Chapter 2 - The Interception
The rain had stopped by Friday evening, but the damp, freezing chill of the New York streets remained.
I was not wearing the silver silk dress I had originally chosen for my date. Instead, I wore a dark trench coat, sitting in the back of a bulletproof Maybach. Mason sat beside me in total silence, the faint glow of the streetlights illuminating the sharp, ruthless angles of his jaw. Four black SUVs flanked us, moving through the Manhattan traffic like a pack of wolves hunting in the dark.
“You don’t have to do this, Bella,” Mason said quietly, his eyes fixed on the tinted window. “I can have Dominic pull him out of the restaurant right now. You don’t have to see his face.”
“He used me,” I replied, staring at my trembling hands. “He thought I was a naive, foolish girl who would betray you for a compliment and a glass of wine. I need to look him in the eye when he realizes he failed.”
Mason turned his head, his gaze softening for a fraction of a second—a look reserved strictly, exclusively for me. “You are the strongest woman I have ever known. But tonight, you do exactly as I say. When we walk through those doors, you do not leave my side.”
The Maybach pulled up to L’Aura, an exclusive, candlelit French restaurant in Soho.
Julian Markov was sitting at a corner table, sipping champagne, wearing a confident, arrogant smile. He expected a lonely executive assistant.
Instead, the glass doors of the restaurant swung open, and the music stopped dead.
Twelve of Mason’s heavily armed enforcers flooded the room, securing the exits, pulling the blinds, and silently ushering the terrified patrons and staff out the back doors. Within sixty seconds, the restaurant was completely empty.
Except for Julian.
May you like
Mason walked through the center of the room, his hand resting firmly on the small of my back, guiding me forward. The arrogant smile on Julian’s face vanished, replaced by a pale, breathless terror. He started to reach inside his jacket, but the deafening click of Dominic’s assault rifle aimed directly at the back of Julian’s skull froze him in place.
“Good evening, Julian,” Mason said, pulling out a chair for me before sitting down directly across from the Russian heir. Mason didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t need to. He simply poured himself a glass of Julian’s champagne. “I hear you wanted to take my assistant to dinner. I hope you don't mind if I join.”
