Chapter 10 - Blood on the Chandelier
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Elena’s fingers dug into the wool of Lucian’s tuxedo shoulder.
"Lucian," she breathed without breaking her smile or her dance step, knowing the men by the stage were watching them. "Don't look now. Four o’clock, behind the cello player. Four men in European tuxedos. The one with the throat scar just told a waiter in Neapolitan dialect to grab me when the ballroom lights dim for the charity auction in two minutes—Raffaele Costa wants me brought to Naples alive."
Lucian didn't flinch, and he didn't turn his head. He smoothly spun her around so his own broad back was between her and the orchestra stage, shielding her body completely while his right hand slid two inches toward the inside lapel of his dinner jacket.
"The man with the throat scar is Enzo Ferrara—Raffaele Costa’s half-brother and chief enforcer," Lucian murmured calmly against her ear. "Sabatini is in federal holding, which means Costa flew Enzo in from Montreal on a diplomatic passport this afternoon to clean up the mess."
"How did they get past Dante’s men at the hotel entrance?"
"Through the kitchen loading dock—the Pierre shares a subterranean freight concourse with the building on 61st Street," Lucian said, guiding her smoothly toward the heavy velvet draperies of the west terrace, thirty feet away from Dante’s position near the main foyer. "When the chandelier dims on the count of three, don't go toward the main doors—that’s where their second team will be waiting to bottleneck my guards. Go straight behind the west curtain into the bridal suite corridor. I’m right behind you."
On the stage, the charity auctioneer tapped his microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, if we may direct your attention to the center screen for tonight’s feature presentation—lights, please!"
The massive crystal chandeliers overhead dimmed to a murky ten-percent amber glow.
Instantly, three fake waiters and Enzo Ferrara moved through the darkened tables like sharks cutting through dark water, drawing suppressed compact pistols beneath white linen service towels as they converged on the edge of the dance floor.
"Now!" Lucian barked softly.
He shoved Elena behind the heavy gold velvet draperies into the dimly lit marble hallway of the bridal wing, then spun around on the threshold with his custom slim-frame 1911 already in his hand.
The first fake waiter pulled back the velvet curtain with a chloroform rag in one hand and a suppressed Beretta in the other.
Lucian didn't fire yet—Instead, he caught the assassin by the wrist, wrenched the man’s arm backward until the bone snapped with a muffled crack, and drove the butt of his 1911 straight into the man’s temple, dropping him silently behind the curtain without alerting the three hundred panicking civilians in the ballroom!
"Come on!" Lucian grabbed Elena’s hand, pulling her down the carpeted back corridor toward the private bridal elevator as Dante and two of Lucian’s guards intercepted Enzo Ferrara’s remaining men near the ballroom doors.
Elena kicked off her four-inch silver heels without slowing down a step, holding the hem of her crimson silk gown in one hand while sprinting barefoot beside Lucian down the service stairwell.
Halfway down the marble stairs between the second floor and the mezzanine, the fire door below them flew open.
Two more of Ferrara’s Camorra hitmen charged up the steps, suppressed submachine guns raised.
Lucian shoved Elena flat against the recessed stone alcove of the landing, shielding her body with his own as he fired four rapid rounds down the stairwell.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The roar of the unsuppressed .45 echoed like cannon fire inside the concrete stairwell. The lead hitman tumbled backward down the steps into the second man, knocking them both onto the lower landing—only for a stray burst from the falling submachine gun to chew into the plaster wall six inches above Lucian’s shoulder, showering them both in white dust and stinging brick fragments!
From the top of the stairs above them, Enzo Ferrara kicked open the ballroom service door, aiming a silver-plated automatic straight down at Elena’s exposed crimson back while Lucian was reloading his slide!
Elena saw the reflection of Ferrara’s gun barrel in the brass fire-extinguisher cabinet beside her face.
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She didn't scream. In one fluid motion, she yanked the heavy red steel fire extinguisher off its wall bracket, pulled the brass safety pin, and blasted a blinding, pressurized cloud of dry chemical foam straight up the stairs into Ferrara’s face!
Blinded and choking on monoammonium phosphate powder, Ferrara fired wildly into the ceiling plaster as Lucian pivoted, raised his 1911 upward, and put a single round through Ferrara’s right kneecap before Dante burst through the doorway behind him and tackled the screaming Camorra enforcer to the floor!
