Chapter 5 - The Jealous Heir
Claire stared at the red letters dripping slowly down the expensive mirror.
Her heart hammered a frantic, painful rhythm against her ribs.
Someone had been inside this heavily guarded room just moments before she arrived.
She grabbed a thick white towel and frantically scrubbed the lipstick away.
She did not want Vincent turning this estate into a bloody warzone over her.
She was just a maid, and she desperately wanted to keep her head down.
A soft knock suddenly echoed from the heavy bedroom door.
Claire jumped, clutching the soiled towel tightly to her chest.
“Who is it?” she called out, her voice trembling slightly.
“It’s Vincent,” his deep, rumbling voice answered from the hallway.
She cautiously unlocked the door and opened it just a few inches.
Vincent stood there holding a simple, neatly folded gray sweatpant set and a white t-shirt.
He was no longer wearing his expensive suit jacket, and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar.
“I assumed you did not want to sleep in a torn uniform,” he said quietly.
Claire opened the door wider and accepted the soft clothing.
“Thank you.”
His dark eyes slowly swept over her face, clearly reading the lingering panic in her expression.
“Are you alright, Claire?”
She forced a small, unconvincing smile.
“I am just extremely tired, Mr. Moretti.”
“Vincent,” he corrected her again, stepping slightly closer.
He reached out and gently touched the fabric near her torn collarbone.
“I will kill anyone who ever puts their hands on you again,” he promised softly.
The raw intensity in his voice made Claire’s breath catch completely in her throat.
She quickly stepped back and closed the door before she could do something foolish.
She changed into the oversized sweatpants, finding strange comfort in the simple cotton.
She lay awake in the massive, luxurious bed for hours, listening to the heavy rain battering the bulletproof glass.
Sometime around three in the morning, she heard a soft clicking sound at the balcony door.
Claire sat up silently, her blood turning to absolute ice in her veins.
A dark figure dressed entirely in black combat gear had expertly picked the complicated lock.
The assassin slipped into the dark room, holding a long, wicked knife perfectly still.
Claire did not scream.
She remembered her brutal survival instincts from living in the worst parts of the city.
She rolled silently off the opposite side of the mattress and grabbed a heavy bronze lamp.
The assassin approached the bed, raising the knife high into the air.
He plunged the blade violently into the pillows, expecting to hit her sleeping body.
Claire swung the heavy bronze lamp with all of her panicked strength.
She struck the assassin squarely in the side of his masked head.
The man grunted in pain, dropping the knife onto the carpet.
He spun around furiously and backhanded Claire across the face with his heavy tactical glove.
Claire tasted copper blood instantly as she hit the hardwood floor.
The assassin reached down and wrapped his gloved hands tightly around her throat.
Claire kicked and clawed wildly, but he was far too strong.
Suddenly, the heavy bedroom door was violently kicked entirely off its hinges.
Vincent charged into the room like a massive, terrifying predator.
He grabbed the assassin by the back of his tactical vest and threw him effortlessly across the room.
The man crashed through a heavy oak dresser, splintering the expensive wood into pieces.
Vincent drew his gun and fired two completely silent shots into the man's chest.
The assassin slumped instantly against the broken furniture, completely dead.
Vincent dropped his weapon and fell to his knees beside Claire, pulling her into his arms.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered desperately, stroking her messy hair.
Claire clung to his broad shoulders, sobbing openly into his chest.
Vincent looked over her trembling shoulder at the dead body bleeding on his expensive carpet.
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He noticed something that made his blood run completely cold.
The dead assassin had the Caldwell family crest tattooed clearly on his exposed wrist.
