Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Chalice and the House of Snakes
The words hung in the sterile air like a guillotine blade.
Chloe’s breath hitched, her hand flying to her throat as terror gripped her chest. A two-million-dollar bounty. She was an ordinary woman who baked pies and balanced receipts, and now the entire underworld of the Midwest had a price on her life and the life of her unborn child.
Arthur didn't flinch. His posture became rigidly straight, his shoulders broadening as an icy, absolute stillness washed over him.
“How many?” Arthur asked, his voice dead and terrifyingly calm.
“Eight men,” Leo replied, racking the slide of his custom Glock 19. “Mercenaries out of Detroit. Croft didn't want to use his own soldiers so he could claim plausible deniability. They came in through the service elevator.”
Arthur turned back to Chloe. He leaned down, cupping her pale face in both of his massive hands. His thumbs gently wiped away the wet trails of her tears.
“Look at me, Chloe,” he commanded softly.
She looked into his dark, obsidian eyes. The hesitation, the guilt, the regret that had been there moments ago were gone, replaced by an ancient, terrifying resolve.
“No one is going to touch you,” Arthur whispered against her lips. “No one is going to touch our son. Do you hear me? I am going to end this today.”
He pulled the sheets up around her shoulders, then turned to Dr. Gabriel, who was standing tensely near the monitoring console.
“Gabriel, move her to the sub-basement vault immediately. If a single stray bullet comes near this corridor, I will hold you personally responsible.”
“Understood, Boss,” Gabriel nodded, immediately unlocking the gurney brakes.
Arthur turned to Leo. “Where is the chemist’s report on the wedding chalice?”
Leo tapped his tablet and handed it over. “Forensics came back twenty minutes ago. The silver cup contained three hundred milligrams of purified wolfsbane—aconite. Enough to stop a grown man’s heart within four minutes of ingestion. Vivien’s side of the cup was coated in a neutralizing resin. She would have sipped safely; you would have dropped dead before you could kiss the bride.”
Arthur stared at the digital readout, a dark, wicked smirk curling the corners of his mouth.
“Malcolm Croft thought he could steal my empire with a drop of poison and a white dress,” Arthur murmured. “He thinks because I spared his family three years ago, I have grown soft.”
Arthur walked over to the secure locker in the corner of the room. He punched in an eight-digit code. The steel door swung open to reveal a tailored charcoal suit, a shoulder holster housing twin Sig Sauer P226s, and a tactical shotgun.
Without a word, Arthur stripped off his bloodstained wedding shirt, revealing a torso sculpted from muscle, scarred by three separate bullet wounds and knife slashes from his early days on the streets. He slid into the clean clothes with practiced, terrifying efficiency.
“Leo,” Arthur said, sliding the twin pistols into their holsters and buttoning his jacket.
“Yes, Arthur?”
“Tell our men in the parking garage to take three of the mercenaries alive. Break their fingers until they sign affidavits detailing Malcolm Croft’s payment orders. Then call an emergency conclave of the Five Syndicates at the Grand Continental Ballroom for 8:00 PM tonight.”
“And Malcolm?”
Arthur’s eyes turned pitch black. “Tell Malcolm to bring his daughter. He wanted a wedding. Tonight, he gets a funeral.”
Arthur turned back to look at Chloe one last time as the nurses prepared to wheel her gurney toward the secure elevator.
Chloe looked at him, her eyes wide with fear, not for herself, but for the man who was about to wage war for her. Despite the pain, despite the betrayal of him leaving her, she reached out and caught the edge of his sleeve.
“Arthur... don't get killed.”
May you like
Arthur paused. He leaned down, pressing a hard, possessive kiss to her forehead.
“I have a family to come home to now, sweetheart,” he murmured against her skin. “Nothing in this world can kill me.”
