Chapter 6 - Into the Vipers' Den
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Gunfire shattered the crystal chandeliers overhead, sending a rain of glittering glass down onto the ballroom floor. Screams echoed through the grand room as syndicate bosses scrambled for cover while guards drew weapons.
"Get her out!" Vincent roared, shoving Carmine backward and drawing his own gun, firing three rapid shots that took down two Chicago bodyguards rushing toward them.
Paulie grabbed Nora’s arm, pulling her toward the private service exit behind the main stage. "This way, Miss Hayes! Move!"
Nora looked back through the smoke and flashing gunfire. She saw Vincent standing in the center of the storm, a god of wrath, firing with deadly precision, protecting their retreat.
"Vincent!" Nora cried out.
"Go!" Vincent screamed over the deafening noise.
Paulie dragged Nora through the heavy service doors into the backstage service corridors. The noise of the ballroom gunfight faded slightly behind thick steel walls.
"We have to get to the parking garage!" Paulie said, panting as they ran down the narrow concrete hallway. "The armored car is waiting!"
They rounded a corner, but before they reached the exit door, two men stepped out from the shadows.
It was a setup.
Before Paulie could raise his weapon, one of the men fired a heavy stun taser into Paulie’s chest. The high-voltage charge slammed into the underboss, dropping him to his knees, his weapon clattering across the floor.
Nora turned to run back, but a heavy arm wrapped around her waist from behind, a sweet, chemically soaked rag slamming over her mouth and nose.
Nora kicked and fought viciously, her elbow striking the attacker’s ribs, but the sweet scent filled her lungs, making her head spin.
"Got her," a harsh voice grunted in her ear. "Beatrice wants this one alive. For now."
Nora’s strength faded. Her vision turned black, and the world vanished into darkness.
Two hours later.
The rain was falling heavily over an abandoned slaughterhouse near the Brooklyn docks.
Inside, cold fluorescent lights flickered over concrete floors stained with decades of old rust and blood.
Nora woke up tied to a heavy wooden chair in the middle of the empty hall. Her head throbbed violently from the chloroform, her mouth dry as ash. Her navy blue silk dress was dirty, torn at the hem.
Standing ten feet away, holding a silver riding crop, was Beatrice Gallow.
Beside her were Carmine and four heavily armed Chicago mercenaries.
"Look who’s awake," Beatrice said, her voice dripping with venomous pleasure. She walked over, using the tip of the riding crop to lift Nora’s chin. "Not so arrogant now, are you, little maid?"
Nora swallowed the taste of copper in her mouth, her eyes clearing as she stared back at Beatrice.
"Where is Vincent?" Nora rasped out.
Beatrice laughed—a sharp, shrill sound that echoed off the high metal rafters. "Vincent Russo is currently searching every garbage dump in Manhattan. He thinks you're dead. But Carmine and I have a better plan."
Carmine stepped forward, checking his watch. "The High Council is calling an emergency meeting in two hours. Once I show them that Vincent couldn't even protect his precious maid, they will pull their backing from the Russo family. New York will be ours."
Beatrice leaned in close to Nora, her red lips twisting into a vile smile. "And as for you... once Carmine gets the vote, I’m going to personally make sure you suffer for what you said to me tonight."
Nora looked at Beatrice, then at Carmine. Despite the ropes binding her wrists and the cold fear knotting her stomach, she let out a soft, dry laugh.
Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. "What’s so funny?"
"You really don't get it, do you?" Nora said, her voice growing stronger. "You think you're using me to trap Vincent. But all you've done is remove the only thing that was keeping him from destroying you."
Carmine sneered. "He's one man."
"He's a nightmare," Nora countered, staring Carmine straight in the eyes. "And you just brought him right to your doorstep."
Before Carmine could reply, the main metal doors of the slaughterhouse bulged inward with a deafening CRUNCH.
The heavy steel doors blew off their hinges, flying twenty feet through the air and smashing into two of the Chicago mercenaries, crushing them beneath hundreds of pounds of metal.
Through the smoke and dust of the blast stepped Vincent Russo.
He was covered in rain and blood. His suit coat was gone, his dark shirt unbuttoned at the neck, revealing the dark tattoos etched into his chest. In his hands, he carried a heavy automatic shotgun.
Behind him stood Paulie—his chest bandaged where the taser had hit—flanked by fifty heavily armed Russo soldiers, their weapons trained into the facility.
Vincent didn't look at Carmine. He didn't look at the mercenaries.
His dark eyes locked onto Nora.
May you like
When he saw her tied to the chair, her face pale but unbowed, the relief that washed over his dark features was instantly replaced by a wave of pure, murderous vengeance.
"Carmine," Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly quiet in the huge room. "You touched what is mine."
