Chapter 7
Marcus groaned, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the intricate patterns of the Persian rug. He was a giant of a man, an ex-military contractor whom Vivienne paid an exorbitant fortune to ensure no one could ever lay a hand on her. Now, his nose was shattered, his tactical suit was torn, and his hands were zip-tied brutally behind his back.
"Marcus!" Vivienne cried out, dropping to her knees beside him. She grabbed his shoulder, staining her white hands with his blood. "What did they do to you?"
"They were waiting... in the garage," Marcus coughed, struggling to look up at her. "I'm sorry, Ms. Cross. There were too many."
Stallone walked over, his leather shoes stepping lightly over the blood splatters. He looked down at the defeated bodyguard with a professional detachment.
"He fought well," Stallone noted casually, as if critiquing a mildly entertaining sports match. "Broke the jaw of one of my best men. But loyalty bought with a paycheck always has an expiration date."
Vivienne stood up, placing herself between Marcus and Stallone. Her fear was rapidly being consumed by a wild, cornered-animal panic.
"You touch him again, and I swear I will make sure the federal government hunts you to the ends of the earth!" Vivienne threatened, her chest heaving. "I have the Governor on speed dial!"
"The Governor?" Stallone raised a dark eyebrow, a cruel, mocking smile playing at the edge of his lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, black smartphone. He tossed it onto the table next to the legal documents. "Call him."
Vivienne stared at the phone. Her hands shook violently as she lunged for it. She dialed the private, unlisted number of the state Governor, a man she had dined with just three nights ago. The line rang twice before a voice picked up.
"Governor," Vivienne practically sobbed into the receiver. "It's Vivienne Cross. I am at the St. Regis. I am being held hostage by—"
"Ms. Cross," the Governor's voice interrupted. It was cold, formal, and distant. "I have been advised by my security detail that your family is currently under investigation for massive, decades-long federal fraud. It would be highly inappropriate for us to speak."
"What? No, Richard, listen to me, Sylvester Stallone is—"
"Do not call this number again, Vivienne," the Governor said flatly. The line went dead with a sharp click.
Vivienne slowly lowered the phone from her ear. The realization crushed her lungs. The isolation was absolute. Stallone hadn't just come for her money; he had systematically dismantled her entire reality before he even walked into the ballroom.
"He works for me, too," Stallone said, answering the question she hadn't asked. "Everyone you know, everyone you trust, everyone you have ever bought... they all belong to me now."
Arthur, standing perfectly straight by the documents, uncapped the gold fountain pen.
May you like
"The pen, Ms. Cross," Arthur offered politely.
"Sign the paper, Vivienne," Stallone commanded, his voice devoid of all emotion. "Or I will have my men throw Marcus off this balcony, and then we will begin breaking your fingers, one by one, until you can't hold the pen at all."
