Chapter 5 - The Glass Shackle
Elena looked instantly toward her father. Beneath the sleeve of Vincent’s tailored suit jacket, a faint green light was pulsing against his inner wrist. It was a transdermal biometric monitor—a syndicate kill-switch disguised as a chronometer.
""Five minutes, Vincent,"" Julian said from above, checking his pocket watch. ""That's how long you have before the cocktail of potassium chloride in that subdermal reservoir reaches your heart. You really thought I’d let you come back from the dead without insurance?""
Vincent didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened. ""You snake.""
""I'm a businessman,"" Julian retorted. ""Elena, you have four minutes to reverse the wire transfer, transfer all Vance shipping rights to my firm, and step into the private jet waiting on the tarmac. You will become my corporate hostage, and in exchange, your father gets the deactivation code.""
Elena stood in the center of the cathedral, surrounded by chaos. Behind her lay the broken remnants of the Sterling family. In front of her stood her dying father, the man she had sacrificed her entire youth to avenge. Above her perched a predator who had anticipated every move.
Chad, seeing an opening, suddenly lunged from behind a pew, grabbing a fallen ceremonial brass candle holder and aiming it straight at Elena’s head. ""Give him the money, you psycho!"" he screamed.
Without even looking, Elena pivoted on her heel. The hem of her heavy wedding dress whipped around like armor as her hand shot out, catching Chad by the throat. Her grip was iron, cutting off his airway instantly. She slammed him against the altar rail, pressing the thumb of her left hand into the nerve cluster beneath his jaw until his eyes rolled back in agonizing pain.
""I told you once, Chad,"" Elena hissed into his ear, her voice a terrifying whisper. ""You are nothing.""
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She dropped him like a sack of dead weight and turned back to the balcony.
""Julian, you made one fatal mistake,"" Elena called out, reaching beneath the bustier of her wedding gown. Her fingers closed around a sleek, black remote detonator. ""You thought this chapel was owned by the Diocese.""
