Chapter 8 - The Hostage
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The gunfire in the corridor grew deafening. Heavy boots pounded against the hardwood floors outside the study. Vargas’s men had breached the second floor.
Serena kept her weight pressed firmly onto Marcus’s leg, her hands slick with blood. She looked up at Silas. “How long can those doors hold?”
“Not long enough,” Silas said, standing up. He checked his magazine, his face hardening back into a mask of pure violence. He walked over to Fiona, who was trying to press herself flat against the bookshelf.
Silas grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the heavy wood, rattling the remaining books.
“You are going to call Vargas,” Silas ordered, pulling a burner phone from his pocket and pressing it into her hands. “You are going to tell him you have Matthias and the digital keys, and you want to negotiate a safe exit.”
Fiona gasped for air, struggling against his grip. “He won't care! He doesn't negotiate!”
“Make him care,” Silas snarled, pressing the barrel of his pistol against her temple. “Or I leave you out in that hallway for his men to find.”
Fiona’s hands shook as she dialed a number from memory. She put the phone on speaker.
It rang twice before a deep, heavily accented voice answered. “Fiona. I hear gunfire. Tell me you have the rat.”
“I have him, Mr. Vargas!” Fiona cried, her voice trembling. “I have Matthias in the study. I have the digital keys to the twelve million. But there’s another crew here! Silas Vance’s men from Chicago! They have us pinned!”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. The gunfire in the hallway momentarily paused, as if an order had been shouted.
“Vance is in Connecticut?” Vargas sounded genuinely surprised. “Why does the Chicago syndicate care about a pathetic Greenwich banker?”
Silas took the phone from Fiona’s shaking hands.
“I don't care about the banker, Vargas,” Silas said, his voice echoing coldly in the small room. “I care about the banker’s wife. You sent a letter threatening a woman who is under my personal protection. That was a mistake.”
Vargas let out a dark, booming laugh. “A mistake? Silas, you have four men. I have twenty. You are trapped in a box. Open the door, hand over the banker and the money, and maybe I let you and the pregnant woman walk out to your cars.”
“I don't make deals with men who threaten children,” Silas replied smoothly. “I am offering you a different arrangement. I will give you Matthias. I will give you Fiona. But the twelve million stays with the wife as compensation for her trauma. And my men walk out of here alive.”
Matthias shrieked, scrambling up from the corner. “No! You can't give me to them! Serena, tell him! I’m your husband! I’m the father of your child!”
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Serena didn't look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on Marcus’s wound, her expression entirely unreadable.
“Twelve million is a lot of money to leave on the table, Silas,” Vargas said, his voice dropping its amusement. “I think I will just take it all. Breachers, blow the door.”
