Chapter 47 Be My Mistress
EMILY
The silence in the pizza shop is only broken by the frantic shuffling of heavy boots on the linoleum.
The metallic scent of the gun oil from my morning training session mixes with the aroma of burnt tomato sauce and spilled olive oil. I stand perfectly still, keeping the cold steel muzzle of the Nightblade pressed firmly against the base of Silas Hunt’s skull.
"Start tying," I command the thugs.
The seven burly men look at each other in sheer panic. They glance toward the front door, but Leo stands there like a solid wall of granite. His tailored dark suit stretches over his massive shoulders, his posture screaming specialized combat training. Nobody moves past him.
One thug with a thick tribal tattoo across his neck grabs the coil of rough brown nylon packing rope Aunt Cherry placed on the counter. His hands shake as he loops the thick cord around the wrists of the man next to him. The sound of the coarse fibers rubbing together fills the small space. They move awkwardly, fumbling with the knots.
Aunt Cherry steps out from behind the safety of the metal prep counter. Her flour-dusted apron is smeared with a drop of blood from where Silas struck her, but her jaw is set tight. She walks over to the closest thug, grabs a loose end of the nylon rope, and wraps it tightly around his ankles, securing a harsh double knot.
I wait until the seven henchmen are securely bound, sitting back-to-back on the checkered floor. I lower the weapon just an inch and take two steps to the side, moving out from the blind spot behind my hostage.
Silas turns his head slowly. His greasy hair falls over his forehead, and the jagged scar on his chin twitches as his eyes lock onto my face. His arrogant sneer drops completely.
"Emily Vance?" Silas chokes out, his voice a raspy whisper of pure disbelief. The last time we saw, he had my whole family shaking in their boots and he took my sister away.
"Hello, Silas," I reply, keeping my posture relaxed but the weapon raised. I turn my head slightly. "Aunt Cherry, take the rest of that rope. Tie his hands behind his back."
Aunt Cherry hesitates for a fraction of a second. She looks at the man who just threatened to burn her livelihood to the ground. She wipes her hands on her apron, takes a deep breath, and marches right up to him. She grabs his wrists, pulling them roughly behind his leather jacket, and loops the thick nylon tightly around his skin. Silas winces, his face twisting in pain as she yanks the knot secure.
"You are making a massive mistake, Emily," Silas spits, struggling against the tight bindings. He glares at me, trying to regain his lost authority. "Have you forgotten that I know your father. Thomas Vance will hear about this. He will not let you get away with humiliating me in public. The Vance family will pay"
I let out a short, dry laugh. The mention of my father usually brings a wave of anxiety, a reminder of the dark storage room they kept me locked inside for days. But standing here with a weapon in my hand, I feel absolutely nothing but contempt for the people who tried to sell me off. I used to be a timid girl who would dance to anyone’s tune but I’m not that girl anymore. I have dared to dream big and there’s no going back for me anymore. Silas Hunt and Thomas Vance are just minor roadblocks on my path to total independence.
"Thomas Vance? The Vance family?" I ask, tilting my head. "If you somehow manage to completely destroy my father and the rest of the Vance family, I will personally send you a very expensive thank you basket. Go right ahead and call him."
Silas scowls, his dark eyes scanning my denim jeans and dark jacket. He looks over at Leo standing by the door.
"I know all about your pathetic little life," Silas sneers, his voice dripping with venom. "I know your fiancé Julian Thorne threw you out into the street for your stepsister. You are the absolute bottom of the Vance barrel. And this is your big escape plan? You married some rented muscle to get out of the arranged marriage Thomas set up for us? A marriage to me, a man who could have actually pulled your miserable family out of debt?"
He thinks Leo is my husband. Chloe or Julian must have fed him that information. He has no idea I am bound by contract to Alistair Wolfe, the most powerful man in the city. I do not correct him.
