Chapter 15 - The Poisoned Chalice
The grand ballroom of the sanctuary was illuminated by thousands of sparkling crystal chandeliers.
Michael had organized the private gala to reassure his top lieutenants that his empire was secure and victorious.
Men and women in expensive tuxedos and stunning evening gowns drank champagne, completely unaware of the invisible war raging around them.
Emily stood on the curved marble balcony overlooking the crowded floor, wearing a stunning, dark crimson dress.
Strapped securely to her thigh beneath the silk fabric was a small, compressed syringe of untraceable cardiac-arrest fluid.
It was the perfect, invisible weapon designed to make Michael's death look like a sudden, tragic heart attack.
She watched Michael moving through the crowd, smiling warmly and shaking hands with his loyal commanders.
Noah was safely tucked away in the heavily guarded nursery upstairs, completely oblivious to the danger surrounding his father.
Emily reached down, her fingers grazing the cold metal of the hidden syringe.
She only needed to bump into him in the crowd, press the microscopic needle through his suit jacket, and walk away.
She descended the grand staircase, her eyes locked firmly on her target.
Michael saw her approaching and smiled, excusing himself from a group of wealthy investors to meet her halfway.
"You look absolutely breathtaking, Emily," Michael complimented, offering her two glasses of expensive champagne.
"Thank you, sir, the perimeter is entirely secure," she replied mechanically, taking the crystal flute.
She stepped closer to him, closing the distance required to administer the lethal injection.
Her hand slipped slowly down the side of her dress, gripping the concealed syringe tightly.
Just as she prepared to slide the needle free, she noticed a strange, out-of-place reflection in the ballroom mirror.
A waiter carrying a silver tray of appetizers was moving aggressively through the crowd, his eyes locked entirely on Michael.
The waiter's hand was hidden beneath a white cloth napkin, gripping the unmistakable, bulky shape of a suppressed pistol.
Emily’s lethal instincts overrode her mission parameters in a fraction of a second.
She abandoned the syringe, grabbed Michael by the collar of his tuxedo, and violently threw him to the marble floor.
The assassin's suppressed weapon coughed three times, shattering the champagne glasses they had just been holding.
Emily drew her own concealed combat pistol from her shoulder holster in one fluid, beautiful motion.
She fired twice, hitting the fake waiter squarely in the center of the chest before he could adjust his aim.
The assassin collapsed backward into a table of hors d'oeuvres, sending crystal plates crashing to the ground.
The ballroom instantly erupted into sheer, chaotic panic as guests screamed and dove for cover.
Michael scrambled to his feet, staring in absolute shock at the dead assassin bleeding out on the expensive rugs.
"That wasn't one of Viktor's men," Michael breathed heavily, recognizing the tactical tattoo on the dead man's wrist.
Emily looked down at the assassin, knowing exactly who had sent him.
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Vanguard hadn't just sent her to kill Michael; they had sent a backup team to ensure the job was finished.
She had just chosen her side, and there was absolutely no turning back now.
