Chapter 2 - Blood on the MarbleThe click of the gun’s hammer pulling back sounded like thunder in the silent foyer.
Julian’s face drained of all color, sweat instantly beading along his hairline. The billionaire politician, accustomed to buying judges and controlling the media, suddenly realized he was standing face-to-face with a predator who didn't care about laws, badges, or public relations.
"V-Vincent," Julian stammered, his hands raised defensively. "You’re making a mistake. She’s unstable. She’s a liability to you. Look at her arms—she did that to herself! She’s a lunatic!"
Vincent didn’t blink. His finger rested lightly on the trigger. "You talk too much for a man who just trespassed into a dead woman’s sanctuary."
"I didn't trespass!" Julian panicked, his eyes darting to the armed guards blocking the doors. "Your security let me in because of the port expansion deal—"
"My security let you in because I wanted to see how long it would take you to walk into a trap," Vincent interrupted coldly. He glanced down at me, still kneeling on the cold marble floor. His voice softened by a fraction, though the danger in his eyes remained unabated. "Elena. Stand up."
My legs shook violently, but I forced myself up. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, terrified that if I looked at Julian, the panic would choke the life out of me.
"Tell me the truth," Vincent commanded quietly, never taking the gun off Julian’s chin. "Did you put those scars on her?"
Julian sneered, a desperate attempt to regain control. "Ask her! She fell down the stairs! She tried to cut her own throat during one of her episodes! She's completely insane—"
I couldn't take it anymore. The gaslighting, the lies, the sheer terror of being pulled back into his dungeon. Something inside me snapped.
"He’s lying," I whispered.
The words were barely audible, but in the dead silence of the mansion, they hit like a gunshot.
Julian glared at me, his eyes widening in fury. "You ungrateful little bitch—"
"Shut your mouth," Vincent snarled. He slammed the butt of the gun against Julian’s jaw, sending the politician crashing hard onto the expensive marble floor. Blood instantly pooled from Julian’s split lip.
Vincent stepped over Julian’s writhing body, towering above him like an executioner. He holstered his gun and reached out, grabbing Julian by the expensive silk tie and hauling him to his feet with terrifying ease.
"Listen to me very carefully, Mr. Vance," Vincent said, his voice a lethal whisper. "Elena isn't crazy. But you are out of your mind if you think you are walking out of this house alive after what you just admitted to."
Julian’s eyes widened with genuine, unadulterated terror. "You can't touch me! I have federal protection! The police commissioner is in my pocket—"
"The police commissioner works for whoever pays him the most," Vincent cut him off flatly. He signaled to his two massive bodyguards. "Take him down to the basement holding cells. Lock him in the iron cage. Let him think about what it feels like to be trapped with no way out."
"No! No, wait!" Julian screamed as the two guards grabbed him by the arms, dragging him kicking and screaming toward the reinforced steel service elevator at the back of the hall. "Vincent, you’ll start a war! You don’t know who backs me! You don’t know what I'm hiding!"
The elevator doors slid open, swallowed Julian’s frantic screams, and shut.
The foyer fell deathly silent once more.
Slowly, Vincent turned around. His dark eyes found me, standing frozen in a pool of cleaning water, trembling from head to toe.
He walked toward me, his heavy footsteps echoing in the vast space. When he stopped in front of me, he didn't look like a mafia boss. For a second, he looked like a protector.
He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from my face.
"You've been hiding in my house for six months," Vincent said softly. "Why didn't you tell me who you were?"
"Because if you knew who I was," I whispered, tears finally spilling over my lashes, "you would have handed me back to him. Everyone in Chicago is in his pocket."
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Vincent’s jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his cheek. He reached down and took my scarred wrist, his thumb tracing the jagged white line where Julian had tried to break me years ago.
"Not everyone," Vincent murmured, his voice dark and absolute. "And certainly not me. Come with me."
