She Begged, Just Kill Me Fast—The Mafia Boss Found Her Bruised and Unleashed His Revenge

At 10:00 a.m., the Cook County Courthouse on Washington Street was bustling with hundreds of lawyers, police officers, reporters, and civilians.

Rain streaked the massive glass facade of the building. Inside the grand granite atrium, a bronze statue of Lady Justice stood twelve feet high, holding her sword and balanced scales above the marble fountain.

Elena walked through the security scanners wearing a sharp charcoal gray coat, dark sunglasses, and a wide-brimmed hat that obscured her bruised face. Beside her walked Dominic, dressed in a flawless navy suit, flanked by two attorneys carrying leather briefcases. Marco and four undercover guards blended seamlessly into the crowd near the elevators.

"The third floor atrium access closes for cleaning at 10:30," Elena whispered to Dominic as they crossed the marble floor.

"We have ten minutes," Dominic replied smoothly, his hand resting reassuringly against the small of her back.

They took the private executive elevator to the third floor. The corridor was quiet, lined with oak doors belonging to appellate judges.

Elena approached the bronze statue standing in the corner alcove. She knelt beside the marble pedestal, pulling a tiny magnetic key tool from her pocket—the tool she had hidden inside her hair clip.

She reached beneath the bronze skirt of the statue, her fingers searching the dark seam near the base.

CLICK.

A small concealed panel popped open. Inside, wrapped in black waterproof tape, were three small, rectangular USB drives.

Elena’s breath hitched. "I have them."

She pulled the drives out and stood up, turning to hand them to Dominic.

"Well, well. Isn't that poetic?"

A sharp, cruel voice echoed down the marble corridor.

Elena and Dominic turned around simultaneously.

Standing at the end of the hallway, flanked by eight heavily armed men wearing dark suits, was Vincent Caldwell.

Caldwell was sixty years old, with stark white hair, pale blue eyes, and a face carved from cold stone. He wore a tailor-made black coat and carried a heavy silver-headed walking stick.

"Vincent," Dominic said, stepping fluidly in front of Elena, his body forming an impenetrable barrier.

"Dominic Ashford," Caldwell said, his voice smooth and cold as ice. "You've caused me a great deal of expense over the last forty-eight hours. Destroying my warehouse, killing my men, breaking my lieutenants..."

Caldwell stopped ten feet away, leaning his hands on his silver cane. His pale eyes flicked toward Elena behind Dominic’s shoulder.

"Hand over the girl and the drives, Dominic," Caldwell said softly. "And I might let you keep your docks."

Dominic let out a low, mocking laugh. "You're getting old, Vincent. You used to be clever. Now you bring eight gunmen into a federal courthouse in broad daylight?"

"The courthouse security team belongs to me, Dominic," Caldwell sneered. "The cameras on this floor were turned off five minutes ago. The police downstairs won't step onto this elevator until I tell them to."

"They might belong to you, Vincent," Elena called out, stepping out from behind Dominic, holding the three black drives high in her hand. "But these don't!"

Caldwell’s pale eyes narrowed to sharp slits. "Elena... you stupid, foolish girl. You think those drives make you safe? You think this young mobster can protect you from me?"

"I don't need him to protect me from you, Vincent," Elena said, her voice echoing off the marble walls with fierce, absolute authority. "I brought him here to execute you."

Caldwell’s smile vanished. "Kill them both."

Before Caldwell’s men could raise their weapons, Dominic pulled a small detonator switch from his suit pocket and slammed his thumb down!

BOOM!