Chapter 10 - The Spy in the Shadows
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The morning of the autumn gala arrived with a bitter, biting chill in the air. The estate was completely locked down. Security personnel swarmed the perimeter, checking catering trucks and florists with metal detectors and bomb-sniffing dogs.
Charlene, despite Dr. Harmon’s protests, insisted on returning to work. Staying hidden in her room while the most dangerous men in Chicago descended upon the mansion was impossible. She needed to know what was happening.
She was assigned to polish the silver serving trays in the massive butler’s pantry, a quiet room just off the main ballroom.
As she methodically rubbed the cloth over the heavy silver, the heavy pantry door clicked open.
A new security guard, a man Charlene didn't recognize, stepped into the room. He wore the standard black suit and earpiece, but his eyes were darting nervously. He locked the door behind him.
Charlene froze, her instincts screaming.
“Who are you?” Charlene asked, taking a slow step backward toward the emergency exit.
“Don't scream,” the guard whispered, pulling a suppressed pistol from his jacket, aiming it directly at her pregnant belly. “If you make a sound, I’ll drop you right here.”
My blood ran cold.
“Petrov sends his regards,” the guard sneered, stepping closer. “We’ve been watching the house. We saw the way Hamilton looks at you. The great mafia boss, risking his empire for a pregnant maid. Vladimir Petrov wants to know exactly what makes you so special.”
He reached out, grabbing her roughly by the arm.
Charlene didn't scream. She didn't freeze. The maternal instinct to protect her unborn child overrode her terror entirely.
She swung the heavy, solid silver serving tray with every ounce of strength she possessed.
The heavy metal connected brutally with the side of the guard’s head with a sickening crack. The man groaned, stumbling backward, his gun discharging wildly into the ceiling.
Before he could recover, the pantry doors burst completely off their hinges.
Vincent Moretti stormed into the room like a dark, avenging angel. He didn't hesitate. He grabbed the staggering guard by the throat, slamming him violently against the tiled wall. With a swift, brutal motion, Vincent drove a combat knife deep into the man’s chest.
The spy collapsed, dead before he hit the floor.
Vincent turned to Charlene, his chest heaving, his dark eyes wide with adrenaline.
“Are you hurt?” Vincent demanded.
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“No,” Charlene gasped, dropping the dented silver tray. “He was Petrov’s man.”
“Petrov knows,” Vincent cursed softly, pulling a radio from his belt. “The cover is blown. The war starts tonight.”
