Chapter 13 - The Blackout
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I sat in the dark, cramped panic room behind the library walls, watching the security feed on a small, glowing monitor. The silence in the penthouse was suffocating. Vincent sat in a leather armchair in the center of the vast living room, a glass of scotch in his hand, looking like a king waiting for his executioners.
At exactly 2:00 AM, the power to the entire building was cut.
The security monitors switched to infrared. The heavy steel doors of the penthouse didn't explode this time; they were quietly unlocked with a stolen master key code.
Marco stepped into the room, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries. But it wasn't the armed men that made my blood run cold.
Stepping out from behind the mercenaries was a woman. She was strikingly beautiful, with sharp, aristocratic features and perfectly styled blonde hair. She wore a sleek black coat, looking completely out of place in a kill squad.
It was Elena.
She hadn't aged a day in her cruelty. She looked at Vincent sitting in the dark room with a smile of absolute, wicked triumph.
“Hello, Vincent,” Elena said, her voice echoing in the quiet room. “You look terrible. But I suppose surviving a fire does leave a mark.”
Vincent didn't move. He took a slow sip of his scotch. “Elena. I see you brought my traitor with you.”
Marco laughed, raising his weapon. “It’s over, Vince. Your men are gone. Your mind is gone. The commission agreed that a madman can't run Chicago.”
“Is that what she told you, Marco?” Vincent asked, his voice chillingly calm. “That she had the commission’s backing? You always were a gullible fool.”
Elena frowned, stepping forward. “Enough talking. Marco, put a bullet in his head. Make it look like a suicide. The depressed, broken boss finally ending his misery.”
Marco raised his gun, aiming directly at Vincent’s chest.
In the panic room, I slammed my hand against the emergency release button. I couldn't sit there and watch him die. I didn't care about the plan.
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But before the hidden door could open, Elena raised a small, sinister object in her hand. A flare gun.
“Wait,” Elena smiled maliciously. “Let’s make him squirm first. Let’s remind him of the lake house.”
