Chapter 3 - The First Shot
8:54 p.m.
Evelyn had ducked behind the service station, her back pressed against the mahogany counter, trying to regulate her breathing. Her fingers were shaking so violently she dropped a silver spoon, causing it to clatter loudly against the tile.
Gilbert shot her a murderous look from across the room, but before he could chew her out, the heavy air in the restaurant fractured.
*Crack.*
It didn't sound like a gunshot at first. It sounded like a heavy champagne bottle popping under immense pressure—a sharp, high-pitched fracture of glass and air.
Then came the second shot.
*Crash.*
The massive glass wall facing the Chicago River shattered into a million glittering diamonds as a high-caliber round tore through the double-paned security glass, embedding itself squarely into the leather upholstery of Table Four—precisely where Lorenzo Moretti’s chest had been sitting ten seconds prior.
Chaos erupted instantly.
Screams tore through the dining room. Wealthy politicians, judges, and socialites hit the floor, scrambling over expensive chairs, designer handbags scattering across the spilled wine and broken crystal.
“Active shooter! Get down!” someone roared near the bar.
Evelyn dropped to her knees, dragging herself behind the heavy wooden base of the service station. Her ears rang with the deafening cacophony of shattering glass, shouting guards, and wailing sirens beginning to wail somewhere out on the street.
Across the room, the scene at Table Four was a masterclass in lethal efficiency.
The moment the first shot rang out, Lorenzo hadn't panicked. He had flipped the heavy marble-topped table onto its side, using it as an improvised ballistic shield. His bodyguard, Viktor, had already drawn a matte-black submachine gun from a concealed shoulder holster, returning fire toward the north service corridor with brutal precision.
Celeste Vane was screaming—not out of genuine terror, but out of absolute, unadulterated shock. Her emerald satin gown was ruined, stained with red wine and broken glass.
She scrambled backward on her hands and knees, staring at Lorenzo with wide, horrified eyes.
“Lory! We have to get out! The north exit—!” she shrieked, pointing toward the very hallway Evelyn’s napkin had warned him about.
Lorenzo turned his head slowly, looking down at her. The dark, cold fury in his eyes made Celeste freeze mid-breath.
“Ah, yes,” Lorenzo said, his voice cutting through the gunfire like a razor blade. “The north exit. Where your brother’s cleaning crew was supposed to be waiting, Celeste.”
Celeste’s face turned the color of ash. “What… what are you talking about? Lory, I didn't—”
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“Shut up,” he hissed, grabbing her upper arm with fingers like iron talons and hauling her upright behind the heavy marble barricade. “If you speak another word before I figure out which of your ribs to break first, I’ll let Viktor handle the cleanup.”
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