Chapter 7 - The Emerald Serpent Cornered
The sound of her husband's vow shattered whatever fragile delusions of control remained in Victoria’s calculating mind.
She knew the unwritten law of the Chicago syndicate better than anyone who married into the bloodline.
To strike the boss's daughter was treason punishable by exile; to imprison the heir was a death warrant signed in blood.
Victoria surged up from the floor, kicking off her remaining black high heel to gain traction on the slick marble.
She gathered the hem of her torn emerald-green satin gown in both fists, hitching the fabric high above her knees.
She spun on her bare heel and sprinted with feral, terrified speed toward the grand mahogany double doors.
The heavy oak portals represented her only salvation: the sprawling private driveway, the shadows of the estate, the dark city beyond.
"Marcus, intercept her!" Salvatore's command cut through the echoing foyer like the crack of a bullwhip.
Marcus moved instantly, his athletic frame sliding laterally across the entrance hall with fluid, military grace.
Before Victoria could bridge the thirty feet to the brass door handles, Marcus planted himself directly in the center of the threshold.
He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his charcoal-black security suit a wall of immovable stone against her desperate charge.
Victoria did not slow down; she lowered her head and lunged forward, clawing at his chest with her manicured nails.
"Get out of my way, you pathetic hired thug!" she shrieked, aiming a vicious swipe at his eyes.
Marcus caught her forearms with casual, effortless precision, twisting her wrists downward to neutralize the attack.
Victoria thrashed against his iron grip like a trapped serpent, her emerald gown twisting violently around her thighs.
"Let me go! Salvatore, you can't touch me! My family will tear this syndicate apart!" she screamed into the empty air.
Her threats rang hollow and pathetic, bouncing harmlessly off the marble columns of the silent mansion.
Marcus pushed her firmly back into the center of the entrance hall, blocking every avenue toward the exterior doors.
She stumbled and fell to her knees on the marble floor, her platinum-blonde hair falling in tangled curtains across her face.
She looked back over her shoulder, her chest heaving in short, shallow gasps of suffocating dread.
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Behind her, the silhouette of her husband was rising from the floor hatch, flanked by his weeping daughter and his rescued son.
She was trapped entirely within the opulent cage she had tried to claim for herself.
