Chapter 3 - THE POCKET WATCH
The thirty guests in the dining room erupted into panic, but Carlo Falcone’s men raised their weapons, and the room went instantly, terrifyingly quiet.
I backed slowly against the wall, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Adrian didn’t flinch. He remained at the head of the table, clutching the velvet box in his hand. His own security detail was nowhere to be seen.
“Where are my men, Carlo?” Adrian asked, his voice steady.
“Sleeping,” Carlo chuckled, leaning on his cane. “Don’t worry, they’ll wake up with a headache. I didn’t come here to start a war, Adrian. I just came to collect what’s mine.”
Carlo looked at Vanessa, who was cowering near the fireplace.
“You disappointed me, Vanessa,” Carlo said smoothly. “You were supposed to walk out the side door ten minutes ago. Instead, you decided to play dress-up with the maid.”
Vanessa sobbed, shaking her head. “She ruined it! Claire noticed the clasp! She ruined everything!”
Carlo sighed, turning his cold eyes to me. I froze under his gaze, feeling completely invisible and entirely exposed at the same time.
“A sharp-eyed maid,” Carlo mused. “How inconvenient.”
He looked back at Adrian.
“Toss me the box, Adrian, and I’ll leave your lovely dinner party in peace.”
Adrian didn’t move. “You’re not getting the watch, Carlo.”
“It doesn’t belong to you,” Carlo snarled, his polite facade cracking. “It belonged to your father, and he stole it from me before he faked his death.”
The confirmation hung heavy in the air. Adrian’s father was alive.
“The watch is proof,” Carlo continued, stepping closer to the table. “Proof of the accounts he drained. Proof of the betrayal. I need it to show the Commission.”
“If you wanted the watch, you shouldn’t have sent a thief in a cheap dress to do your dirty work,” Adrian said, glancing at Vanessa.
Vanessa gasped, the insult hitting her harder than the guns in the room.
Adrian tossed the velvet box onto the center of the dining table.
It landed with a soft thud.
Carlo smiled. He gestured to one of his men, who stepped forward to retrieve it.
But as the man reached for the box, Adrian’s hand moved with lightning speed. He didn’t draw a gun. He grabbed a heavy silver candelabra and smashed it directly into the man’s face.
The man collapsed, blood spraying across the white tablecloth.
Chaos erupted.
“Down!” Adrian roared.
The guests dove for the floor. Gunshots shattered the crystal chandeliers, plunging the room into chaotic, flickering darkness.
“Claire, move!” Adrian shouted over the gunfire.
I didn’t hesitate. I dropped to my knees and scrambled toward the kitchen doors.
But before I could reach them, a hand clamped down on my ankle.
I screamed, kicking wildly.
It was Vanessa. She had crawled under the table and grabbed me, her eyes wild with panic.
“Help me!” she cried. “They’ll kill me!”
I tried to pull away, but she was gripping me with frantic strength.
Suddenly, a massive hand grabbed Vanessa by the hair and yanked her backward.
It was one of Carlo’s men. He dragged her out from under the table, pressing a gun to her head.
“Hold your fire!” Carlo yelled over the din.
The shooting stopped. The room smelled of gunpowder and shattered glass.
Adrian stood behind an overturned banquet table, his own pistol drawn. He was breathing heavily, a thin cut bleeding over his left eye.
Carlo stood near the entrance, using Vanessa as a human shield.
“Pick up the box, Adrian,” Carlo commanded. “Pick it up, or I blow her brains out.”
Adrian looked at Vanessa. She was weeping, terrified.
He didn’t lower his gun.
“You think I care if you shoot her?” Adrian asked, his voice dripping with pure, unadulterated ice. “She betrayed me. She tried to frame my staff. She let you into my home. Pull the trigger, Carlo.”
Vanessa screamed.
Carlo hesitated, surprised by Adrian’s absolute ruthlessness.
And in that split second of hesitation, I realized something.
The velvet box was resting on the floor near the kitchen doors. It had been knocked off the table during the struggle.
I was closest to it.
I didn’t think. I scrambled forward, grabbed the box, and scrambled through the swinging kitchen doors.
“She has it!” Carlo roared.
Footsteps pounded after me. I sprinted through the massive, stainless-steel kitchen. The chefs had already fled.
I hit the back-service door, bursting out into the cold Chicago night. The alley was dark and slick with rain.
I ran toward the street, my lungs burning.
I heard the door crash open behind me.
“Stop!” a voice yelled.
I didn’t stop. I turned the corner onto the main street, intending to disappear into the crowd.
But a black SUV was idling directly at the curb.
The side door slid open.
A hand reached out, grabbing my arm, and yanked me violently inside.
I screamed, thrashing against the seats.
“Quiet!” a deep voice commanded.
The doors locked. The SUV sped away from the curb before Carlo’s men could even turn the corner.
I scrambled backward, pressing myself against the window, clutching the velvet box to my chest.
I looked at the man sitting across from me in the dim light of the streetlamps.
He was older. Gray hair. A thick, tailored coat.
His eyes were exactly like Adrian’s.
“You must be Claire,” the man said softly.
I stared at him, the Reversal hitting me so hard I couldn’t breathe.
It was Adrian’s father.
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And he wasn’t alone.
Sitting next to him, holding a suppressed pistol, was the jeweler from Oak Street. The man who had supposedly fixed Vanessa’s bracelet.
