Chapter 20: The Betrayal
The hospital room was quiet for several hours after Victoria finally left to speak with their frantic legal counsel. The painkillers pulled Julian into a fitful, nightmare-laced sleep. He dreamed of the ballroom, of the shattering glass and the blood on his hands. He dreamed of Elena in her red dress, standing over him, her eyes completely devoid of mercy.
He was jolted awake by the heavy thud of the hospital door closing. He gasped, his heart hammering against his ribs, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.
Marcus stood at the foot of the bed. The mercenary looked entirely battered. His bespoke suit was ruined, covered in plaster dust, dried blood, and soot. A jagged, ugly laceration ran along his jawline, closed with haphazard butterfly bandages. He didn't look like the confident, untouchable shadow Julian had hired. He looked like a man who had narrowly escaped a burning building.
"How did you get past the police detail?" Julian demanded, his voice thick with sleep and adrenaline.
"I bought them a coffee," Marcus replied dryly, stepping away from the door. He walked over to the small, rolling tray table beside Julian’s bed. He reached inside his ruined jacket and pulled out a heavy velvet pouch—the conflict diamonds Julian had given him at the dive bar. Marcus dropped the pouch onto the plastic tray with a heavy, final clack.
Julian stared at the diamonds, a fresh wave of panic rising in his chest. "What is this, Marcus? We have her on the run. Silas is wounded. I hit him, I know I did. You have the men to finish this."
"I don't have men, Julian," Marcus said, his voice grim and entirely devoid of its usual arrogant swagger. "I had twelve of the best contractors on the eastern seaboard in that ballroom. Four are dead. Three are in federal custody singing like canaries. The rest took one look at that ghost you married and caught the first flight out of the country."
"I'll double your pay," Julian pleaded, struggling to sit up, the agony in his leg flaring brightly. "I will give you whatever you want. Just stay."
Marcus shook his head slowly, looking at Julian with something akin to pity. "You can't double my pay, kid. You don't have any money left. As of this morning, the syndicate hacked my offshore accounts. They didn't take the money; they just froze it. It was a message. They can touch me anywhere, at any time."
Marcus leaned forward, resting his heavy hands on the footboard of the hospital bed. "You aren't fighting an angry wife. You are fighting an entire shadow economy. They bought the venue, they bought the security, they probably own the company that manufactured the very bed you're lying in. It's a losing game, Julian. I'm a businessman, not a martyr."
"You're a coward," Julian spat, tears of pure, desperate frustration stinging his eyes.
"I'm alive," Marcus corrected flatly. "Which is more than I can say for you if you stay in this city."
Marcus reached into the small of his back and drew a matte-black Glock 19. He expertly checked the chamber, ensuring a round was seated, and engaged the safety. He placed the weapon on the tray table, right next to the bag of diamonds.
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"I'm terminating our contract, Julian," Marcus said, stepping back into the shadows of the dimly lit room. "That gun has fifteen rounds. Use one of them on yourself when she walks through the door. It will be infinitely kinder than whatever she has planned for you."
Julian watched in paralyzed silence as Marcus turned on his heel and walked out of the room, the heavy door sealing shut behind him with a soft hiss. The silence of the hospital room crashed down on Julian like a physical weight. He looked at the gun resting on the table. The isolation was absolute. The empire was gone, his army had fled, and he was completely, utterly alone in the dark.
