Chapter 2 - The Blind Spot
The darkness was absolute, heavy, and sudden. It swallowed the ballroom in a fraction of a second, cutting off the gold-leaf chandeliers and the soft ambient glow of the wall sconces. For one agonizing heartbeat, the room was suspended in total silence. Then, the chaos erupted.
A woman screamed near the orchestra pit. A chair crashed to the marble floor.
Claire didn’t run. Her instincts, honed by years of navigating crowded, dim dining rooms, told her to drop. She fell to her knees just as the sharp, distinctive thwip of a suppressed gunshot cut through the rising panic. The champagne flute she had placed on the table shattered into invisible dust exactly where her chest had been a second before.
They weren’t waiting. The text message on Michael’s phone was a live execution order, and she was the primary target.
A strong hand clamped over her wrist. It was calloused, immovable.
“Down,” a voice whispered against her ear. It was Adrian.
Another suppressed shot hit the wood of the table. A muzzle flash strobed briefly in the pitch black, illuminating a face just three feet behind where Adrian had been standing. It was Reynolds, the captain of Adrian’s own security detail. His eyes were cold, searching for Claire in the dark.
Before Reynolds could adjust his aim, Adrian moved. He didn't pull a weapon; he used the heavy silver ice bucket from the table, swinging it upward in a brutal, blind arc. The heavy metal connected with bone. Reynolds grunted, his weapon discharging wildly into the ceiling, showering them with plaster dust.
“Michael!” Adrian barked, his voice cutting through the pandemonium of the two hundred guests who were now stampeding toward the locked ballroom doors.
“Here,” Michael’s voice came from the floor to their left.
“Take Victoria. Service corridor B. Now.”
Claire felt Adrian haul her to her feet. The darkness was a liability for the shooters, but it was Claire’s domain. She knew the layout of this hotel better than the architects. She knew exactly how many steps it took to cross from the head table to the hidden service doors concealed behind the velvet drapery.
“Follow me,” Claire breathed, grabbing the lapel of Adrian’s tuxedo. She didn’t wait for his permission. She moved with fluid, rapid steps, her soft-soled shoes making no sound. She counted silently in her head. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
“Victoria, keep your head down,” Michael hissed somewhere close behind them.
“I can’t see!” Victoria sobbed, the polished facade of the future mafia bride completely shattering.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Claire threw her hand out, her fingers brushing the heavy velvet curtain. She found the seam, slipped through, and hit the brass push-bar of the service door. It swung open, revealing a dimly lit concrete hallway illuminated only by the faint red glow of emergency backup lights.
They spilled into the corridor. Claire immediately pulled the door shut behind them, sliding the heavy industrial deadbolt into place just as something slammed against the other side.
The four of them stood in the blood-red light, breathing heavily. Claire looked at the three Vales. Adrian’s tuxedo was dusted with white plaster. Victoria was trembling, her immaculate gown torn at the hem. Michael was holding a sleek black pistol, his eyes darting down the hallway.
Adrian slowly turned to his brother. He didn’t look angry. He looked hollow, which was infinitely worse.
“Your phone, Michael,” Adrian said softly. “It said to kill Claire. And you knew about the men in the West Library.”
Michael kept his gun pointed down the hall, but his hands were shaking. “Adrian, I swear on our mother’s grave. I didn’t send that message. I didn’t set this up.”
“Then why,” Victoria cried out, her voice shrill and echoing in the concrete space, “did that waiter look at you? Why did your phone receive the order?”
May you like
Claire leaned against the cold cinderblock wall. She closed her eyes, replaying the sequence of events. The fake seal on the champagne. The ring twisting. The text message.
“Because they wanted us to tear each other apart before the shooting even started,” Claire said quietly, opening her eyes. “And they almost succeeded.”
