Marcus Grimes scrambled onto the stage. He grabbed Chelsea's arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. He was screaming into a radio, calling for every armed man on the payroll.

Julian was writhing in the pile of broken glass. A shard had sliced his cheek. Blood mixed with the champagne, turning his white shirt a ruin of pink and red. He tried to inhale, but his ribs were likely cracked.

Gideon stood still. He was an island of calm in a sea of hysteria.

Ten more security guards poured into the room. They formed a semi-circle, batons out, hands hovering near concealed holsters.

"You son of a bitch," Marcus yelled, spitting down from the stage. "You're nothing but a dog for a dead man! Erich House is dead! His contracts are ash!"

The name Erich House rippled through the older guests. The Alchemist. The man who knew too much.

Chelsea found her voice. It was a shriek. "Gideon! Get out! You're insane! I don't owe you anything!"

Gideon smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a wolf looking at a trapped rabbit.

He reached out to a passing waiter's tray. The waiter froze, terrified. Gideon took a bottle of 1982 Petrus. Unopened.

The security guards tensed. Red laser dots appeared on Gideon's chest. Tasers.

Gideon ignored them. He ran his thumb over the foil of the bottle neck.

"Marcus," Gideon said. "The contract demands a blood oath. You want to deny the paper? Fine. We pay with the body."

Gasper Davidson appeared on the balcony above. He was a small man with eyes like shark glass. He looked down at his bleeding son.

"Kill him," Gasper said. His voice was flat. "Break his arms and legs. Dump him in the Hudson."

The guards charged. It was a wall of muscle and rubber batons.

Gideon smashed the wine bottle against a marble pillar.

Glass flew. Dark red wine splattered across the floor like arterial spray. Gideon held the jagged neck of the bottle in his hand. It was a crude shank, sharp as a scalpel.

He moved.

He didn't fight them. He dissected them.

The first guard swung a baton. Gideon ducked, slashing the bottle neck across the man's wrist. The radial artery opened. The man dropped the baton, clutching his arm, blood spurting between his fingers.

The second guard tried to tackle him. Gideon sidestepped and drove the glass into the man's shoulder, twisting it.

Screams filled the ballroom. It wasn't a fight. It was a butchery.

Gideon moved through them like smoke. Slash. Duck. Kick. Slash.

Thirty seconds. That was all it took.

Eight men were on the floor. None were dead, but all were bleeding. They clutched wrists, thighs, and shoulders. The carpet was soaking up the blood.

Gideon didn't have a drop on him.

He walked toward the stage.

Marcus backed up. He hit the table behind him, knocking over a vase.

"Stay back!" Marcus screamed.

Gideon vaulted onto the stage. He grabbed Marcus by the throat and slammed him against the backdrop. He brought the jagged glass bottle up to Marcus's neck. The sharp point pressed against the carotid artery. A single drop of blood welled up.

Chelsea screamed and lunged forward.

Gideon turned his head. His eyes stopped her cold.

"Don't," he said.

He turned back to Marcus. He leaned in, his lips brushing the older man's ear.

"This is your first warning," Gideon whispered. "Deny the debt again, and I take the interest."

Gasper Davidson was watching from the balcony. He realized his mistake. These weren't street thugs. This man was a weapon.

Gasper pulled out his phone. He dialed a number that didn't appear on phone bills.

"Send the Cleaners," Gasper said.

Gideon released Marcus. He tossed the bottle neck aside. It clattered on the wood.

He turned to look up at the balcony.

"Mr. Davidson," Gideon called out. "Is that all your budget allows? Cheap suits and glass jaws?"

Julian pulled himself up. He was shaking. He reached into his ruined jacket and pulled out a small, chrome pistol.

Gideon turned back.

Julian raised the gun. His hand was trembling violently.

"Die," Julian screamed.

The guests hit the floor. Women covered their heads. Men dove under tables.

Gideon stood there. He didn't flinch. He looked at the barrel of the gun like it was a toy.

Julian's finger tightened on the trigger.

The ballroom doors slammed open again.

"Stop!"

The voice was female, authoritative, and cold as ice.

Celestia Singleton strode into the room. She wore a black power suit that looked like armor. Her heels clicked on the marble with military precision.

Behind her, twelve men in tactical gear flooded the room. They carried riot shields with the Singleton Global logo. They moved fast, forming a phalanx between Gideon and Julian.

The wall of shields blocked Julian's line of sight.

"Celestia!" Julian roared. "Get out of the way! This is my wedding!"

Celestia ignored him. She walked straight to Gideon. She looked him up and down, checking for wounds. Her eyes were wide, panicked, but her face remained stoic.

"Gideon Combs is under the protection of the Singleton family," she announced. She turned to face the balcony. "He is a contract holder. Taking him is my right."

The room gasped. The Singleton and Davidson families were rivals, but this was a declaration of war.

