Chapter 12 - Venom in the Wine
The Grand Casino in Macau glowed like a mountain of gold against the dark waters of the South China Sea. Cora walked through the VIP baccarat lounge dressed in a emerald backless gown that concealed two carbon-fiber scalpels strapped to her thigh and a compact suppressed pistol tucked into her garter. Ten feet behind her, blending effortlessly into the crowd of high-rollers in a tailored tuxedo, Julian scanned every balcony with lethal intent.
A waiter carrying a tray of crystal flutes approached Cora, offering a glass of vintage champagne. "Compliments of the high table, Miss Whitaker," the man murmured before vanishing into the crowd.
Cora didn't drink. She brought the glass to her nose, her trained senses picking up the subtle, sweet scent of almond and bitter cherry—a synthetic nerve agent. She smashed the glass onto the marble floor, but the moment the liquid hit the air, it vaporized into an invisible gas.
Cora’s knees buckled instantly. Her vision doubled as her throat constricted, air refusing to enter her lungs.
"Julian..." she gasped, falling toward the floor.
Julian abandoned all cover, knocking over a roulette table as he sprinted across the casino floor. He caught her before her head hit the marble, pulling her into his arms. "Cora! Stay with me!"
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From the upper balcony, a chilling laugh echoed over the casino’s speaker system. A woman clad in a golden mask looked down at them through the crystal chandeliers. "She won't die tonight, Undertaker," the masked woman’s voice rasped through a voice distorter. "Not until she watches you bleed for what your father took from me."
Julian drew his pistol, firing three rapid shots toward the balcony, but the glass was bulletproof armor plating. As alarms blared and panic erupted, Julian lifted Cora’s limp body into his arms, smashing through the side exit into the pouring tropical rain.
