Chapter 8 - Stolen
The ride back to the pinnacle tower was a blur of wailing sirens, screeching tires, and the metallic scent of freshly fired ammunition. In the back of the heavily armored SUV, Maya sat in absolute silence, her hands still trembling subtly in her lap. The midnight-blue silk of her gown was ruined, stained with the dust of shattered marble and a streak of blood that did not belong to her. Beside her, Vincent was a terrifying portrait of restrained violence. He was barking rapid-fire orders into a secured satellite phone, orchestrating a massive, city-wide lockdown of his territories. He was initiating a war.
When they finally breached the penthouse, the heavy steel doors locking behind them with a definitive, magnetic thud, the artificial quiet of the room felt suffocating.
Vincent immediately shed his suit jacket, tossing it over a leather chair. He walked over to the sprawling marble kitchen island, bracing his hands against the cool stone, his head bowed. The adrenaline was beginning to crash, leaving behind a volatile, dangerous exhaustion.
Maya walked up behind him slowly. She didn't say a word. She simply reached out and placed her hand flat against the center of his back, right over his spine. It was a grounding gesture, a silent communication that they had both survived the impossible.
Vincent let out a ragged breath. He turned around, capturing her face in both of his large hands, his dark eyes searching hers with a frantic, uncharacteristic desperation. “Are you hurt? Tell me the truth, Maya. Did a single piece of glass, a single bullet graze you?”
“I’m perfectly fine,” she whispered, her hands coming up to grip his wrists. “I swear to you, Vincent. I’m unharmed.”
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. “When the lights went out… when I heard his voice… I experienced something I have not felt since I was a child with nothing to my name, Maya. I felt genuine, absolute terror.”
Maya’s breath hitched. This ruthless, untouchable king of the underworld was laying his armor at her feet. “We made it out,” she murmured, her thumb tracing the faint scar on his jaw. “You protected me. And I protected you.”
“You did,” he said, pulling back slightly to look at her, a dark, consuming heat replacing the fear in his eyes. “You were magnificent. But the game has changed. The Morettis crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed. I have to leave the penthouse. I have to convene with the loyal captains at the docks and coordinate a strike before Carlo Moretti can solidify his offensive. I will be gone for exactly three hours.”
Maya felt a spike of anxiety, but she pushed it down. She was not a fragile liability anymore. “I’ll be right here.”
“I am leaving Luca at the main entrance downstairs, and Silvio will be stationed inside the penthouse with you,” Vincent instructed, his tone shifting back to the commanding syndicate boss. “Do not open the door for anyone. Do not stand near the windows. Keep the weapon I gave you loaded and within reach.”
He kissed her then—a hard, bruising, desperate kiss that tasted like whiskey, gunpowder, and undeniable possession. It was a promise that he was coming back. Then, he turned and strode into the private elevator. The doors slid shut, sealing Maya inside the fortress.
For the first hour, the silence was manageable. Maya went into the massive master bathroom, stripped off the ruined gown, and washed the dust and gunpowder from her skin under a scalding shower. She changed into a pair of soft black sweatpants and a heavy knit sweater she found in Vincent’s closet, seeking the comfort of his scent.
She walked back out into the living room, gripping the cold, heavy steel of her handgun. Silvio, a younger guard with slicked-back hair and a nervous twitch in his jaw, stood by the elevator bank. He had always been quiet, a shadow on the periphery of Vincent’s inner circle.
“Can I get you anything, Miss Maya?” Silvio asked, his voice oddly strained in the quiet room.
“No, thank you, Silvio,” she replied, sitting on the edge of the velvet sofa, her eyes fixed on the city lights below.
Thirty minutes later, the reinforced private elevator chimed.
Maya’s head snapped up. Vincent wasn't due back for another hour and a half. Silvio immediately drew his weapon, aiming it at the steel doors. Maya stood up, her own gun raised, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
The doors slid open.
There was no one inside. It was empty.
Before Maya could even process the confusion, a sudden, blinding pain exploded at the base of her skull. The world violently tilted on its axis. Her vision fractured into agonizing bursts of white light. Her knees buckled, the handgun slipping from her numb fingers and clattering uselessly onto the polished hardwood floor.
As she collapsed onto the rug, gasping for air, she forced her heavy eyelids open.
Silvio was standing above her. He hadn't been aiming at the elevator doors; he had been waiting for the distraction to strike her from behind. He was holding a heavy, blood-stained brass statue he had taken from the console table.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” Silvio muttered, though his eyes were cold and dead. “But Moretti offered me a million dollars and a territory of my own. Torino is a dead man walking anyway.”
Footsteps echoed from the open elevator. Heavy, arrogant, terrifyingly familiar footsteps.
Marcus Hail stepped into the penthouse. He was covered in soot, a fresh cut bleeding sluggishly down his cheek from the gala shootout, but his eyes were bright with psychotic triumph. He looked around the opulent, multi-million dollar apartment, a disgusted sneer twisting his features.
“Look at this,” Marcus mocked, stepping over Maya’s dropped weapon. He crouched down beside her, grabbing a fistful of her damp hair and yanking her head back. Maya cried out, fighting the crushing wave of unconsciousness. “Living like a queen in a glass castle. Did you really think you could upgrade, Maya? Did you really think you could just walk away from me?”
“Vincent… will kill you,” Maya managed to choke out, blood pooling in her mouth from where she had bitten her tongue.
“Vincent Torino is going to be too busy fighting a war on three fronts to even notice you’re missing until it’s too late,” Marcus laughed, signaling to two heavily armed thugs who stepped out of the elevator behind him. “Bind her hands. Tape her mouth. We’re taking the freight elevator down to the garage. Moretti has a place for us to lay low until Torino is a corpse.”
May you like
The thugs grabbed her arms, hauling her upward. The pain in her head was blinding, absolute agony. As they dragged her toward the dark, descending box of the elevator, Maya looked back at the empty penthouse. The fortress had fallen. The gilded cage had been breached. She was going back into the dark, but as the steel doors closed, swallowing her whole, she realized one crucial thing.
She wasn't the scared, barefoot girl running through the rain anymore. She was Vincent Torino’s queen. And she was going to make Marcus Hail bleed.