Gasper leaned over the railing. His face was twisted.

"You're starting a corporate war for a dead man's apprentice?" Gasper spat. "Are you stupid, girl?"

"It's about the integrity of the contract," Celestia said, though her voice wavered slightly.

Gideon looked at her. He saw the pulse jumping in her neck. She was terrified. She was defying the two most powerful families in the city for him.

"I don't need your help," Gideon said quietly. "Move."

Celestia spun on him. Her eyes flashed. "Shut up," she hissed. "You have no idea what you've done. That's Gasper Davidson. He will kill you."

Gasper raised his hand.

"Kill them all," Gasper said. "Leave the girl."

Side doors burst open. Davidson's elite guard entered. These men didn't have batons. They had automatic rifles.

The red lasers danced across the Singleton shields.

"Drop the weapons!" the Davidson captain shouted.

"Protect the asset!" the Singleton captain yelled.

The tension in the room was a physical weight. One loud noise, one twitch, and the Plaza Hotel would become a morgue.

Gideon sighed. He stepped out from behind the shield wall.

Celestia grabbed his arm. "Gideon! No!"

He shook her off gently. He walked into the open space between the two armies.

He looked up at Gasper. "You want to play the big game? Fine."

Gideon's left hand brushed his belt. In between his fingers, three small, silver capsules appeared.

Julian saw his chance. The shields were gone.

He fired.

Bang.

Celestia screamed.

Gideon didn't duck. He tilted his head to the left. It was a minimal movement, calculated to the millimeter.

The bullet grazed his cheek. It left a thin, red line, stinging like a paper cut.

Gideon smiled.

He flicked his wrist. The three silver capsules flew through the air. They didn't go toward the guards. They went into the large air intake vents near the floor.

There was a soft hiss. No explosion. No smoke. Just a sound like a tire deflating.

Gideon looked at Julian.

"Game on," he said.

Silence followed the gunshot.

Everyone waited for Gideon to fall. He didn't. He stood there, the blood trickling down his cheek, looking bored.

The Davidson guards raised their rifles.

Then the first man coughed.

It was a wet, hacking sound. He dropped his rifle. It clattered loudly on the floor. He grabbed his throat, his eyes bulging.

Then the second man dropped to his knees. He was clawing at his tactical vest, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

Gasper stared down from the balcony. His elite squad was falling like dominoes. There was no blood. No wounds. Just instant, incapacitating weakness.

Gideon moved.

He wasn't looking at the guards. He sprinted to the stage.

Chelsea was trying to crawl away. Gideon grabbed her wrist and yanked her up.

"Open," he commanded.

She struggled. He squeezed her jaw. The pain forced her mouth open.

He dropped a small white pill onto her tongue. He clamped her mouth shut and stroked her throat. It was a reflex. She swallowed.

Chelsea gagged. She shoved him away, clawing at her mouth.

"What did you do?" she shrieked. "What is that?"

Gideon leaned in. His eyes were dark voids.

"Judas Kiss," he whispered. "It contains a protein marker. Inert for now. But if you betray the contract again, it binds to your nervous system. The pain will be... educational."

It was a lie. The pill was a harmless composite, but it contained a trace isotope that would show up as an anomaly on any standard scan, confusing any doctor she hired without actually harming her.

"If you ever try to break the contract again," Gideon said, his voice smooth as silk, "the toxin activates. You'll bleed out from every pore."

Chelsea collapsed. She was sobbing, hysterical, clutching her stomach.

Julian saw her fall. The rage overtook the pain in his ribs.

He raised the gun again. "I'll kill you!"

He fired blindly.

The bullet went wide. It hit the chain of the massive crystal chandelier above them.

The chain snapped.

Gravity took over. Two tons of crystal and steel plummeted.

It crashed between the Singleton shields and the Davidson guards. Shards of glass flew like shrapnel. Dust billowed up.

Gasper was coughing now. He held a handkerchief to his mouth.

"Gas!" Gasper wheezed. "Masks! Put on your masks!"

The Davidson guards who were still standing fumbled for their masks. Their movements were sluggish, uncoordinated.

Gideon walked back to Celestia. She was staring at him with horror. The gas hadn't reached her yet; the airflow was pushing it away from the door.

"You did this?" she whispered.

"Sedatives," Gideon said. "Short half-life. They'll wake up with a headache."

A deep, rhythmic thumping sound vibrated through the floor. It grew louder.

Helicopter rotors.

Bright, blinding searchlights cut through the tall windows, washing the ballroom in stark white light.

A voice boomed from a loudspeaker outside.

"THIS IS THE DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE. DROP YOUR WEAPONS. THIS AREA IS UNDER MILITARY LOCKDOWN."

Gasper's face went gray. The police he could buy. The FBI he could stall. The military? That was a different beast.

Gideon looked at the window. He wiped the blood from his cheek.

"Finally," he muttered.