Silas leans forward, a sleazy, arrogant grin stretching the scar on his cheek. "You know, I always thought Chloe was the real prize of the family. But looking at you right now, holding that gun with cold eyes, you have some serious fire. Leave the oversized bodyguard. Come be my girl. You can be my mistress. I will treat you much better than Thomas ever did."
The sheer audacity of the man makes my stomach turn. The scent of stale beer and cheap tobacco wafts off his leather jacket, completely ruining the smell of the pizza shop. I do not shout. I do not let my voice rise. I simply step directly into his personal space.
I lower the Nightblade. I do not aim for his chest or his head. I press the freezing cold metal muzzle directly between his legs, pushing the barrel up hard enough to make his breath hitch violently in his throat.
"You want me to be your mistress?" I ask, keeping my tone conversational, like we are discussing the weather over a cup of coffee. "A man who preys on neighborhood pizza shops? A man whose grand ambition in life is terrorizing old women for loose change? Your abilities are pathetic, Silas. You are entirely unworthy of breathing the same air as me, let alone being my lover."
The sleazy grin vanishes instantly. All the color drains from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, pale yellow. His knees buckle. Silas drops straight down to the linoleum floor, the rough movement tearing the fabric of his jeans.
"Okay, okay!" Silas gasps, his voice high and panicked. He looks up at me, pure terror shining in his eyes. "Just move the gun. Please. Have mercy. I take it back."
I look down at him for a long moment, letting the silence stretch. I want him to remember this exact feeling of absolute helplessness. I pull the weapon back, slipping it carefully into the inner pocket of my jacket.
"Leo," I say, turning toward the door. "Check their pockets."
Leo moves with terrifying military efficiency. He steps away from the door and systematically pats down the seven thugs and Silas. He tosses eight cell phones onto a nearby prep table. I walk behind the counter and grab a heavy roll of silver duct tape from a supply shelf.
I rip off thick, sticky strips of the tape, moving from thug to thug. I slap the silver adhesive firmly over their mouths, silencing their groans and protests. I save Silas for last. I press the tape hard against his lips, making sure it catches firmly on his greasy stubble.
"Bring them to the center," I instruct Leo.
We drag the bound men across the floor, grouping them around the thick, concrete support pillar in the middle of the dining area. We take the remaining yards of nylon packing rope and loop it tightly around their chests, binding all eight men securely to the column. They look like a ridiculous, squirming art installation.
I turn my attention back to Aunt Cherry. She is standing near the cash register, watching me with wide, astonished eyes.
"Grab your cash from the till and your most important belongings," I tell her, my voice gentle but urgent. "We need to leave this neighborhood right now. They will eventually get loose, and it is not safe for you to stay here anymore."
Aunt Cherry nods quickly. She opens the register, scooping the paper bills into a small pouch. She hurries into the back kitchen, returning a minute later with a stuffed canvas tote bag over her shoulder. She looks around her damaged restaurant, a sad expression crossing her face as she takes in the broken chairs and spilled oil.
"It will be okay," I reassure her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "My security team will make sure you have a safe place to stay."
We walk toward the shattered front door. The bright, hot afternoon sun hits my face, making me squint against the glare. The three identical armored SUVs are still idling patiently on the asphalt, the engines running in a low, steady rhythm.
I pause right on the threshold. The warm breeze catches my hair. I turn around and look back into the dim interior of the pizza shop. Silas is struggling uselessly against the ropes, his eyes wide and furious above the strip of silver duct tape.
I give him a bright, cheerful smile.
"By the way, Silas," I call out, making sure my voice carries clearly across the room. "I spent the entire car ride here taking that pistol apart to practice my assembly times. I never actually put the firing pin back in before I walked through the door. The gun is completely empty."
Silas stops struggling. His eyes double in size, bulging with the sudden realization that he just surrendered his entire crew to a piece of useless metal. Muffled, angry screams tear from his throat, completely blocked by the duct tape.