Elena Vitiello POV:
"You dirtied my carpet."
My voice cut through the freezing wind, sharp and completely devoid of pity.
Luca didn't care about the insult. He was completely unhinged. He dragged himself forward, his knees scraping against the rough stone. His hands, caked in mud and grime, reached out desperately toward the hem of my black wool coat.
He used to recoil if I even brushed against his sleeve. Now, he was begging to touch the dirt on my shoes.
Before his fingers could even come close, my lead guard stepped forward.
The guard drove his heavy combat boot directly into Luca’s injured shoulder.
The impact produced a sickening *crack*. Luca was launched backward. He tumbled through the wet roses and landed face-first in a puddle of freezing mud.
Luca curled into a ball, clutching his chest. He coughed violently, a spray of red blood splattering onto the white stones. Yet, his eyes remained locked on me, wide and pleading.
Matteo hobbled forward, leaning heavily on his wooden crutch. "Elena, please! We have nothing left!"
Another guard didn't even hesitate. He swung the heavy stock of his assault rifle and smashed it into the small of Matteo’s back.
Matteo screamed. He collapsed forward, his stump hitting the hard ground.
The surrounding college students gasped collectively. The flashes of their phone cameras strobed like lightning, capturing every second of the Chicago heirs being treated like stray dogs.
I stood perfectly still. The wind whipped my hair around my face, but my expression remained carved from ice.
"I know I was wrong!" Luca sobbed, spitting mud from his mouth. "Give me one more chance, Elena! I love you!"
I let out a low, mocking laugh.
"Do you think this is moving, Luca?" I asked, gesturing to the crushed red roses. "Do you think a few dead flowers erase the basement?"
Before he could answer, a deep, mechanical rumbling vibrated through the soles of my shoes.
At the far end of the street, a massive, heavy-duty city sanitation water truck turned the corner. Its enormous yellow chassis dominated the road.
The truck slowly rolled up to the edge of the plaza, stopping right in front of the heart-shaped bed of roses.
The driver leaned out of the window and gave a sharp nod to my guard captain.
I raised my black-gloved hand and flicked my wrist forward.
The driver slammed his hand down on the control lever.
The high-pressure water cannon mounted on the front of the truck erupted.
A thick, violent stream of water blasted out with the force of a localized hurricane. It slammed into the ground, instantly shredding the thousands of red roses into a slurry of red pulp and mud.
The cannon swept across the plaza. It hit Luca dead center.
The sheer kinetic force of the water lifted his emaciated body off the ground. He was thrown backward, sliding helplessly across the rough stones for ten feet.
The water blasted Matteo next. His wooden crutch was snapped and washed away into the gutter. He lost all balance and face-planted directly into the freezing, red-stained sludge.
The freezing water soaked them to the bone. They lay in the mud, shivering so violently their teeth chattered, gasping for air as the cannon mercilessly pinned them down.
The crowd of students erupted into cruel laughter. The romantic gesture had been completely obliterated, turning into a humiliating circus act.
Luca lay in the puddle, sobbing uncontrollably. The last microscopic shred of his dignity had just been washed down the drain.
I looked at their pathetic, broken forms. The heavy knot of anger that had sat in my chest for years finally dissolved. They were nothing to me anymore.
I turned around to walk back to the Rolls Royce.
Suddenly, the tiny earpiece tucked into my right ear cracked with static.
"Queen!" Julian’s voice screamed through the comms, panicked and urgent. "The grey van! It just blew past the outer perimeter cameras! It’s coming in hot!"
I whipped my head around. I looked past the water truck, down the long avenue.
Three blocks away, a rusted grey van was tearing down the street. It ignored the red lights, swerving violently around civilian cars.
The engine screamed, a high-pitched mechanical wail of a machine being pushed past its absolute limit. White smoke poured from the tires as they burned against the asphalt.
My guard captain drew his weapon. "Protect the Queen!" he roared.
I didn't move. I stood at the top of the stairs, my eyes narrowing.
Through the cracked windshield of the speeding van, I locked eyes with the horrific, scarred face of the driver.
"Sofia."
