Chapter 3 - THE MANAGER’S COLD GUN
Christian slowly turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto Sophie.
“Your mother?” he asked.
“She lost it three days ago at St. Jude’s Hospital,” Sophie said, her voice shaking but defiant. She pointed a trembling finger at Vivian. “Why do you have my mother’s rosary?”
Vivian stared at the wooden beads, her face pale. “I didn’t steal it from her. I found it on the floor of the pediatric ward. I was looking for… I was visiting someone.”
Answer One: Vivian had the rosary because she was secretly visiting the same charity hospital where Sophie’s mother was receiving treatment.
Christian stepped closer to Vivian, his jaw tight. “You hate hospitals. You refused to visit my own father when he was dying. Who is in the pediatric ward, Vivian?”
Vivian closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. “A little boy.”
Open Two: Why does the ruthless mafia fiancée have a secret child hidden in a charity hospital?
“Touching,” Romanov interrupted, his voice dripping with bored sarcasm. He stood up, adjusting his cuffs. “But this domestic drama isn’t settling our boundaries, Christian. Your house is a mess. I’m leaving.”
“Sit down, Leo,” Christian ordered, not looking away from Vivian.
Romanov chuckled. He gestured to the two massive bodyguards standing by the windows. “I don’t take orders from a man whose own bride wants him dead. We’re walking out.”
“I said, sit down.”
Romanov ignored him and walked toward the locked double doors. He looked at Antoine. “Unlock it.”
Antoine hesitated. He looked at Christian, then at Romanov.
The manager’s hand dropped to his pocket. When it emerged, he wasn't holding a key. He was holding a suppressed automatic pistol.
Reversal: Antoine, the loyal manager of eighteen years, wasn’t locking the doors to protect Christian. He was locking Christian inside.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Callahan,” Antoine said, his voice terrifyingly calm. He aimed the gun directly at Christian’s chest. “But Mr. Romanov offered me a retirement plan you couldn’t match.”
Before Antoine could pull the trigger, Vivian screamed.
She didn’t run away. She threw her body directly in front of Christian.
The suppressed gunshot was a sharp, terrible hiss.
Vivian gasped, her emerald silk dress suddenly blooming with a dark, wet stain near her shoulder. She collapsed into Christian’s arms.
“Vivian!” Christian roared, pulling his own weapon and firing blindly at Antoine.
Antoine dove behind the heavy oak bar, bullets shattering the expensive whiskey bottles above his head. Romanov and his men flipped the mahogany dining table, using the thick wood as a barricade.
“Get down!” Christian yelled at Sophie.
Sophie threw herself onto the floor, scrambling over the shattered glass and spilled truffles. She crawled behind the overturned dessert cart, her hands covered in frosting and blood.
Christian dragged Vivian behind a marble pillar, pressing his hand hard against her bleeding shoulder.
The dining room descended into a deadly, silent standoff.
“You’re trapped, Christian,” Romanov called out from behind the table. “Antoine disabled the back exits. My men are coming through the kitchen.”
Christian gritted his teeth, looking down at Vivian. She was pale, clutching his lapel.
“My purse,” Vivian choked out, coughing. “Christian… the lining.”
Christian reached for the torn purse on the floor. He ripped the silk lining apart.
A small, crumpled child’s drawing fell out. It was drawn in blue crayon. A stick figure of a woman holding hands with a little boy.
Written at the bottom in clumsy letters was a single name.
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Max Callahan.
TITLE: The Boy in the Blue Coat
