flash
My hand froze inches from the cold steel of the Sig Sauer P226. Beneath the amber glow of the bedside lamp, the source of the warmth against my side wasn't an assassin, an operative from a rival syndicate, or a traitorous lieutenant. / Chapter 12 / 20

Chapter 12 - The Ghost from the Past

"Stay low, Emma!" I barked, shoving her down between the seats before she could process what was happening.

My own hand instantly dropped to the concealed holster beneath my armrest, pulling out a modified Sig Sauer. The street was pitch black—the city transformers for this block had been blown, plunging the intersection into an eerie, pulsing darkness illuminated only by flashing hazard lights.

Three armored SUVs had boxed us in from the front and rear, trapping our vehicle against the concrete divider of the expressway ramp. Men in heavy tactical gear swarmed out of the shadows, their assault rifles raised, wearing uniforms bearing no insignia—mercenaries of a caliber we hadn't seen since Marcone.

"They're using thermal imaging," Luke hissed, his face tight with adrenaline as he checked his magazine. "They know exactly where we are in the cabin."

"They're not trying to capture us," I realized, my eyes narrowing as I watched their coordinated movement. "They're trying to draw someone out."

Before Luke could respond, a voice echoed from a megaphone outside, bouncing off the concrete overpasses with a chilling, metallic resonance.

“Danny Vance! Step out of the vehicle and let the cripple face his reckoning! Leave the girl inside, and we might let her walk away!”

I froze. The voice was distorted, but beneath the digital static, there was a cadence, a peculiar inflection that triggered a cold, visceral terror I hadn't felt since the day of the sniper's bullet.

It was the voice of Victor Cruz.

The man who had pulled the trigger two years ago. The man we had buried in a pauper’s grave on the outskirts of Gary, Indiana, after his body was supposedly found shredded in a warehouse explosion.

"That's impossible," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged animal. "Cruz is dead. I watched his safehouse burn to ash."

"Dead men don't stay buried when someone with deep pockets wants revenge," Luke said, his expression grim.

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The rain tapped a frantic rhythm against the glass of Marissa’s cramped,...

The silence in the master bedroom stretched so tight I could hear the slow, heavy drip of my own pulse in my ears. Dominic Rossi’s dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with a feverish intensity that should have sent me running back down the hallway and out into the rain

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The single word hung in the sterile air of the hospital corridor, heavy enough to fracture the foundation I had spent decades building.

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Emma slowly pushed herself up from the floorboards, ignoring my command to stay down. Her face was pale, but her eyes were burning with a fierce, terrifying clarity. "Who is Victor Cruz?" she asked quietly.

"The ghost who put me in this chair," I answered, my fingers tightening around the grip of my gun until my knuckles turned white. "And it looks like he’s come back to finish the job."

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