Chapter 6 - The Price of Protection
Gunfire shredded the crystal chandeliers overhead, raining glittering shards of glass down onto the crimson carpet. Panic turned the elegant ballroom into a slaughterhouse as screams echoed off the marble walls.
Marcus didn't hesitate. He fired twice with lethal precision, dropping two of the attackers before they could even adjust their aim. Alessandro and the remaining bodyguards returned heavy suppressing fire, driving the remaining assassins back toward the service corridors.
“We have to move!” Marcus yelled over the deafening roar of gunfire, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind him as he carved a path through the terror-stricken crowd.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. My injured heel screamed in protest with every step, but adrenaline flooded my veins, dulling the pain. We were halfway toward the private elevator leading to the underground parking garage when a heavy shadow detached itself from a marble pillar ahead of us.
It was Viktor Rostov’s head of security—a massive brute holding a submachine gun aimed directly at my chest.
“Marcus!” I screamed, instinctively pulling him back.
Marcus reacted with supernatural speed. He shoved me hard behind a heavy stone planter, shielding my body with his own just as a burst of automatic gunfire tore into the stone pillar inches from our heads. Stone chips rained down on us. Marcus leaned around the edge of the planter, raised his pistol, and fired a single shot.
The brute dropped instantly, a clean bullet hole centered squarely between his eyes.
Silence descended on our immediate corridor as the final echoes of gunfire faded down the hall. Marcus turned to me, his hands frantically gripping my shoulders, his storm-gray eyes scanning every inch of my body for blood.
“Are you hit?” His voice was rough, trembling with a rare, unfiltered panic. “Elena, tell me you’re not hit.”
“I’m fine,” I gasped, clutching the lapels of his tuxedo jacket for dear life. “I’m okay, Marcus. What… what was that?”
“A power play,” Marcus growled, his jaw clenching so hard I thought it would crack. “Rostov wanted to test my defenses. He wanted to see if bringing you out into the open would break me.” He pulled me violently against his chest, burying his face in my hair. “He just signed his own death warrant.”
May you like
Alessandro appeared around the corner, his suit jacket singed, holding a secure radio. “Boss, the perimeter is secure. The remaining assassins are neutralized or captured. The cars are waiting in the subterranean bay.”
Marcus lifted me into his arms without a second thought, carrying me past the smoking wreckage of the ballroom toward the private exit. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent of smoke, leather, and danger. For the first time, I realized the truth: Marcus hadn’t kept me locked away for 3 years because he was ashamed of me or because I was a burden. He had hidden me because he loved me, and in his violent, bloody world, love was the ultimate death sentence.
