Chapter 17
"You are finished," Vincent murmured, signaling to his men. "My men will escort you to the holding cells. If you ever attempt to speak my name again, you will not live long enough to see the sunrise."
Marcus and Silas dragged the broken warlord out of the gallery, hauling him toward the subterranean service exits to avoid the elite guests above. The gallery fell into a heavy, ringing silence.
Vincent stood alone for a moment, the violent tension bleeding out of his broad shoulders. He wiped a small drop of blood from his knuckles with a crisp white handkerchief. The heavy wooden doors opened softly, and Clara stepped into the corridor. She looked at the blood on the floor and then at her husband, her beautiful face reflecting absolute calm. Toby was safely secured in the armored SUV with his security detail.
"Is the threat contained, Vincent?" she asked, a dark, brilliant smile touching her lips.
"The immediate threat is neutralized," Vincent replied, walking across the room to meet her. He tossed the handkerchief aside, the cold, sociopathic mask melting entirely as he looked at his wife. "The borders are secure. The European syndicate is entirely dismantled."
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"You handled them quickly," Clara noted, reaching out to gently trace the artistic tattoos on his hands.
"They were blunt instruments," Vincent murmured, pulling her securely against his chest. "I will annihilate anyone who attempts to cast a shadow over your light."
