Chapter 6 - Whispers in the Penthouse
The moment Della’s body hit the parlor floor, the thick oak doors were kicked open with violent force!
"Della!" Royce roared, bursting into the room with his gun drawn. Marcus rushed in right behind him, weapon raised.
Evelyn Vance gasped in horror, dropping the chemical-soaked parchment as she tried to scramble toward the shattered terrace glass where three armed mercenaries in black tactical gear were trying to pull Della’s unconscious body through the window!
BANG! BANG!
Royce fired two precision shots without hesitation. The two mercenaries holding Della collapsed instantly, while Marcus tackled the third gunman to the ground, disarming him in seconds.
Royce sprinted across the room, dropping to his knees and pulling Della into his arms. "Della! Wake up! Della!"
Her face was deathly pale, her breathing shallow and ragged. The sweet, toxic residue still lingered faintly in the air.
"Marcus!" Royce bellowed, his voice filled with raw, terrifying panic. "Get the medical team now! Clear the estate! Lock down every exit!"
Evelyn Vance tried to crawl toward the broken window, but Marcus slammed his heavy boot down on her ankle, pinning her to the floor. Evelyn screamed in pain.
"You disgusting snake," Marcus growled, clicking the cuffs around her wrists.
Royce ignored the chaos around him. He lifted Della gently into his arms, carrying her at full speed up the grand staircase to the medical suite. His heart pounded wildly against his chest—a feeling of sheer terror he hadn't felt in decades. The thought of losing her, of losing their unborn child, burned through his soul like molten lead.
Within minutes, the estate’s top doctor rushed into the room with emergency equipment.
"It's a localized neurotoxin, Mr. Calloway!" Doctor Evans reported rapidly, checking Della’s pulse and attaching an oxygen mask to her face. "It was designed to cause instant paralysis and cardiac arrest in high doses! Fortunately, she only inhaled a small amount!"
"Save her," Royce commanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying blend of rage and sorrow. "If anything happens to her or the child, I will burn this entire city to ash."
"Administering the atropine antidote now!" the doctor ordered his nurses.
For two agonizing hours, Royce stood by the medical bed, holding Della’s limp, cold hand. He never let go. He watched the heart monitor intently, listening to the steady, beep-beep of her pulse slowly returning to a normal rhythm.
At midnight, Della’s eyelashes fluttered softly. She let out a weak groan, her head moving side to side under the oxygen mask.
Royce immediately leaned down, his eyes bloodshot with unshed tears. "Della... can you hear me?"
Della blinked slowly, her vision gradually coming into focus. She recognized the sharp, worried face of the man leaning over her. "Royce..." she whispered weakly through the mask. "The baby... is the baby okay?"
"The baby is fine," Royce promised, his voice breaking as he pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. "You are both safe. I am right here."
A deep tear slid down Della’s cheek as she squeezed his hand with what little strength she had left. "She tried... she gave me a letter..."
"I know," Royce whispered, gently stroking her hair. "Don't talk. Just rest. I will take care of everything."
Ten minutes later, Royce stepped out into the hallway. The warmth and vulnerability in his eyes instantly dissolved, replaced by the terrifying, merciless aura of the city's undisputed underworld king.
Marcus stood waiting, holding a bloody knife and a file folder. "Evelyn Vance is in the basement interrogation room, Boss. She confessed under pressure. She was hired by Victor Falcone. Falcone promised to clear all Vance family debts and send Cordelia safely out of the country if Evelyn delivered the toxin to Della."
Royce’s eyes burned with cold, lethal fury. "Where is Victor holding Cordelia?"
"At Falcone’s high-rise penthouse in the Financial District," Marcus replied. "He's using the Vance family as pawns to draw you out into the open."
Royce slowly pulled a pair of black leather gloves onto his hands. "He wanted my attention. Now he has it."
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"Should I call the entire syndicate, Boss?" Marcus asked, his eyes gleaming with readiness.
"No," Royce replied, his voice dropping to a dark whisper. "Call the strike squad. Tonight, we destroy the Falcone empire once and for all."
