Chapter 2 - The Impostor In The Hallway
The tension vibrating between Mallerie and Gideon Vale was so thick that the nearby gala guests instinctively backed away.
Two of Gideon’s senior enforcers stepped up, their hands slipping subtly beneath the lapels of their tailored jackets.
“Step back, miss,” Marcus growled, his scarred hand hovering inches from a concealed firearm.
“You don’t dictate terms to Mr.
Vale.”
“Back off, Marcus!” Gideon barked, his voice slicing through the air like a razor blade.
The guard froze instantly, shocked by the raw, uncharacteristic edge in his employer’s command.
Gideon stared at Mallerie, his gray eyes burning with a mixture of disbelief and predatory calculation.
“I do not purchase children off the street, Ms.
Reed,” Gideon said, reading her name tag with cold deliberation.
“Owen was delivered into my arms seventy-two hours after his birth by the chief of obstetrics at St.
Jude.”
“Dr.
Harrison Vance?” Mallerie asked, her voice cracking with pure venom.
Gideon’s eyes narrowed instantly.
“You know him.”
“He signed my boy’s death certificate,” Mallerie hissed, clutching the baby so hard her knuckles turned chalk white.
“He told me my son was born with fluid in his lungs and that resuscitation had failed.”
Owen whined softly at the sharp tone in her voice, patting her cheek with his small, warm hand.
The innocent touch broke through her panic, softening her rigid posture.
Gideon reached forward again, his fingers opening in an unyielding demand.
“Give him to me, Mallerie.
Now.
We are making a scene.”
Mallerie hesitated, but she knew she could not fight six armed syndicate enforcers in the middle of a high-society ballroom.
Reluctantly, she leaned forward and passed Owen into Gideon’s waiting arms.
The instant Mallerie’s hands left the boy’s back, hell broke loose.
Owen let out a deafening, bloodcurdling scream that echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
He kicked violently against Gideon’s ribs, twisting his entire small torso backward toward Mallerie.
His tiny fingernails clawed at Gideon’s silk tie, pulling it askew as his face flushed bright crimson with fury.
“Owen, stop,” Gideon murmured, attempting to cradle the infant’s thrashing head against his shoulder.
The child wouldn’t hear it.
He choked on his own screams, his little chest heaving in absolute panic.
Every guest within fifty feet had completely stopped talking, their eyes glued to the spectacle of Chicago’s mob king failing to calm his heir.
Mallerie’s maternal instincts shattered any remaining fear she had of Gideon’s reputation.
She stepped forward and placed two gentle fingers against the back of Owen’s damp neck.
“Shh, sweet baby.
I’m right here.
I haven’t gone anywhere.”
Like magic, Owen’s violent thrashing subsided into ragged, hitching breaths.
His little hand shot out and gripped her catering apron, refusing to let go.
Gideon watched the exchange, his jaw working as if chewing on glass.
Before he could speak, the double service doors swung open at the far side of the ballroom.
A young man wearing the hotel’s standard gray banquet vest and black trousers pushed an empty, high-end navy stroller across the parquet floor.
His nametag gleamed under the crystal lights: Thomas Avery.
Marcus stepped into the man’s path, his scarred brow furrowing.
“We didn’t request a stroller from hotel staff.”
The attendant offered a polite, deferential smile.
“Management sent me, sir.
They noticed Mr.
Vale was having difficulty with the child and thought this might assist the family.”
Gideon didn’t even look up from Owen.
“Send him away.
We don’t need it.”
Mallerie, however, glanced across the room toward the dessert staging station where she had spent the last four hours working.
Standing by the industrial espresso machine was another banquet server, busily polishing silver dessert forks.
That server was also wearing a nametag that read Thomas Avery.
Mallerie’s blood ran ice-cold.
She knew every member of the banquet team; the real Thomas Avery was a terrified nineteen-year-old college kid working off tuition.
The man standing two feet in front of them with the stroller had hardened knuckles and dead, calculating eyes.
“Gideon, look out!” Mallerie screamed.
The fake attendant moved with terrifying, professional speed.
He violently shoved the heavy steel frame of the stroller directly into Marcus’s shins, knocking the heavy guard off-balance.
In the same fluid motion, the impostor reached across the gap with both hands, lunging directly for Owen’s exposed torso.
Mallerie didn’t hesitate.
She threw her entire body over Gideon’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around Owen to shield him with her own back.
Gideon reacted with the brutal lethality that had kept him alive through three gang wars.
He dropped his shoulder, shielding both Mallerie and Owen behind his massive frame, and caught the impostor by the throat with his left hand.
With a sickening thud, Gideon slammed the attacker backward into an ornate marble pillar.
The sound of cracking plaster echoed through the stunned ballroom.
The attacker reached into his waistband for a suppressed pistol, but Gideon twisted his wrist violently, dislocating the joint with a clean snap.
The gun clattered harmlessly across the polished floor.
“Who contracted you?” Gideon asked, his voice deathly calm, devoid of any human emotion.
The attacker spit blood onto Gideon’s immaculate lapel, refusing to utter a sound.
Marcus and three other guards scrambled forward, pinning the man’s broken body against the cold marble floor.
“Take him to the sub-basement holding room beneath the garage,” Gideon ordered quietly, adjusting his cuffs.
“Keep him conscious.
I want to know who authorized a snatch-and-grab on my son in broad daylight.”
The ballroom had descended into utter chaos, with wealthy patrons screaming and rushing toward the main exits.
Security sirens began to wail throughout the hotel complex.
Owen was trembling violently against Mallerie’s chest, his tiny face buried in her neck as he sobbed quietly.
Gideon turned around, his breathing slow, steady, and terrifyingly controlled.
He looked at Mallerie, who was still trembling from head to toe, her arms locked securely around the infant.
“You saw the duplicate name badge,” Gideon stated, not asking a question.
“Yes,” she whispered, her teeth chattering from adrenaline.
“The real Thomas is terrified of loud noises.
He wouldn’t have approached you.”
Gideon stepped closer, towering over her.
“You threw yourself over the boy.
You didn’t even think about the gun.”
“Of course I didn’t!” she cried, looking up at him with furious, tearful eyes.
“He’s a baby!
Whoever he belongs to, he’s an innocent child!”
Gideon looked at Owen’s little hand, which was still clutching Mallerie’s silver bracelet with impossible strength.
“We are leaving right now,” Gideon commanded, grabbing Mallerie firmly by the upper arm.
Mallerie pulled back against his grip, refusing to be herded like cattle.
“I am not going anywhere with a mobster!
I have a shift to finish, and I have questions that need real police answers!”
Gideon’s face hardened into stone.
“The Chicago police are bought and paid for by the men who just sent that operative.
If you walk out those front doors alone, Ms.
Reed, you will be dead in an alley before you reach your car.”
“Why would anyone want to kill me?” she asked, panic rising in her throat.
“Because you just proved to everyone in this room that my son recognizes you,” Gideon said coldly.
“And because whatever happened in St.
Jude ten months ago was supposed to stay buried under six feet of dirt.”
He didn’t give her another opportunity to argue.
May you like
With a firm hand guiding her elbow, Gideon ushered Mallerie, Owen, and his armed vanguard through the private executive service elevator.
The doors sealed shut with a heavy mechanical clunk, severing Mallerie Reed from the only life she had ever known.
