Chapter 10
Simone stepped fully into the ruined bedroom, the lightning flashing behind her to reveal her soaked trench coat and a venomous, unhinged smile. The three men flanking her raised their assault rifles, locking their sights on Callan. Callan instantly pushed Vera and Jude behind his broad frame, his own weapon rising, but he was painfully outnumbered.
"Drop the gun, Callan, or my men will turn this room into a slaughterhouse," Simone said, her voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "And frankly, I'd rather do this myself."
Callan didn't lower his weapon. His jaw was set in stone, his dark eyes locked onto Simone with a lethal intensity. "You came into my house, Simone. You attacked my son. There is no corner of this earth where your father can hide you from what I am going to do to you."
"My father is already taking over your territory," Simone laughed sharply, though her eyes were frantic and wild. "While you rushed back here to play hero for a miserable maid, my family hit your casinos, your ports, and your lieutenants. You have nothing left, Callan."
She shifted her aim, pointing the silver pistol directly at Callan’s chest. "It didn't have to be this way. We were supposed to rule this city together. But you threw me away for her. For a servant who couldn't even pour a cup of tea without trembling."
Behind Callan, Vera’s breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. She looked at the submachine gun she had dropped on the floor near the bed. It was five feet away. Too far. If she moved, Simone would fire.
"She has more grace and courage in her burned hand than you have in your entire rotten soul," Callan said coldly, his finger tightening on the trigger. "If you pull that trigger, Simone, you die a second later. Are you ready to die tonight?"
Simone’s hand trembled slightly. For a moment, doubt flickered in her eyes. But then her face twisted into a mask of pure hatred. "I won't shoot you, Callan. I want you to watch."
In a lightning-fast motion, Simone snapped her wrist to the side, aiming directly past Callan’s shoulder, right at Vera.
"No!" Callan roared.
Everything happened in a fraction of a second. Callan threw his body backward, attempting to shield Vera entirely, but the explosive crack of Simone's pistol echoed through the room.
Vera felt a sharp, terrifying rush of air past her cheek, followed immediately by a sickening thud behind her. She didn't feel pain. She blinked, disoriented, as Callan returned fire in the same breath. His shot struck Simone's shoulder, spinning the heiress around as she screamed in agony.
Before Simone's men could unleash their rifles, a deafening barrage of gunfire erupted from the hallway behind them. Callan’s reinforcements had finally breached the second floor. Simone's men fell instantly under the hail of bullets, and Simone herself collapsed against the doorframe, clutching her bleeding shoulder.
Callan didn't look at the carnage. He spun around, grabbing Vera's shoulders. "Vera! Are you hit?"
"No," Vera breathed, patting herself down frantically. "I'm okay, I'm not—"
She stopped. A cold dread pooled in her stomach as she looked past Callan, toward the closet where Jude had been hiding moments before.
But Jude wasn't there.
"Callan," Vera choked out, pointing to the shattered window.
Standing on the rain-slicked balcony, illuminated by a flash of lightning, was a man in black tactical gear—one of Simone's assassins who had scaled the wall. And in his arms, struggling wildly, was Jude.
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"Papa!" Jude screamed, right before the man stepped backward off the balcony, disappearing into the storm.
Callan let out a raw, guttural roar of pure rage and sprinted toward the shattered window, leaping out into the night, leaving Vera screaming his name into the endless dark.
