Chapter 8 - The Betrayal Unveiled
“Vincent!” Lena’s voice cut through the swell of the orchestra like a thunderclap.
Vincent turned instantly. His instincts, honed by decades of survival, responded not to the crowd, but to the singular pitch of Lena’s voice.
Nathan ripped the catering cap from his head, his hollow, bloodshot eyes blazing with psychotic fury. “Die with your kingdom, cousin!”
Nathan kicked the service cart forward, sending the massive copper basin of boiling, chemically enhanced flambé fluid tipping directly toward the stage where Vincent and the dignitaries stood. In his left hand, Nathan held a road flare, striking it against the cart’s frame to ignite the white phosphorus.
Panic erupted. Women shrieked, chairs overturned, and the orchestra collapsed into a chaotic stampede toward the exits.
Before the cart could reach the stage, Lena crashed into it from the side.
Using her full weight and momentum, she drove her shoulder into the steel cart with the force of an avalanche. The heavy cart violently careened off course, slamming into a decorative stone pillar twenty feet away from Vincent.
The flare left Nathan’s hand, landing in the spilled fluid.
*BOOM.*
A blinding wall of violet fire erupted against the stone pillar, the shockwave shattering three crystal chandeliers overhead and sending a rain of glittering glass down upon the empty tables. The accelerant burned with terrifying heat, scorching the marble, but the crowd and the stage remained untouched.
Lena was thrown to the floor by the blast, sliding across the slick marble. Her sapphire gown was torn at the hem, her hands scraped, but she scrambled to her feet instantly.
Through the smoke and flames, Nathan charged at her.
His right hand was ruined, but in his left, he held a jagged eight-inch boning knife stolen from the kitchen racks.
“You ruined everything!” Nathan shrieked, his face blackened by soot, spitting blood as he lunged toward her throat. “You fat, meddling whore!”
Lena didn't cower.
She reached for the nearest weapon she knew how to use. Beside the overturned cart lay a heavy, cast-iron flambé pan, still searingly hot from the burners.
Grabbing the insulated handle with both hands, Lena swung the cast-iron pan with all the strength in her shoulders, using the heavy momentum of her torso to drive the iron flat into the side of Nathan’s skull.
The heavy, metallic *CLANG* echoed even above the roar of the fire.
Nathan’s jaw shattered on impact. His eyes rolled back into his head, the knife slipping from his limp fingers as his body folded like a cheap accordion onto the marble floor, completely unconscious.
Lena stood over him, her chest heaving, the heavy pan still smoking in her grip. Her hair had tumbled down around her shoulders, her emerald-dusted face smeared with soot, looking like an avenging goddess standing amidst the ruins of a battlefield.
Footsteps pounded through the smoke.
Vincent appeared. His tuxedo jacket was gone, his gun drawn, his dark eyes wide with pure, unadulterated panic—a panic not for his life, but for hers.
When he saw Nathan crumpled at her feet, and Lena standing tall with the iron pan, the gun lowered.
Vincent dropped his weapon to the floor, not caring about the smoke, the fleeing dignitaries, or the sirens wailing in the streets outside.
He crossed the distance and crushed Lena into his arms.
He pulled her so hard against his chest that she dropped the iron pan with a loud clatter. His hands framed her face, his breathing ragged and wild as he checked every inch of her skin for burns, his fingers trembling with a terror he had never felt in his entire life.
“Lena... Lena, look at me,” Vincent choked out, his voice breaking. “Are you hurt? Did the fire touch you?”
“I’m okay,” Lena gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. “I smelled the phosphorus in the brandy... He was going to burn you alive, Vincent...”
Vincent pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes tightly as a shudder ran through his massive frame.
“You threw yourself in front of a firebomb for me,” he whispered, his voice thick with raw emotion. “You crazy, beautiful, magnificent woman...”
Marco and six armed Calder guards finally breached the smoke, guns drawn, surrounding the perimeter. Marco stared at the unconscious Nathan, then at Lena, a look of profound shock and immense respect spreading across his weathered face.
“Boss,” Marco said, clearing his throat. “What do we do with Nathan?”
Vincent slowly pulled back from Lena, but kept one arm securely wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to his side.
He looked down at his broken, bleeding cousin with cold, clinical indifference.
“Cuff him,” Vincent commanded. “Call the federal prosecutor. Give them the burner phone, the toxicology reports, the illegal shipping manifests, and Julian’s testimony.”
Marco blinked, stunned. “You’re handing him to the feds? You’re not going to... put him in the ground?”
Vincent looked at Lena. He saw the gentleness in her brown eyes, the humanity she had brought into his dark, blood-soaked world. He knew that if he executed his own flesh and blood tonight, he would forever stain the sanctuary they had built together.
“Nathan wanted to rule this city through blood and poison,” Vincent said, his voice echoing through the burning ballroom. “Instead, he will spend the next forty years in a concrete box in Florence, Colorado, forgotten by the world, eating state-issued slop through a slot in the door.”
Vincent turned his back on his cousin forever.
May you like
He leaned down, scooped Lena up into his arms in a bridal carry despite her protests that she was too heavy, and carried her through the smoke toward the clean night air outside.
***
