Chapter 8 - BARE HANDS AND BROKEN GLASS
Carmine raised his weapon, pointing the barrel directly at Camila’s head.
“Vincent ruined my life,” Carmine growled, his eyes bloodshot and insane with rage. “He took my money, he took my family’s honor. Now I’m going to take his.”
Camila shrank back against the wall, weeping hysterically, her hands over her ears.
Nora didn't think. She didn't calculate the risks. She moved with pure, instinctual fury.
She stepped directly between Carmine’s gun and Camila, extending her arms wide to block his line of sight.
“Get out of the way, girl,” Carmine barked. “Or I’ll put a bullet through your heart first.”
“You touch her,” Nora said, her voice shaking with absolute rage, “and Vincent will skin you alive.”
Carmine laughed, a horrible, wet sound. “Vincent is currently bleeding out in the hallway. He can't save you.”
He took two steps forward, raising the gun to strike Nora across the face with the heavy steel barrel.
Nora didn't back down. As Carmine swung the weapon, she ducked beneath his arm, her eyes sweeping the heavy desk beside her.
Her hand grabbed the heavy, solid glass paperweight—the one she had used to study her flashcards.
With every ounce of strength in her body, Nora swung the heavy glass block upward, slamming it directly into Carmine’s jaw.
The bone cracked sharply.
Carmine let out a roar of pain, stumbling backward, his gun firing wildly into the ceiling. Plaster rained down on them.
Before he could regain his balance, Nora lunged forward, tackling his legs with all her weight. They crashed onto the floor together in a flurry of limbs.
The pistol slipped from Carmine’s hand, skittering across the hardwood floor toward the open safe room.
Carmine snarled, grabbing Nora by her dark hair and shoving her violently onto her back. He pinned her to the floor, his massive hands wrapping around her throat, cutting off her air supply.
“You little bitch!” Carmine roared, squeezing tight.
Nora gasped for breath, her vision darkening at the edges. Spots of light danced before her eyes.
Her hand searched the floor beside her. Her fingers brushed against something sharp resting near the base of a shattered desk lamp.
A long, jagged shard of heavy glass.
Just like the night in the ballroom.
Nora gripped the shard with her bare hand, feeling the sharp edge slice into her palm. She didn't care about the pain.
With a final, desperate burst of strength, Nora brought her hand up and slammed the glass deep into the side of Carmine’s neck.
Carmine froze. His grip on her throat loosened instantly.
A look of complete, stunned shock washed over his face. He let out a wet, gurgling sound, his hands flying to his neck as dark blood began to gush through his fingers.
He collapsed sideways onto the floor, twitching violently before going completely still.
Nora rolled over, coughing violently, drawing desperate, ragged gulps of air into her burning lungs. Her throat felt bruised, her head spinning.
She looked at her hand. It was covered in blood—her own and Carmine’s.
“Nora!” a deep voice roared from the doorway.
Vincent burst into the study, his suit torn, his face smudged with soot and blood. He held his gun at the ready, his eyes wild.
He saw Carmine lying dead on the floor.
He saw his mother, safe and unharm, huddled in the corner.
And he saw Nora, sitting on the floor in a pool of blood, gasping for breath.
Vincent dropped his gun. He rushed across the room, throwing himself onto his knees beside her.
“Nora! Nora!” he cried out, his hands hovering over her trembling body, terrified to hurt her. “My God, Nora!”
Nora looked up into his face, tears finally pouring down her cheeks.
“I... I took care of it,” she whispered, her voice raspy and broken. “The old woman is safe.”
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Vincent pulled her fiercely into his arms, burying his face in her hair, his massive body trembling with violent, overwhelming emotion.
“You brave, foolish girl,” Vincent wept softly, holding her close to his heart. “You saved us. You saved us all.”
