Chapter 3 - The King’s Command|
"Silas, please!" I sobbed, reaching for his lapels. "Take the helicopter! We can leave Chicago tonight! We can go anywhere!"
"There is nowhere to go, Clara," Silas said gently, wrapping his broad hands around my wrists and stepping closer until his chest pressed against mine. "The Castigliones own the airports. The Commission owns the roads. The only territory I have left in this world is this room, this building, and you."
He leaned down, pressing a firm, desperate kiss against my forehead, lingering there as if trying to memorize the scent of my hair.
"You are going into the safe panic room behind the pantry," Silas instructed, his tone shifting into an absolute, non-negotiable command. "You will lock the iron door from the inside. You will not open it for anyone. Not for Matteo. Not for the captains. Not even for me unless I give you the code."
"What is the code?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Silas looked deep into my eyes, a dark, dangerous warmth flickering in his gray gaze.
"The code is the date we met in Boston," he said softly. "The night you told me you’d rather die than be a mafia wife."
"Silas—"
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"Go!" he roared, pulling his heavy combat pistol from beneath his arm holster and racking the slide with a deafening metallic clack. "Now, Clara!"
I turned and ran toward the pantry, my hand supporting the weight of my belly as the heavy metallic thud of distant gunshots began echoing up through the elevator shafts from the lobby sixty floors below.
