I curl the fingers of my free hand in the blue striped organza of my gown, biting back a hundred retorts that Karl absolutely deserves but that'll probably get me shot. Fuck you, you creep. I turn my lips up in a smile.
“Leave the girl be, Karl,” Maxine says, leaning forward, her green eyes big and bright, sharp as thorns. The gold bracelets at her wrists clink as she finishes off her drink and sets it aside. “We all know why we're here. I'd say, let's get this ugliness out of the way so we can enjoy the fig and olive tapenade that Kayla's whipped up.” Max smiles, her lashes long and dark, makeup minimal but complementary. Jesus. She looks more like a fashion designer than a mob boss. “Gilleon has very kindly decided to offer you his services in exchange for his family. Isn't that right, Gilly?”
Gill says nothing and my stomach twists yet again, curling into an infinity knot like that ring that Gill better be around to give me in the future.
“Oh thank God,” Karl says with a chuckle when Kayla—the dark haired girl from the door—appears, her black pantsuit as well tailored as Karl's. “All of that debate for nothing.” He smiles at the platter and reaches out for a thin slice of French bread, taking a small spreading knife and cutting into the artfully piled mound of goat cheese, olive oil and herbs. It smells good, but there's no way in hell I'm touching it. “I hate to chat business on an empty stomach. Maxine?” Karl holds out the slice of bread and waits for Max to take a bite, closing her eyes as she savors the food. Once he deems it safe, Karl digs in, too.
Mon Dieu, these people are insane.
“Me for my family, Karl. That's it. Take it or leave it,” Gill growls, his body stiff, muscles tense and ready to pounce. He looks like a jungle cat that's been cornered by hunters. They might have guns to his face, but he's going to take at least one of them out before they get him.
“And my diamonds?”
“Aveline,” Max says, her voice rising sharply, a warning in her tone. “You can have your baubles back, but I want you to leave my daughter alone. Do you understand me, Karl? There's a reason I was given full custody.”
“The girl's thirty years old, Maxine. How much longer do you want to do this?” Karl finishes his bread and picks up a cracker. I close my eyes against the scene, my dress pulling at my shoulders, squeezing my waist. I feel like I'm suffocating, like I want to rip it off and run away back to Paris.
But I won't.
I won't leave Gilleon.
“You put her in the hospital, Karl. I don't have a lot of boundaries, but that's one of them,” Max grinds out, her perfect pretty shattered for just the briefest moment. “Take your diamonds, take Gilleon, and go.”
“Well,” Karl begins, daintily brushing a stray crumb off his collar, “I'd like to do that, but I feel like at this point, it's more of a hassle than it's worth. Gill, and the diamonds.”
There's a moment there where everything seems still; nobody's eating or talking or even breathing.
And then there's a gun in Karl's hand and he's aiming it at me.
In the span of a blink, he's pulled the trigger and Gill's out of his seat, tackled from behind by someone I didn't even know was there. One of Karl's guys? Max's? Not like it matters.
The bullet hits me in the center of my chest, driving right into my body armor and knocking me backwards into the unforgiving metal of the chair. I try to scream, try to move, but it feels like I've been hit in the heart with a bat, like no matter how hard I try I'll never pull in another lungful of air again.
I glance down at the smoking hole in my dress and manage to actually see the second shot hit me about two inches down and to the right. Whatever ammo Karl's using, it's as quiet as Gill's was at the hotel, so the only sound I hear is the sound of my chair hitting the concrete floor as it topples over.
My head snaps back and my vision goes white at the edges.
Somewhere far away, I can hear screaming, a growling bite of rage that can only be Gilleon.
“Oh, stop being dramatic. I only shot her in the vest. Don't worry, when I do kill her, I'll make sure you're ready for it.”
I roll away from the chair and end up on the floor, my body on a white and yellow rug, my head precariously close to the metal grate of the fireplace. I can feel the heat against my hair, but I find it hard to give two shits about that.
A groan escapes my lips as I clutch my stomach and dry heave against the floor, my mouth pressed to cold cement. With a gasp, my chest contracts involuntarily and sucks in two massive lungfuls of air that hurt so bad I want to scream. As soon as I get the breath for it, that is.
“Get up.” It's Karl, his voice behind me, a hand curling around my hair. Pain sears my scalp as he pulls me away from the floor and tosses me unceremoniously back into the tipped chair. Somebody—one of his people, I guess—pushes it back up as my vision swims and blurs and I sit there, slumped and useless as a doll.