Chapter 3 - The King of the Underworld
Sophie was trapped. If she let go of the woman to lunge for the phone, the elderly victim would collapse entirely onto the marble floor and likely crack her skull. But if she stayed put, the woman would suffocate.
"Please," Sophie wept softly, pressing her cheek against the older woman's grey hair. "Someone help us..."
Suddenly, the ambient chatter of the gala died down. The live string quartet abruptly stopped playing. The temperature in the ballroom seemed to violently plummet to freezing.
The crowd of formal guests instantly parted, taking hurried steps backward.
Striding through the center of the ballroom was Marcus. The heavily muscular man in his early forties moved with the terrifying, slow-motion grace of an apex predator. His dark hair was slicked back sharply. He wore a tailored black suit jacket over a black open-collar shirt, exposing the dark, lethal syndicate tattoos crawling up his chest and the side of his neck.
He was the undisputed king of the city's underground, a man whose mere presence demanded absolute, terrified submission.
He had been looking for his date, Vivian, to introduce her to his lieutenants. But his piercing, dark eyes suddenly caught the commotion behind the gold chairs.
His cinematic, slow eye movement locked onto the horrific scene. He saw the maid crying. He saw the red dress. And then, he saw the frail woman slumping toward the marble floor.
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Marcus didn't walk. He moved with explosive, terrifying speed.
👉 Marcus lunged into the shadows behind the chairs, and his reaction was about to completely shatter Vivian’s arrogant illusion.
