Chapter 3 - In the Dark
"Stay down!" Marcus roared, his voice cutting through the sudden silence.
I dropped to my knees beside the bed, my hands instinctively reaching out to shield Alexander. The powerful mafia boss was shivering so violently his teeth clicked together in the dark.
"The backup generator should have kicked in instantly," Marcus muttered, his footsteps shuffling softly across the wooden floor as he drew a heavy firearm from his shoulder holster. The metallic schwing of the slide racking back sounded deafening in the enclosed space. "Someone cut the main line from the basement junction."
"It's not an accident," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "The storm outside isn't even that bad. Someone wanted us blind."
A faint scraping sound came from the hallway—the distinct scuff of a leather shoe against the marble floor outside the double doors.
Click.
The doorknob turned again.
This time, there was no hesitation. The door swung wide open, silhouetted against the dim, eerie glow of emergency red lighting flickering along the grand hallway stairs. A tall, broad-shouldered figure stood in the threshold, holding a heavy-duty tactical flashlight.
The beam sliced through the darkness, cutting a blinding white path across the room before locking directly onto Marcus.
"Put the piece down, Marcus," a deep, gravelly voice echoed from the doorway.
Vicente Rossi.
The underboss of the Chicago Syndicate’s South Side faction. A man who was supposed to be three hundred miles away in St. Louis managing dock operations.
Marcus didn't lower his gun. Instead, the barrel locked dead-center on Vicente’s chest. "Vicente. You’re a long way from the river."
"And you’re standing over a corpse, Marcus," Vicente laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. He stepped fully into the room, flanked by two armed enforcers clad in black tactical gear. "Let’s not pretend Alexander is going to see the sunrise. The fever’s cooked his brain. The poison in his system has already reached his kidneys. He’s finished."
"He's breathing," I called out from the floor, my voice trembling with a fury that momentarily overrode my terror.
Vicente’s flashlight beam jerked downward, sweeping across the bed and landing squarely on my face. His lips curled into a sickeningly amused smirk.
"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. The little orphan housemaid playing nursemaid to a dying king," Vicente mocked, taking a slow step toward the bed. "Tell me, sweetheart, did you give him his midnight dose yet? Did you hand him the golden ticket to the afterlife?"
"She didn't give him anything," Marcus growled, stepping sideways to block Vicente’s line of sight to the bed. "And you’re trespassing in the inner sanctum of the boss without council approval. That’s a death sentence under syndicate law, Vicente, even for you."
"Syndicate law?" Vicente sneered, his hand resting casually on the butt of a silenced pistol at his hip. "Alexander is the syndicate. And by morning, there won't be a syndicate left to enforce the rules. The Commission voted an hour ago, Marcus. A unanimous motion of no confidence. Alexander Romano is stepping down—permanently."
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"You lying bastard," Marcus hissed. "The Commission doesn't meet without my clearance."
"Times change, old friend," Vicente said, his smile vanishing, replaced by a look of stone-cold malice. "And so do employers. Now, step away from the safe, hand over the encryption keys, and let the girl pack her bags. We’re taking over."
