Chapter 8 - THE SHOT IN THE ROTUNDA
The gunshot was deafening beneath the museum’s vaulted ceilings.
BANG.
Screams erupted from the crowd.
Women dove behind banquet tables, knocking over ice sculptures and floral centerpieces.
Men scrambled toward the rear exits, shoving each other in blind panic.
Genevieve felt a violent jerk.
Lorenzo’s arm wrapped around her waist, spinning her around his body with blinding speed.
The bullet tore through the silk of his shoulder lapel, embedding itself in the marble column behind them with a sharp spray of stone dust.
Lorenzo didn't even wince.
His right hand shot out like an iron piston.
He caught Preston Gable’s wrist, twisting the joint upward with brutal, calculated force.
CRACK.
Preston howled in agony as the bones in his forearm splintered.
The snub-nosed revolver clattered onto the marble floor.
Lorenzo drove his knee into Preston’s solar plexus, knocking all the air from the man’s lungs.
Preston collapsed onto his knees, vomiting blood onto his white satin cummerbund.
Lorenzo drew his Sig Sauer.
He pressed the cold steel barrel directly against the center of Preston Gable’s forehead.
The hammer was already cocked back.
“Lorenzo, no,” Genevieve’s voice cut through the ringing silence.
Her hand reached out.
Her fingers closed gently around Lorenzo’s wrist.
Her touch was soft, but the Alpha boss stopped instantly.
He looked down at her.
“He tried to kill you, Genevieve.”
“I know,” she said, her hazel eyes holding his without a flicker of doubt.
“And he will spend the next forty years in a federal penitentiary remembering that he failed.”
“Death is too easy for him.”
Lorenzo looked at the broken man kneeling at his feet, then back at Genevieve.
A slow, terrifying smile touched Lorenzo’s lips.
“You have your mother’s mercy,” he murmured.
“And your own ruthlessness.”
He uncocked the hammer with his thumb and holstered the weapon.
Two dozen federal marshals burst through the museum doors, their tactical carbines raised.
At the head of the detachment was not District Attorney Miller.
It was Deputy Director Hayes from the Department of Justice in Washington.
“FEDERAL AGENTS! NOBODY MOVE!” Hayes bellowed.
Hayes walked straight past Lorenzo and Genevieve.
He stopped in front of Preston Gable and Winston Harrington.
Hayes pulled two sets of heavy steel handcuffs from his tactical belt.
“Preston Gable,” Director Hayes announced, his voice echoing off the stone arches.
“You are under arrest for attempted murder, grand larceny, and corporate espionage.”
“Winston Harrington,” Hayes turned to the trembling patriarch on the floor.
“You are under arrest for federal wire fraud, tax evasion, and conspiracy to commit securities fraud.”
Winston looked up at Hayes in utter disbelief.
“Director Hayes... there is an active local warrant for my daughter!”
Hayes looked down at Winston with pure contempt.
“The local warrant was quashed thirty minutes ago by the United States Supreme Court, Harrington.”
“Miss Genevieve Harrington turned over the complete unredacted ledgers to our Washington division at six o'clock this evening.”
“She is our primary protected state witness.”
Charlotte Harrington shrank against the banquet table, clutching her ruined gown, sobbing hysterically.
“What about me?!” Charlotte wailed, her mascara running in black rivers down her cheeks.
“I didn't do anything! I’m Preston’s fiancée!”
Director Hayes glanced at Charlotte with cold indifference.
“Your bank accounts have been frozen under federal forfeiture laws, Miss Harrington.”
“Your apartment on Park Avenue has been seized.”
“I suggest you find a coat check that needs an attendant.”
The irony struck the room like a physical blow.
Charlotte looked at Genevieve.
She saw her younger sister standing tall in emerald silk, protected by the most dangerous man in the city, holding the deeds to the entire family legacy.
Genevieve did not look at her sister with hatred.
She looked at her with pure, unadulterated pity.
“You told me to hold your coat, Charlotte,” Genevieve said softly.
“Now you can carry your own.”
Genevieve turned her back on her sister forever.
May you like
She slipped her hand into Lorenzo’s arm.
Together, they walked down the grand marble staircase of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, past the flashing press cameras, and stepped out into the clean, falling winter snow.
