Victoria Ashford violently yanked eight-month-old baby Mia’s blanket while four-year-old Clara Marlowe refused to let go

"Do you honestly believe you have the nerve to pull that trigger, Catherine?" Marcus sneered, stepping further into the room with arrogant confidence. "I taught you how to shoot when you were a child. You won't kill your own blood. Now tell me where the brats are."

"That was before you murdered their mother and tried to destroy my brother," Catherine replied icily. Her finger hovered over the trigger, her eyes burning with fierce, protective hatred. "You are not family. You are a monster."

Marcus realized she was fully prepared to kill him. Relying on his old survival instincts, he dove desperately to the left, firing his pistol mid-air. The bullet grazed Catherine’s shoulder, tearing through her jacket and drawing a sharp line of blood.

Catherine cried out in pain, stumbling backward, but she squeezed the trigger. A violent burst of submachine gunfire shredded the wall where Marcus had just been standing, showering the room in white plaster dust.

Marcus rolled behind a heavy mahogany dresser. "Tell me where they are, and I will let you live!" he shouted over the ringing in his ears.