Chapter 6 - Crossfire in the Plaza
“Get down!” Vincent roared.
Before I could process what was happening, Vincent lunged forward, grabbing my waist and tackling me behind the heavy marble pillar just as the first deafening crack of gunfire shattered the crystal chandelier above us.
CRASH.
Shards of crystal rained down over the ballroom floor like glittering diamonds. Screams erupted instantly as hundreds of wealthy socialites dove beneath tables, scrambling for exits in absolute panic.
“Marcus!” Vincent yelled over the roar of gunfire, drawing his own compact Sig Sauer P365 from his shoulder holster with terrifying speed. “You want me? Come and get me!”
I crouched behind the marble base, my heart hammering against my ribs, clutching the police report in my hand as if it were a shield.
He planned this, my mind screamed. Marcus led him here. The whole gala was a trap.
Two of Marcus’s gunmen rushed down the center aisle, firing suppressive bursts into the marble pillars. Stone chips exploded into the air, raining dust over my shoulders.
Vincent didn't hesitate. He leaned out from behind the pillar, fired twice with cold, mechanical precision, and both gunmen dropped instantly to the carpet.
But Marcus was already moving, sliding behind a service bar, returning fire with a modified automatic weapon that chewed through the mahogany wood.
“Mave, listen to me,” Vincent said, crouching low, his eyes fixed entirely on me despite the bullets whistling past our heads. “When I tell you to run, you head straight for the service elevator. Leo is waiting in the basement parking bay with the armored sedan.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I snapped, wiping a streak of plaster dust from my cheek. “You lied to me for three years! You destroyed my family!”
“Your father didn't die in that fire, Mave!” Vincent shouted over the gunfire.
The words hit me like a physical blow. I froze, staring at him.
“What did you say?”
“I didn't burn that warehouse,” Vincent said, his amber eyes burning with absolute truth. “Arthur and I were partners. We were trying to save the business from bankruptcy. But someone else set that fire—someone who wanted the docks cleared for a syndicate takeover. Marcus was working for them then, and he’s working for them now.”
Vincent grabbed my shoulders, his grip fierce, unyielding, and desperate.
“I hired you because your father asked me to find you before he went into hiding,” Vincent yelled, ducking as a bullet chipped the marble inches from his head. “I protected you for fourteen years from the men who killed him! And I am not going to let them touch you tonight!”
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Before I could absorb the seismic weight of his words, Marcus stepped out from behind the service bar, his pistol raised directly toward Vincent’s chest.
And in that split second, I didn't think. I moved.
