Chapter 11 - A Shot in the Dark
The victory celebration wound down near midnight. The ballroom emptied as town cars and limousines ferried the city’s shaken elite into the rainy night.
Mara and Vincent walked through the private VIP exit of the Plaza, surrounded by a heavy security detail led by Cal. The cool autumn air hit Mara’s face, soothing the heat that still burned on her skin.
"Cal," Vincent instructed as they reached the armored Maybach waiting at the curb. "Have the secondary convoy sweep the Queensboro Bridge before we cross. Dimitri Morozov’s men have been quiet tonight. Too quiet."
"Already on it, boss," Cal replied, speaking into his earpiece as he opened the rear passenger door for Mara.
Mara paused before sliding into the leather interior. She looked back at Vincent, her heart beating with an unfamiliar warmth. She had married him out of survival, but standing by his side tonight, watching him dismantle her abusers while treating her like an equal, she felt something terrifyingly powerful taking root in her soul.
"Vincent," she called softly.
He stopped, turning his dark eyes toward her. "Yes?"
"Grant said something in the basement yesterday," Mara said, stepping closer to him on the wet pavement. "He said loan sharks were coming for him. But Evelyn’s offshore accounts showed deposits from Brighton Beach. Was Morozov working with my mother?"
Vincent’s jaw tightened. "Morozov wanted the Vance terminals to smuggle unmanifested cargo past federal customs. Arthur refused them. That’s why Arthur came to me."
"Then Grant wasn't just acting out of desperation," Mara realized, a chill running down her spine. "He made a deal with the Bratva."
Before Vincent could answer, Cal suddenly shouted through the rain.
"SNIPER! GET DOWN!"
A deafening *CRACK* echoed across the plaza.
The rear window of the armored Maybach exploded into thousands of spider-webbed fractures under the impact of a high-caliber armor-piercing round.
Vincent reacted in a fraction of a second. He threw his entire body over Mara, slamming her to the wet pavement behind the engine block of the car, shielding her completely with his broad frame.
*CRACK! CRACK!*
Two more heavy rounds ricocheted off the hood, sending sparks flying into the dark. Gunfire erupted from the street corner as two black SUVs with tinted windows screeched around the turn, automatic weapons spraying through the rain toward the Plaza entrance.
Cal and Vincent’s guards immediately returned fire, muzzle flashes illuminating the wet streets in strobe-like bursts of violence.
"Cal! Flank left!" Vincent roared, pulling a suppressed Kimber .45 from beneath his tuxedo jacket with lethal precision. He fired three rapid shots through the rain, dropping a shooter who had jumped out of the lead SUV.
Mara lay beneath him, her heart pounding against her ribs, the smell of gunpowder filling her lungs. "Vincent!"
"Stay under the car!" Vincent ordered, his eyes blazing with ferocious, feral fury. "Don't move!"
A sudden, sharp gasp escaped his lips.
Mara felt something hot and wet drip onto her bare shoulder. She looked up in horror.
A dark, blooming stain of crimson was spreading rapidly across the white pleated shirt over Vincent’s chest. A stray bullet had caught him just beneath the collarbone.
"Vincent! You’re hit!" she cried out, her hands instinctively pressing against his chest, trying to stop the flow of blood.
Vincent gritted his teeth, refusing to collapse, his breathing turning ragged. "It’s... nothing. Mara, listen to me..."
From the second SUV, a tall man in a heavy wool coat stepped out into the rain, holding an assault rifle, surrounded by four heavily armed mercenaries. Through the flashing police sirens wailing in the far distance, Mara recognized the scarred, brutal face from Arthur's old files: Dimitri Morozov.
Beside Dimitri stood a figure holding a bloody kitchen cleaver, his face wrapped in dirty bandages, his eyes completely insane.
It was Grant. He had escaped the hospital.
Grant pointed his weapon directly at the car where Mara and the bleeding mafia boss were pinned down.
"MARA!" Grant’s crazed voice screamed through the gunfire. "COME OUT OR I FINISH YOUR HUSBAND RIGHT NOW!"
Vincent pulled back the slide of his pistol with trembling, bloody fingers, looking down into Mara’s terrified eyes.
May you like
"Mara," Vincent whispered, his voice dangerously low as his vision wavered. "Take my gun."
The sirens were two miles away. Dimitri stepped forward. The shadow of death fell across the pavement—and the trigger was in Mara's hands.
