Chapter 3 - Eleven O'Clock
The next day passed in a blur of agonizing tension. Vincent left the apartment at dusk, leaving Amelia with a strict instruction: "Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone except me. Marco is stationed on the roof."
By 10:45 PM, the silence in the apartment was deafening. The old radiator clanked against the wall, mimicking the frantic beating of Amelia’s heart. She paced the floor, her hand resting on her stomach. Three months. The baby was growing, oblivious to the war raging around them.
10:58 PM.
Amelia stood near the kitchen window, peeking through the cracked blinds. The street below was completely empty. No cars. No pedestrians. The eerie quiet Vincent had ordered was in effect.
11:00 PM.
A sudden, sharp crack echoed from the back alley.
Amelia jumped, her breath catching. Then came the sound of heavy footsteps rushing up the fire escape. The glass of the kitchen window suddenly shattered inward.
Amelia screamed, throwing herself behind the kitchen island as shards of glass rained down. Two large men masked in black tactical gear burst through the window, silenced pistols drawn.
"Where is he?" one of them barked, his voice echoing in the small space.
"He's not here!" Amelia cried out, trying to crawl backward.
The second man grabbed her by the hair, hauling her to her feet. Amelia gasped in pain, kicking out, but he gripped her throat, pinning her against the wall. "Victor said if the boss isn't here, the maid knows where he keeps his hidden ledgers. Talk, girl, or I'll gut you right here."
The knife caught the dim light of the apartment, the blade pressing against the fabric of her shirt, right over her belly.
"Please!" Amelia begged, tears streaming down her face. "Don't hurt the baby! Please!"
The hitman paused, a cruel laugh escaping his lips. "A baby? Cavalli’s bastard, I assume? Victor’s going to love this."
Before the blade could pierce her skin, the front door was kicked off its hinges with a deafening boom.
A flashbang grenade rolled across the linoleum floor.
BANG!
Blinding white light and a roaring sound filled the room. The hitman holding Amelia stumbled backward, clutching his eyes. In a fraction of a second, three muffled gunshots echoed through the room.
Thud. Thud.
The two hitmen dropped to the floor, lifeless.
Standing in the doorway, surrounded by smoke, was Vincent Cavalli. He wore a tailored charcoal-grey suit, a stark contrast to the rags he had worn all week. His eyes were wide with a primal, terrifying rage Amelia had never seen before. Behind him stood ten heavily armed men in black suits—his true loyal vanguard.
Vincent dropped his smoking weapon and rushed to Amelia, catching her just as her knees gave out.
"Amelia! Look at me, look at me!" he commanded, his voice trembling with a rare flash of panic. He searched her face, his hands frantically checking her body for wounds. "Did they touch you? Did they hurt you?"
"I'm okay... the baby... we're okay," she sobbed, burying her face into his chest. The scent of expensive cologne and gunpowder enveloped her, providing an strange sense of absolute safety.
Vincent held her tightly, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped. He looked over her shoulder at the dead hitmen, his eyes turning to absolute ice.
"Marco," Vincent spoke over his shoulder, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "Clean this up. And bring the car around."
"Where are we going?" Amelia asked, wiping her tears as Vincent lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
May you like
Vincent looked down at her, a dark, triumphant smile touching his lips. "Tonight is the annual Chicago Syndicate Gala at the Drake Hotel. Vanessa and Victor are currently celebrating my 'death' with the high society of this city. It’s time to crash the party."
Chapter 3 Hook: As Vincent prepares to reveal his survival, Victor is already standing on the stage at the gala, announcing his ascension to the throne—and his impending marriage to Vanessa.
