Chapter 6 - BLOOD ON THE MARBLE
"DIE!" Marcus screamed, squeezing the trigger.
BANG!
A deafening gunshot echoed through the high-ceilinged ballroom. Women screamed, and men dove under tables for cover.
But Emily didn't fall.
Victor had moved with lightning speed, shoving Emily behind his heavy frame while drawing his own weapon. Marcus’s bullet buried itself deep into Victor’s right shoulder, splashing blood across Emily’s crimson dress.
"Uncle Victor!" Emily cried out, catching him as he stumbled backward.
Victor gritted his teeth, holding his bleeding shoulder, but his eyes remained deadly calm. "I’m fine... take him down!"
Before Marcus could fire a second shot, Emily didn't run. She didn't hide.
Driven by pure, unfiltered adrenaline and ten years of suppressed pain, Emily grabbed a heavy silver candelabra from a nearby table and charged directly at Marcus on the stage.
Marcus tried to aim his gun at her again, but Emily dodged to the left, swinging the heavy silver candelabra with brutal velocity.
CRACK!
The thick metal slammed directly into Marcus’s wrist. The silver gun flew from his hand, skittering across the marble floor.
Marcus spat a curse and lunged at Emily, grabbing her by the throat, pinning her against the grand piano. "You think a weak little girl can take what's mine?! I built this empire!" he snarled, tightening his grip on her neck.
Emily gasped for air, her vision turning spotty. Her hands clawed at his fingers, but Marcus was powered by the insanity of a ruined man.
"You're just like your father," Marcus sneered into her face. "Weak. Naive. Dead."
As her vision began to fade, Emily’s hand brushed against the pocket watch hanging from her neck. The sharp edge of the opened gold casing dug into her palm.
With the last burst of her strength, Emily unhooked the watch, flipped it in her hand, and rammed the sharp, broken hinge of the solid gold watch straight into Marcus’s neck!
"AAAGHH!" Marcus shrieked in agony, letting go of her throat as blood gushed from his neck. He stumbled backward, clutching his wound, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Emily fell to her knees, coughing violently, drawing air back into her lungs.
Marcus staggered backward, his heels catching the edge of the stage. He lost his balance and fell backward off the platform, crashing heavily onto the glass coffee table below. The thick glass shattered into thousands of sharp shards, impaling him as he groaned in agony, trapped in the wreckage of his own luxury.
The ballroom was dead silent.
Emily stood up slowly, wiping a smear of blood from her lip. She walked to the edge of the stage, looking down at the bleeding, broken man who had ruined her life.
"My father wasn't weak," Emily said, her voice cutting through the silence like a razor blade. "He was merciful. But I am my uncle's student. And mercy is off the table."
Outside, the loud, wailing sirens of dozens of police cruisers surrounded the Royal Sovereign Hotel. SWAT teams flooded through the shattered doors, heavy rifles raised.
"DON'T MOVE!" the commander shouted.
Victor, holding a cloth to his bleeding shoulder, stepped forward and threw a thick legal dossier at the chief inspector's feet.
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"Inspector," Victor said calmly. "Inside that file is ten years of evidence documenting Lord Marcus Vance’s illegal arms trade, murder charges, and financial fraud. Arrest him."
The police commander scanned the documents, then looked up at Marcus lying bloody in the glass shards. "Get the medics. And put him in cuffs."
