The Napkin Warning: Five Minutes Before Chicago Burned

The grand ballroom erupted into pure pandemonium.

Socialites screamed, diving behind marble pedestals and overturning banquet tables as the first gunshot shattered the museum’s glass skylight above.

Victor’s lead bodyguard drew a suppressed Glock, aiming directly at Evelyn’s chest.

Lorenzo moved like lightning. He stepped in front of Evelyn, drew his weapon from beneath his tuxedo, and fired two deafening shots into the bodyguard's chest before the man could pull the trigger.

"Dante! Secure the exits!" Lorenzo roared over the screaming crowd.

From the second-floor mezzanine, Dante and six Moretti soldiers appeared, returning suppressing fire on Victor’s remaining mercenaries. The museum turned into a combat zone, bullets ricocheting off ancient marble statues and shattering priceless glass installations into millions of glittering shards.

Lorenzo grabbed Evelyn’s hand, pulling her behind a reinforced concrete column near the main staircase.

"Are you hit?" Lorenzo demanded, his hands instantly checking her shoulders and waist, his eyes wide with frantic concern.

"I'm fine!" Evelyn breathed, her adrenaline surging. "Lorenzo, Victor and Celeste are heading for the underground parking garage through the service elevator!"

Lorenzo peered around the pillar, seeing Victor and Celeste sprinting through the rear security doors, covered by three heavily armed Russian mercenaries.

"Stay here with Dante," Lorenzo ordered, reloading his weapon with a practiced, fluid snap.

"No!" Evelyn grabbed his lapel, her hazel eyes blazing with determination. "They killed my father, Lorenzo. I am not sitting behind a pillar while they run away. We finish this together."

Lorenzo looked into her fierce, unyielding eyes. In that moment, he saw not just a woman he wanted to protect, but a true partner—a queen who wasn't afraid of the fire.

"Keep your head down," Lorenzo said, gripping her hand tightly. "Let's go."

They broke into a sprint, weaving through the chaos and following the trail of blood and spent shell casings down the concrete stairwell into the dimly lit subterranean parking garage.

The garage was silent, save for the echo of distant sirens and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

At the far end of the garage, Victor and Celeste were scrambling toward an armored black Mercedes sedan. The two surviving Russian mercenaries turned, raising assault rifles.

"Down!" Lorenzo yelled, tackling Evelyn behind a massive concrete support pillar just as a hail of automatic gunfire chewed into the concrete, sending clouds of choking dust into the air.

Lorenzo leaned around the pillar, firing three rapid shots, taking down one of the gunmen. But the second mercenary kept them pinned with relentless bursts of fire.

"I need an angle," Lorenzo muttered, checking his magazine. "Two rounds left."

Evelyn glanced around the garage. Twenty feet to their right sat a row of commercial electrical breaker boxes for the entire museum complex.

"Cover me," Evelyn whispered.

"Evelyn, no—"

Before Lorenzo could stop her, Evelyn kicked off her high-heeled shoes, hitched the crimson silk dress above her knees, and scrambled across the concrete floor toward the breaker panels, keeping low behind parked vehicles.

The mercenary heard the movement and swung his barrel toward her.

"Over here, you bastard!" Lorenzo roared, stepping out from behind his pillar and firing his remaining rounds, forcing the gunman to duck behind the Mercedes' engine block.

In that split second of distraction, Evelyn reached the wall and grabbed the massive emergency shutoff lever.

With all the strength in her body, she yanked the lever down.

CLANK.

The entire parking garage plunged into pitch-black darkness.

"What happened to the lights?!" Celeste’s terrified scream echoed through the void.

In the total darkness, the muzzle flash of the mercenary’s rifle gave away his position instantly as he fired blindly into the shadows.

Lorenzo didn't need the light. He closed the distance silently, like a ghost in the dark. A single, muffled struggle ensued, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the concrete.

A second later, the backup emergency generator kicked in with a low hum, bathing the garage in an eerie, dim amber glow.

Lorenzo was standing over the fallen mercenary, holding the man's weapon.

Across the garage, Victor Vane sat collapsed against the tire of his Mercedes, clutching a bullet wound in his shoulder, his silver hair disheveled, his eyes hollow with defeat.