Chapter 2 - The Shattered Glass
The first gunshot shattered the champagne glass in the hand of Clara Whitmore. Crystal scattered across the wedding table. The orchestra stopped. A woman screamed near the center of the ballroom. Clara remained standing beneath the enormous chandelier as another bullet struck the reinforced windows behind her, a web of cracks spreading across the glass.
The guests who had spent the entire evening whispering about her appearance now threw themselves beneath tables and behind stone pillars, shouting Roman Duca's name, begging his guards to protect them. Roman stood beside the black marble fireplace. He did not move when the first shot was fired, nor when the second bullet struck the window. His dark eyes searched the ballroom once, then found Clara.
"Get down." His voice was calm.
Clara lowered herself behind the bridal table just as another bullet struck the wall above her. Black-suited guards drew their weapons. Two men locked the ballroom doors; three others rushed toward the western corridor. The musicians crawled behind the stage. Clara looked through the smoke for Eleanor, her mother, who had been standing near the terrace doors moments earlier. Now she could not see her. She rose.
Roman crossed the ballroom before she could take another step and caught her wrist. "Where are you going?"
"I need to find my mother."
"She was taken to the safe room."
"How do you know?"
"Because I gave the order."
Another explosion shook the mansion. The chandelier swung above them, dropping heavy crystal teardrops that smashed onto the parquet floor. Clara looked toward the western corridor, where dark smoke poured beneath the doors. Roman pulled her closer.
"You are leaving this room."
"Not without my mother."
"Your mother is protected."
"I need to see her."
"You need to stay alive." His fingers tightened around her wrist. Clara looked directly into his eyes. The guests had spent the day calling her weak. Roman had spent the day treating her like a signature on a contract. Now both of them expected her to obey without question.
She pulled her wrist free. "I stopped following orders when your guests began betting on how quickly you would abandon me."
Something changed in his expression—a flicker of intense, sharp assessment—then it disappeared almost immediately.
The lights went out. Darkness swallowed the ballroom, save for the muzzle flashes erupting near the main entrance. Roman wrapped one arm around her waist and forced her to the floor, his body covering hers completely as he fired twice into the darkness with a heavy pistol drawn from his holster. The flash of his weapon revealed broken chairs, terrified guests crawling like insects, and armed men in gray tactical gear entering through the western doors.
"Stay behind me," he growled.
"I cannot see anything."
"You do not need to see."
"I need to know where we are going."
He pushed her toward the fireplace and pressed a hidden section of the carved stone mantel. A narrow doorway opened into darkness. A guard appeared beside them through the smoke. "Boss, the main drive is blocked! They brought automatic weapons!"
"Take the bride to the private wing," Roman ordered.
Clara stepped back into the ballroom. "I am not going anywhere until I see my mother."
Roman looked at the guard. "Leave us."
The man hesitated, then disappeared into the smoke with his gun raised.
Roman’s voice became quieter, dropping below the sound of shrieking guests and distant gunfire. "Your mother was moved beneath the kitchen before the attack began. There are eight men with her. She is safer than anyone in this ballroom."
Clara searched his face in the dim light of the burning drapes. "Why did you move her before the attack?"
"I did not."
"Then how did you know there would be danger?"
Roman did not answer. A bullet struck the marble fireplace right where his head had been an instant before. Stone exploded beside them in a shower of sharp dust, and he pulled her forcefully through the hidden doorway, slamming the stone panel closed behind them. The sounds of gunfire instantly became distant, muffled by three feet of solid granite.
Emergency lights—faint, red LED strips—illuminated a narrow passage inside the walls. Roman took her hand; Clara tried to pull away, but his grip was iron. The passage opened into a narrow stone staircase leading upward. They climbed toward the second floor while smoke followed them through the air vents. Clara struggled to breathe, the thick satin dress restricting her movement. Her wedding veil caught on a metal wall hook; Roman reached back and tore it free with a sharp jerk.
"That was expensive," she panted, leaning against the cold wall.
"You are welcome," he said without stopping.
"That was not gratitude."
"I know."
They reached a reinforced iron door at the end of the staircase. Roman entered his private bedroom suite and locked the heavy deadbolts behind them. The room was massive, overlooking the stormy ocean through high, arched windows. Candles burned across the walls and beside a large mahogany bed covered with white flowers—decorations prepared by the estate staff for a wedding night that had collapsed into chaos.
Clara stared at the romantic decorations. They seemed almost cruel after the cold ceremony and the blood spilled downstairs.
Roman checked the balcony doors, pulling thick steel shutters over the glass, then verified the locks on the side entry. Clara looked down and noticed bright red spots on his white shirt.
"Are you injured?"
"It is not my blood," he replied, turning around.
"That is not comforting."
"It was not intended to be."
She looked down at her own hands and realized she was bleeding. A sharp fragment of crystal had sliced her left palm during the rush to the floor. Roman noticed her silence, walked over, and grabbed a basin of water and a linen towel from the washstand.
He knelt in front of her chair without a word. He poured water across the wound, his fingers surprising gentle as he picked out a small fragment of glass stuck in her flesh. His face remained hard and distant, but his hands did not shake.
"Who attacked the mansion?" she asked, wincing slightly as the glass came free.
"I do not know."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"No. At least you are honest about something." He wrapped the linen tightly around her palm and tied it off. "You should not have left the table when the shooting started."
"My mother was missing."
"She was protected."
"I did not know that. You could have trusted me." Clara laughed once, a dry, bitter sound. "Trust you? You arrived at my shop with a marriage contract and threatened to take everything my mother owns."
"I offered an alternative."
May you like
"You offered a prettier form of destruction."
A sharp sound came from the balcony shutter. The steel flexed inward with a loud metal groan. Before Roman could raise his weapon, the lock gave way, and two men dressed in black tactical gear crashed through the shattered glass doors.
