Chapter 7 - a whisper on the terrace
Emily’s instincts screamed at her to run, but Vance took a swift, silent step forward, cutting off her path back into the ballroom. His expression was cold, professional, and entirely devoid of human empathy.
"Don't scream," Vance warned in a hushed, flat voice. "There is a suppressed pneumatic dart resting against my forearm. It takes two seconds to drop you into a coma. If you make a scene, your daughter wakes up tomorrow an orphan."
Emily stood frozen, her chin lifting defiantly despite the ice in her veins. Her rosy cheeks remained pale under the terrace lanterns. "Julian is in prison. His accounts are frozen. You have nothing to gain by touching me."
"Julian is a footnote," Vance sneered quietly. "The Salieri syndicate doesn't care about the ledger anymore. They want Moretti dead. And you, Mrs. Carter, are the bait that brought him out of his fortress into a room full of windows."
Emily’s eyes widened with sudden, horrifying clarity. The car chase, the tracking device, the public pressure—it hadn't been about recovering the stolen money. It had been an elaborate operation designed to force Vincent Moretti into the open, using her as the lever to draw him away from his impenetrable estate.
"He knew," Vance continued, stepping an inch closer. "Moretti has a bleeding heart for broken families. It’s his only weakness. We leaked the biometric vault story to his intelligence team in Lisbon knowing he would take you in. And now, he’s surrounded."
Before Vance could raise his arm, a shadow fell across the terrace floor.
A massive hand reached from behind the marble pillar, wrapping around Vance’s throat with the force of a hydraulic press.
Vance let out a choked gasp as he was lifted completely off his feet, his heels dangling inches above the terrace stone.
Vincent Moretti stepped into the terrace light. His tuxedo was pristine, but his eyes were blazing with a terrifying, apocalyptic rage. With his free hand, Vincent smoothly extracted the concealed pneumatic weapon from Vance’s sleeve, crushing the firing mechanism in his bare palm until metal and plastic splintered into useless debris.
"You made a mistake," Vincent whispered, his voice so low and lethal it vibrated against the stone balustrade. "You spoke to her."
Vance’s face turned mottled red, his fingers clawing uselessly at Vincent’s iron grip. "Moretti... there’s... a team... already at your house..."
Emily’s heart stopped. "Lily!" she screamed, the sound muffled by the music swelling inside the ballroom. "Vincent, he’s lying! Tell me he’s lying!"
Vincent didn't flinch. He leaned in closer to Vance’s ear. "You think I left my home vulnerable to Salieri’s amateur hit squad? Marco was waiting for them at the perimeter fence twenty minutes ago. Their transport was impounded before they even reached the outer gate."
Vincent dropped Vance onto the terrace flagstones with careless contempt. Before the assassin could scramble to his feet, two plainclothes security guards stepped from the shadows, pinning Vance to the ground with swift, silent efficiency.
"Take him through the service elevator," Vincent ordered without glancing down. "Deliver him directly to the federal marshal’s task force. Let them have the credit for taking down Salieri’s top asset."
"Yes, Boss," the guards responded, dragging Vance away into the dark corridors.
Emily stood trembling violently, her hands clutching her emerald gown. "Lily... is she really safe? Vincent, please look at me, is my baby okay?"
Vincent turned to her immediately. He closed the distance between them, his hands reaching out to cup her face with overwhelming tenderness. His thumbs gently brushed across her cheekbones, wiping away the single tear that had spilled from her eye.
"Lily is safe, Emily," Vincent said, his voice soft, fierce, and utterly convincing. "Marco checked in three minutes ago. She is asleep in her crib, completely protected. I knew Vance would be here. I used myself as the target to draw him out so he could never threaten you again."
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Emily looked into his dark eyes, the sheer magnitude of his protection washing over her in a wave of profound emotion. He had placed his own life in the crosshairs of an assassin just to pull the threat away from her and her child.
Without thinking, driven by an overwhelming surge of gratitude, relief, and undeniable desire, Emily stepped forward and pressed her lips against his.
