Chapter 5 - The Glass Shatters
In that split second, Elena didn't think about her training, her career, or her safety. She thought about the man on the table who had trusted her to keep him alive.
She lunged forward, grabbing the heavy steel IV pole beside Luca’s bed, and swung it with all her strength.
The metal pole, laden with heavy glass bottles and saline bags, crashed into the orderly’s arm just as he raised the pistol. The weapon fired with a muffled cough, the bullet shattering the glass observation window behind them, showering the room in a million sparkling shards.
The orderly grunted in pain, his gun dropping to the floor.
He lunged across the bed, his large hands reaching for Elena’s throat. She scrambled back, her heels catching on the carpet, and fell hard against the leather chair in the corner.
The orderly scrambled over the bed, his boots leaving muddy marks on the clean white sheets. He pinned her against the chair, his fingers wrapping around her neck, cutting off her air. Elena gasped, her vision turning black at the edges as she struggled against his immense weight.
The soft spot under the jaw.
Dante’s words echoed in her fading mind.
She reached into her pocket, her fingers finding the cold, silver handle of the pocket knife. She flicked it open with her thumb, a instinctual movement she didn't know she possessed, and drove the blade upward.
The knife sunk deep into the orderly’s throat, right beneath his chin.
He gasped, a wet, choking sound, his grip on her neck instantly loosening. He stumbled back, his hands flying to his throat as dark, arterial blood began to spray between his fingers. He fell against the wall, leaving a long, red smear as he slid to the floor.
Elena scrambled to her feet, coughing violently, her chest heaving as she sucked in the cold, sterile air.
At that moment, the door burst open.
Dante Vescari rushed into the room, his gun drawn, followed by two of his men. He took in the scene in a fraction of a second—the shattered glass, the bleeding orderly on the floor, and Elena standing in the corner, holding the bloody pocket knife, her scrubs covered in crimson.
Dante didn't look at the dead assassin. He ran straight to Elena, grabbing her by the shoulders.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded, his eyes scanning her face and neck. "Did he touch you?"
"I... I'm fine," Elena choked out, her voice barely a whisper. She looked at the orderly on the floor, who had stopped moving, his eyes wide and vacant. "He... he tried to shoot Luca."
Dante looked at the dead man on the floor. He walked over, knelt down, and pulled the surgical mask off the assassin’s face.
His expression turned to stone.
"Who is he?" Elena asked, her voice shaking.
"His name is Silas," Dante said, his voice flat and terrifying. "He’s the personal bodyguard of Matteo Vescari. Our cousin."
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He stood up, looking at his brother on the bed, who was still sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the chaos that had just unfolded around him.
"The betrayal isn't from the Valentis," Dante said, his voice dropping into a register that made the room feel twenty degrees colder. "It’s from inside our own family."
