Chapter 7 - The Vault of Shadows
The subterranean vault was cold, smelling of old concrete, dust, and aged vintage wine. I sat on a wooden crate, my arms wrapped around my chest, listening to the muffled thuds of explosions and gunfire echoing through the stone foundations of the mansion above.
Elena stood by the heavy steel door, a small revolver held tightly in her wrinkled hands, her face pale but resolute.
"He will win, child," Elena said softly, seeing the terror in my eyes. "Signor Julian has never lost a war. When his father died, the other families thought they could divide the Nero territory like bread. Julian killed three underbosses in a single afternoon to prove them wrong. He is an iron wall."
I knew he was an iron wall. But for the first time in my life, I realized that I didn't just want protection. I wanted him. I had spent three years hiding behind the pleasant manners of a schoolteacher, letting people like Marcus decide the architecture of my life. But looking at the blood dried on my sleeve, I felt a new, fierce spirit rising from my grandfather’s bloodline. I was a Collins. We didn't hide in holes while other people fought for our land.
A loud, metallic clonk echoed from the ventilation shaft above.
Elena gasped, spinning around, but before she could level her revolver, the heavy steel door of the vault was blown inward by a localized breach charge. The shockwave threw us to the floor, smoke and dust filling the small space.
Through the haze, a figure stepped in.
It was Marcus Wellington. He wasn't wearing his perfect navy suit today; his clothes were torn, his face smeared with grease and blood, his blue eyes wide with a manic, unhinged desperation. He held a compact submachine gun in his hand.
"Bella," he choked out, his voice cracked and unhinged. He walked over, grabbing my arm with a painful, bruising force and dragging me to my feet. "You ruined everything. My father took my keys, my partners froze my accounts... all because of your little digital stunt with the Nero family."
"Let me go, Marcus," I said, my voice remarkably calm, my gray eyes locking onto his with an absolute disgust that made him flinch. "It’s over. You’ve lost."
"I haven't lost until you're dead," he hissed, pulling a small injection vial from his pocket. "We're leaving through the sea tunnel. By tomorrow morning, the news will report that Isabella Collins suffered a tragic overdose out of grief for her broken wedding. The terminal will pass to my foundation by default."
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He raised the needle toward my neck.
A single, deafening shot shattered the silence of the vault.
