Chapter 4 - The Escape
Glass rained down on Elena’s shoulders as she dove to the floor. The ruined wedding dress tangled around her legs, heavy and suffocating.
Julian and the assassin crashed into a table of hors d'oeuvres, sending crystal flutes of champagne shattering across the hardwood. Julian was bigger, built from years of collegiate rowing, but the man was ruthless. The assassin brought a knee up into Julian’s ribs, causing him to gasp, and raised the weapon again.
Before he could pull the trigger, a heavy brass lamp cracked across the side of the assassin’s head.
Victoria Sterling stood there, breathing heavily, the cord of the lamp dangling from her manicured hands. The man slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Victoria dropped the lamp, her hands shaking violently. She looked at Julian, then at Elena. “Are you… are you hurt?”
“No,” Elena gasped, scrambling to her feet and pulling her torn dress up. She looked at Victoria with a shock of newfound respect. The woman might be a tyrant, but she was a survivor.
“We have to get out of here,” Julian wheezed, clutching his ribs as he stood. He kicked the gun away from the unconscious man. “Arthur isn't waiting. If he realizes this guy failed, he’ll send more, or he’ll come himself.”
“My car is out back,” Victoria said, her corporate sharpness returning in the face of adrenaline. “Armored. Bulletproof glass. We take the service elevator.”
“Wait,” Elena said. She rushed to the vanity table, grabbing the jade pendant and slipping it over her neck. The cold stone hit her collarbone, a grounding weight. “I’m not leaving it.”
The three of them slipped out the back door of the suite, entering the sterile, fluorescent-lit service hallways of the hotel. The contrast from the opulent ballroom to the concrete corridors was jarring. Distantly, they could hear the muffled shouts of paparazzi and confused guests trying to figure out what had happened.
“Julian,” Elena whispered as they hurried down a stairwell. “We can’t go to the police. Not yet.”
“Are you crazy?” Julian hissed. “Someone just tried to kill you!”
“And Arthur bought off the police twenty-three years ago!” Elena argued, her mind racing. “If he faked my death with a bloody coat, he had inside help from the precinct. We don't know who is on his payroll.”
Victoria stopped at the bottom of the stairs, pushing open the heavy metal door that led to the underground parking garage. “She’s right,” Victoria said, her voice grim. “Arthur has had two decades to build his network. If we walk into a precinct, we might not walk out.”
The sprawling underground garage was dim and eerily quiet. Victoria’s sleek, black Maybach was parked in the VIP section, fifty yards away.
They began to walk quickly toward it when a slow, echoing clap rang out through the concrete structure.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
From behind a concrete pillar, Arthur Sterling stepped out. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal tuxedo, holding a lit cigar in one hand.
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Behind him stood three massive men in dark suits, their hands resting ominously inside their jackets.
“Well, well,” Arthur smiled, though his eyes were completely devoid of warmth. “I always said this wedding was going to be a killer.”
