Chapter 4 - An Eye for an Eye
The Velvet Viper was a high-end, underground casino and night club located in a restored 19th-century warehouse near the docks. The bass from the speakers vibrated through the heavy brick walls, masking the sound of the rain outside.
In the private upper lounge, heavy red velvet curtains separated Marco Valenti from the common gamblers below. Marco was thirty-five, arrogant, wearing a tailored red silk shirt, surrounded by three high-priced escorts and four heavy-set bodyguards.
He was pouring champagne into a crystal tower when the heavy double doors of the private lounge slammed open.
Two of Marco’s guards reached for their shoulder holsters, but they were too slow.
Remy stepped into the room first, carrying a suppressed submachine gun. He fired four quick shots. The heavy rounds tore through the kneecaps of the two guards, sending them crashing to the carpet, howling in agony.
Before the remaining two bodyguards could react, Declan Maher walked through the doorway.
He looked immaculately cold. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, his dark hair slicked back, his white shirt collar still bearing the faint, dark stain of Cersa’s blood. In his right hand, he held a dark steel iron pipe.
The room went dead silent save for the muffled bass playing from the floor below. The women shrieked and scrambled behind the leather booths.
Marco Valenti froze, his champagne glass suspended in mid-air. "Maher? What the hell is the meaning of this? This is Valenti territory—"
Declan didn't say a word.
He crossed the distance between them in three long, deliberate strides. He grabbed Marco by his silk tie, yanking the smaller man over the table, shattering the glass tower, and slamming him face-first onto the oak coffee table.
"Declan! Stop!" Marco spluttered, spitting blood and champagne. "Are you crazy? Our families have a peace treaty!"
"The treaty was broken forty minutes ago," Declan said, his voice terrifyingly calm, as cold as a grave in December.
He tossed the brass viper lighter onto Marco’s face.
Marco’s eyes widened in sudden, horrifying realization. "The... the girl? The engineer?"
"She has a name," Declan hissed, pressing his boot down heavily on Marco’s neck, pinning his face to the table. "Her name is Cersa. And you sent your dogs to carve her up like meat."
"She was stealing from us!" Marco choked out, struggling uselessly against the crushing weight of Declan’s boot. "She uncovered the bridge funds! She was going to ruin my father’s business! I ordered my men to bring her in—I didn't tell them to stab her!"
"You gave the order," Declan said. "Which means you bear the debt."
Declan signaled to Remy.
Remy stepped forward, pulling a heavy serrated hunting knife from his coat—the exact type of blade that had been used on Cersa—and handed it to Declan.
Marco began to weep, his arrogant composure instantly shattering into pathetic, sobbing terror. "Please, Declan! Don't! Name your price! A million dollars! Two million! We'll pull off the bridge project! Just let me go!"
Declan held the serrated blade up to the light. The polished steel reflected his dark, unyielding eyes.
"You took six inches of her flesh, Marco," Declan whispered, leaning down so his words burned into Marco’s ear. "I’m an engineer of violent retribution. I like my calculations exact."
Declan drove the point of the blade straight through the flesh of Marco’s right thigh, pressing it down until it embedded three inches into the oak table beneath.
Marco’s shriek of pure, agonizing horror tore through the velvet lounge, drowned out only by the heavy bass of the music playing downstairs.
Declan let go of the knife handle, leaving Marco pinned to the table, screaming and writhing in his own blood.
Declan stepped back, adjusting his cuffs, his face entirely unreadable.
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"Tell your father," Declan said to the remaining terrified guards in the room, "that if any Valenti soldier sets foot within five blocks of Royal Street again... I won't stop at a thigh."
Declan turned on his heel and walked out of the club, Remy trailing right behind him, leaving a bloody trail in their wake.
