Chapter 6 - THE DRESSING ROOM ALLIANCE
-6
When Enzo unlocked the door to the fourth-floor medical suite, he found Adeline standing by the mirror. She had taken off his oversized coat and was carefully folding it over the back of a velvet armchair. Underneath, she wore her simple black maid’s dress, the torn shoulder neatly pinned together with a silver safety pin she must have found in the vanity drawer.
She turned around the moment the door clicked, her stormy gray eyes instantly locking onto his.
“You left me locked in here for an hour,” she said, her voice a mix of defiance and curiosity. “Should I assume I’m still your employee, or am I a prisoner awaiting execution?”
“Thomas talked,” Enzo said, bypassing pleasantries as he walked straight into the room. “He confirmed the meeting at Viktor’s warehouse on 4th and Halsted. Midnight.”
Adeline’s breath hitched. A sudden, sharp light flashed in her eyes—the look of a hunter who has finally cornered the animal that destroyed her family. “You’re going after him tonight.”
“I am,” Enzo said. “And so are you.”
Adeline blinked, her eyebrows drawing together in surprise. “Me? Mr. Marchetti, I’m a maid, not a mercenary. I gave you the intelligence you needed; let your men handle the dirty work.”
“My men are executioners, Adeline. They know how to kick down doors and put bullets in skulls,” Enzo said, closing the distance between them until he was towering over her once more. “They don't know why your father’s blood is crying out for justice. That’s your job.”
He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, matte-black Walther PPK pistol, checking the magazine before flicking the safety on and holding it out toward her hilt-first.
Adeline stared at the weapon. Her pulse hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She had never fired a gun in her life—her father had hated firearms, believing that a man's word and an honest day's labor were the only tools a worker needed. Look where that belief had gotten him.
Slowly, deliberately, her right hand reached out. Her fingers wrapped around the textured grip of the Walther. The metal was cold, heavy, and smelled faintly of gun oil and steel.
“Can you use it?” Enzo asked quietly, watching her face for any sign of hesitation.
“My father took me to the shooting range in the quarries twice a year until I was sixteen,” Adeline lied smoothly. It was a complete fabrication—she had only ever seen guns in movies and news reports—but her grip on the weapon didn't tremble. “He said a girl living on the South Side needed to know how to bite back.”
May you like
A faint, approving smirk touched Enzo’s mouth. “Good girl.”
He turned toward the door, gesturing for her to follow. “Get your coat. We leave in five minutes. If we’re going to burn Viktor Vance’s empire to the ground, we’re going to do it together.”
