Chapter 7 - The Traitor’s GambitA figure stepped into the dim amber light of the supply room, silhouetted against the smoke-filled corridor.
It wasn't one of the masked assassins.
It was Marcus Vance, Vincent’s chief financial officer, holding a heavy-caliber sig sauer pistol with a trembling, sweaty grip. Behind him, two surviving mercenaries stood guard, their weapons aimed directly at the floor where Vincent and Nora lay.
“Well, well, well,” Marcus sneered, his tailored suit stained with soot, his usually immaculate hair disheveled. “The great Vincent Mercer. Bleeding out on a hospital floor like a common dog.”
Vincent didn't flinch. He slowly shifted his weight, keeping Nora safely shielded beneath his body while his eyes locked onto Marcus with predatory coldness.
“You always were a mediocre accountant, Marcus,” Vincent said, his voice dripping with absolute contempt. “You steal from the shipping manifests, you embezzle from the construction subsidiaries, and now you think you can sell my empire to the Iron Cross?”
“Not sell, Vincent—liquidate,” Marcus corrected, a manic gleam in his eyes. “You’ve run Chicago with an iron fist for fifteen years. You hoarded the profits, you kept the council under your thumb, and you made us all live in fear of your shadow. The Iron Cross offered me fifty million dollars and a clean exit to Zurich. All I had to do was hand over the encryption keys... and make sure you didn't walk out of Lakeshore Crown tonight.”
“And the assassins?” Vincent asked, his hand slowly sliding toward the Glock tucked into his waistband.
“Professionals,” Marcus smiled coldly, raising his pistol higher. “Brought in special for the occasion. They took care of Caleb and his boys in the hallway. And now... they’re going to take care of you. We’ll stage it as a tragic hospital shootout. A rogue cartel hit.”
Marcus shifted his gaze downward, noticing Nora for the first time. His lip curled in disgust. “And who’s this? Your nurse? What a touching end for the untouchable king. Dying in the arms of a fat nurse nobody even knows exists.”
The insult hung in the air like a foul odor.
Vincent’s eyes flared with a lethal, absolute fury that made even the two hardened mercenaries step back a half-step.
Before Vincent could lunge, Nora spoke up. Her voice wasn't shaking. It was ice-cold, sharp as a scalpel.
“You’re right, Mr. Vance,” Nora said, slowly pushing herself up from the floor, her hazel eyes fixed on the accountant with a terrifying, unyielding calm. “Nobody knows who I am. Nobody looks at me. Which means... nobody is ever watching where I put my hands.”
Marcus frowned, confused. “What are you—?”
With a sudden, violent motion, Nora kicked a heavy steel IV pole lying beside her feet directly into the metal shelving unit behind Marcus.
CRASH!
Two hundred pounds of medical supplies, heavy glass saline bottles, and metal trays rained down directly onto Marcus and the two mercenaries, blinding them in a chaotic avalanche of white plastic and shattering glass.
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Marcus screamed as a heavy steel tray struck his shoulder, dropping his pistol.
Vincent didn't hesitate. He exploded off the floor like a coiled spring, crossing the distance in a blur of motion.
