Chapter 10 - The False Victory
My heart stopped beating as I stared at the execution order bearing my own face.
Larkin stepped out of the bathroom holding bandages, stopping completely when he saw what I was holding.
I backed away from him, gripping the edge of the desk to keep my knees from buckling.
He sighed heavily, tossing the bandages aside and walking slowly toward me.
He gently took the file from my trembling hands and threw it directly into the burning fireplace.
Larkin explained softly that the document was a fake, created to satisfy his paranoid uncles who thought I knew too much.
He swore on his life that he had never intended to hurt me, and that tonight was all about purging the traitors from his ranks.
He poured two glasses of expensive wine, offering one to me with a reassuring, exhausted smile.
He promised that we were finally safe, the syndicate was fully under his control, and my father's killers were all dead.
I looked deeply into his eyes, desperately wanting to believe the warmth and sincerity I saw there.
I took the glass, the tension slowly leaving my shoulders as I convinced myself that the nightmare was truly over.
We clinked our glasses together, drinking to our survival and a brand new beginning.
I took a long sip, the rich, velvet liquid warming my freezing body.
Suddenly, my cell phone vibrated violently in the pocket of my ruined dress.
I pulled it out to find a secure, delayed-send video message from Thomas.
I pressed play, watching a hidden camera recording of Larkin sitting at this very desk earlier today.
The video clearly showed Larkin manually wiring the five million dollars into Thomas's account, meticulously framing his own cousin.
In the recording, Larkin smiled at his bodyguard and stated, "Once the FBI raids the gala, Thomas takes the fall, and the secretary takes the bullet."
I dropped the phone in absolute horror, looking up at the man who had orchestrated every single second of my suffering.
Larkin was not looking at me with warmth or affection anymore.
He was smiling a cold, dead smile as he casually checked his gold watch.
He whispered that I always were too smart for my own good, just as my vision suddenly began to blur.
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I dropped my wine glass, realizing too late that the burning sensation in my throat was not the alcohol.
The heavy steel doors locked automatically with a loud hiss, and a thick, sweet-smelling gas began pouring rapidly from the ceiling vents.
