Chapter 8 - The Price of Betrayal
Clara backed away slowly, her bare feet sliding silently against the cold granite floor. She looked frantically left and right, but the other two enforcers had already flanked her, cutting off her only path back to the elevator. She was completely boxed in.
Silas chuckled, a dark, humorless sound that sent violent shivers down Clara’s spine. He took a slow, heavy step toward her.
"Vincent is very disappointed in you, Clara," Silas said softly, tilting his head as he studied her terrified, tear-stained face. "You had one simple job. Pour the champagne. Smile. Walk away rich. But my men upstairs just reported they heard glass breaking. And Luca’s heart monitor is still transmitting a pulse to his security network."
"I... I tripped," Clara lied, her voice shaking uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to look smaller, trying to look pathetic enough for them to just let her walk away. "It was an accident. I swear!"
"Vincent doesn't believe in accidents," Silas replied coldly. He reached into his coat and smoothly pulled out the heavy, black pistol. He didn't even bother aiming down the sights; he just pointed it casually at her chest. "He also doesn't believe in leaving loose ends. A girl who takes a bribe and fails the job is a liability. Say goodnight, Clara."
Clara squeezed her eyes shut. A single, hot tear rolled down her cheek. She didn't scream. She didn't beg. She just braced herself for the impact, praying that at least her warning had bought Luca enough time to survive the night.
But the gunshot never came.
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Instead, the soft, melodic ding of the VIP elevator echoed through the silent lobby for a second time.
👉 The hitmen thought they had total control of the lobby, but they forgot exactly who owned the building.
