Chapter 8 - Blood in the Winter Garden
A chorus of shrill screams echoed through the cavernous darkness of the Pendleton ballroom as panic erupted across the room.
Glass shattered against the floor, chairs overturned with loud crashes, and the heavy thud of running feet shook the parquet boards.
Darian’s arm clamped around Nadia’s waist like a vise, instantly pulling her behind the heavy stone pedestal of a marble bust.
"Stay behind me and keep your head down," Darian commanded, the smoothness of the ballroom dancer replaced instantly by the harsh, clipped bark of a street boss.
In the complete darkness, the sound of a suppressed pistol firing three rhythmic rounds—thwip, thwip, thwip—ripped through the far corner of the dais.
Someone grunted heavily and collapsed across a table, followed by the clatter of silver platters hitting the floor.
"Pendleton’s cleaners aren't aiming for me," Nadia whispered, her hand pressing firmly against Darian’s chest, feeling the heavy lump of the weapon beneath his jacket.
"They’re coming for the garnet choker."
"The encryption key to the terminal safe is engraved inside the platinum backing."
Darian pulled a compact, custom Glock from his shoulder holster with a smooth metallic slide, thumbing the safety off in the dark.
"He’s not touching a single hair on your head," Darian snarled, his voice cold and deadly in the shadows.
Red emergency lights flickered to life along the baseboards, casting long, bloody shadows across the ruined room.
Two men dressed in black tactical gear moved methodically through the overturned tables, their suppressed submachine guns sweeping the aisles.
One of them spotted the dark plum silk trailing beneath the marble pedestal and leveled his weapon with lethal intent.
Darian leaned out, firing two shots with terrifying, pinpoint accuracy.
The first round struck the shooter’s shoulder, the second punched through his sternum, dropping the man instantly onto the shattered china.
The second mercenary swung his muzzle toward Darian, unleashing a frantic spray of suppressed fire that chipped chunks of marble from the pedestal above their heads.
Nadia didn't scream or cringe; she grabbed a heavy silver ice bucket from an overturned service cart beside her and hurled it violently across the floor.
The clattering metal drew the shooter’s attention for a fraction of a second, his barrel twitching toward the noise.
That split second was all Darian needed.
He stepped into the clearing, fired a single hollow-point round through the shooter’s throat, and watched the man collapse against the velvet curtains.
"Move! To the winter garden!" Darian ordered, grabbing Nadia’s hand and pulling her through the shattered glass of the side terrace doors.
The freezing mountain air hit them like a wall of ice, swirling snow biting into Nadia’s exposed shoulders and arms.
Behind them, the ballroom was a nightmare of shouting police officers, weeping socialites, and sirens wailing in the distant valley.
They ran through the maze of snow-covered stone arches and frosted hedges of the Pendleton winter garden, the thin soles of Nadia’s stilettos snapping on the icy cobblestones.
She kicked the broken shoes off without breaking stride, her bare feet hitting the freezing flagstones as she sprinted beside him.
Darian glanced down at her bleeding feet in the snow, a sudden wave of fierce, uncharacteristic protectiveness gripping his chest.
He scooped her effortlessly into his arms, ignoring her sharp intake of breath as he kicked open the wrought-iron gate leading to the secondary staff driveway.
Waiting beneath the dark pines was not the sleek Maybach, but a reinforced black armored SUV with its engine idling quietly.
The driver’s door opened, and Marco, Darian’s most trusted lieutenant, stepped out with a raised shotgun, scanning the tree line.
"Boss! We heard the gunfire from the gate," Marco shouted, holding the rear door open.
"Arthur Pendleton ordered the private security battalion to seal the mountain road!"
"Let them try," Darian growled, throwing Nadia onto the heated leather interior and diving in after her.
May you like
"Marco, hit the gas, blow the gate, and call the safehouse on the docks."
"The war with the Pendleton family just went public, and we’re taking the whole damn city down with them."
