Chapter 5 - Julian Hart’s Fatal MiscalculationJulian Hart sat in the back of his armored Mercedes, wiping a smear of soot off his bespoke Italian suit. His face was dark with fury. The million dollars was gone, his underground arena had been torched, and a stray dog had humiliated him in front of the entire criminal underworld.
"Track the dog," Julian ordered his driver, his voice dripping with venom. "I want that German Shepherd skinned, and I want the blind girl brought to me. As for the neighbor on Ashgrove Street—the widow who thinks she can meddle in my business—burn her house to the ground."
The driver nodded, stepping hard on the gas pedal. The sleek black SUV surged forward through the rain, heading straight toward Ashgrove Street.
Julian pulled a gold-plated cigarette case from his pocket, snapping it open with a sharp click. He had built his empire on ruthlessness. Ten years ago, he had eliminated a rival named Richard who tried to expose his weapons smuggling ring, framing it as an accident and leaving his widow penniless and broken. Or so Julian had thought.
"People never learn," Julian muttered, lighting a cigarette. "You give them a quiet life, and they mistake it for weakness."
The SUV turned onto Ashgrove Street, its headlights cutting through the heavy downpour.
As they approached number 40, Julian frowned. The front door of the Dixon house was blown off its hinges. Inside, through the shattered frame, he could see three Silver Blade gang members tied securely to chairs, gagged with heavy duct tape, and unconscious.
"Boss," the driver said, slowing the car down nervously. "Something's wrong. The cops aren't even here yet, but look at the street."
Ashgrove Street was completely dead. Every streetlamp flickered and died one by one, plunging the block into total darkness, save for the porch light of number 42.
Standing directly in the middle of the road, blocking the path of the Mercedes, was a single figure.
She wore a dark wool coat, her hands tucked casually into her pockets. Water dripped from the brim of her cap, casting shadows across her face. But even in the dark, Julian recognized the posture. He recognized the cold, unblinking stillness.
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"Drive through her," Julian ordered, his voice dropping an octave.
The driver slammed his foot on the accelerator, roaring the engine as the heavy SUV lunged forward at forty miles per hour straight toward the solitary woman in the road.
