slipping for a fraction of a second. The Russian investor bolted upright.
"Clumsy of me," Dominic said smoothly, ignoring the blood dripping from his palm. He stood up, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the table. "My apologies, gentlemen. It seems I’ve ruined the toast. And my suit."
Before anyone could speak, Dominic’s grip on Evelyn’s wrist tightened, pulling her forward. "You," he barked, playing the part of the enraged billionaire perfectly. "Show me to the washroom. Now."
"Sir, I—" the chief of security started forward.
"Stay here, Marcus," Dominic snapped, his tone brooking absolute zero defiance. "Keep our guests entertained. I’ll be right back."
Evelyn didn't resist. She let Dominic drag her out of the dining room, through the heavy double doors, and into the sprawling, dimly lit corridor of the estate. The moment the doors clicked shut behind them, the billionaire facade vanished.
Dominic slammed her back against the silk-lined wall, his forearm pressing against her collarbone. Not enough to hurt, but enough to trap her completely.
"Start talking," he growled. "You know a cipher that only two men in the world ever used. My father, and his chief accountant, Arthur Reed. Arthur died fifteen years ago in a car fire."
"Arthur Reed was my father," Evelyn said, her voice shaking but her chin held high. "My real name is Evelyn Reed. And I know the cipher because he taught it to me when I was a little girl, before your syndicate swallowed him whole."
Dominic’s eyes widened, a flash of genuine shock breaking through his hardened exterior. "Arthur’s daughter. You’re supposed to be in Europe."
"I was," Evelyn said bitterly. "Until the accounts I was auditing started tracing back to your uncle’s shell companies. I came back to Boston to disappear. To hide my son."
The mention of a child made Dominic freeze.
But before he could interrogate her further, the heavy dining room doors creaked open. The bought translator slipped into the hallway, pulling a silenced pistol from his tuxedo jacket.
Dominic reacted with lethal speed. He shoved Evelyn to the floor, lunging at the translator. The silenced gun coughed twice, the bullets chewing into the plaster right where Evelyn’s head had been. Dominic slammed the man into the wall, disarming him with a brutal strike to the wrist and pinning him by the throat.
"Who gave the order?" Dominic hissed, pulling a combat knife from his own ankle holster. "Isabella?"
The translator gasped for air, his eyes bulging. "No! Not... not her."
Evelyn scrambled to her feet. "He’s lying! I heard her speak Chechen. She ordered the hit!"
"She ordered the poison!" the translator choked out, blood bubbling on his lips. "But she’s not the one paying me. She doesn't know about the gunmen!"
Dominic’s brow furrowed. "Gunmen?"
"The perimeter is breached," the translator wheezed, a sick smile spreading across his face. "Isabella thinks she’s taking over tonight. But your Uncle Carmine... he’s not working with her, Dominic. He’s using her as a distraction. He’s going to slaughter everyone in that room, including Isabella. And you."
The reversal hit Evelyn like a physical blow. Isabella wasn't the mastermind; she was just the bait.
Dominic dropped the translator, knocking him unconscious with the heavy hilt of his knife. He turned to Evelyn, his face a mask of cold calculation. "Where is your son?"
"In the staff breakroom," Evelyn panicked, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Down in the basement. I couldn't afford a sitter tonight. He’s six years old, Dominic. He’s just a little boy."
"We have exactly three minutes before Carmine’s strike team breaches this floor," Dominic said, grabbing her hand. "We move now."
As they sprinted down the servants' stairwell, Evelyn’s foot caught on the edge of a step. She stumbled, and a heavy object slipped from her apron pocket, clattering onto the concrete landing.
Dominic stopped, shining his phone flashlight downward.
Lying on the dusty concrete was a tarnished silver pocket watch. It was engraved with a crest of a double-headed eagle.
Dominic’s breath hitched. He reached down and picked it up, staring at it as if it were a ghost.
"Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice suddenly hollow.
May you like
"It was my father's," Evelyn said desperately. "They gave it to me in his effects after the crash."
"No," Dominic whispered, his dark eyes snapping up to meet hers. "It wasn't. This watch belonged to my father. And it was stolen off his body the night he was murdered."
