flash
The rain pelted the roof of the armored black Cadillac with the force of falling lead. Inside, the cabin was suffocatingly silent, save for the rhythmic, mechanical swipe of the windshield wipers. I reached into my coat pocket, my thumb grazing the damp, frayed fabric of Miss Rose. / Chapter 20 / 20

Chapter 20 - The Final Reckoning

The west wing hallway was empty. The door to the guest suite was blown wide open.

Inside, the room was untouched—except for a single item resting on the center of the unmade bed.

Miss Rose.

The rag doll stared up at me with its one button eye, completely unharmed. But beside it lay a folded note written in clean, meticulous cursive.

I picked it up, my hands trembling slightly as I unfolded the paper:

“Dear Dominic, You protected your empire, but you left your front door unlocked. If you ever want to see your maid and her little daughter again, come alone to Pier 41 in Red Hook before midnight. Let’s see how much an empire is really worth. — Lorenzo.”

I lowered the note, the overwhelming fury inside me eclipsing every thought, every strategy, every instinct for self-preservation.

Marco and Antonio rushed into the room behind me, taking in the empty space and the note in my hand.

"It was a diversion," Marco cursed, slamming his fist against the doorframe. "The assault team at the front gate was just a decoy to draw us out while an extraction unit slipped through the rear ventilation corridor."

Antonio stepped forward, reading the note over my shoulder, his face grim. "Lorenzo knows you. He knew you'd fortify the house, so he took what mattered most to draw you out into his kill box."

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The burner phone in my hand felt heavy, like a slab of cold iron pulled from a sunken ship. Across the line, Marcus let out a breath that sounded like a low whistle escaping a pressure valve. Nineteen years of rust, nineteen years of school plays, quiet dinners, and ledger sheets—all of it dissolved in the space of a single heartbeat.

The burner phone in my hand felt heavy, like a slab of cold iron pulled...

The man in the back of the Bentley was not a stranger, though it took me three agonizing seconds to place the face behind the silver-trimmed beard. Arthur Vance. The reclusive billionaire shipping tycoon, corporate sniper, and my father’s oldest, most estranged rival.

The man in the back of the Bentley was not a stranger, though it took me...

The ink on the medical schedule wasn't standard printer black. It was darker, heavier, pressed down with the kind of deliberate malice that only a fountain pen could deliver. I stared at the signature at the bottom of the page, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The ink on the medical schedule wasn't standard printer black. It was da...

I folded the paper slowly, sliding it into my coat pocket alongside Miss Rose.

"Let him build his kill box," I said, my voice dropping into a cold, terrifying whisper that made even Antonio step back. "I'm going to Red Hook. And this time, there won't be anything left of Lorenzo to bury."

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