"We're almost at the site. We can reschedule—"
"Drive!"
The meeting is in an abandoned steel mill at the edge of the industrial park. Dominic is waiting in the middle of the floor, one of my oldest capos, grinning, ready to talk points.
"Lorcan. Good to see you. I was starting to think—"
I don't let him finish. I cross the floor, take him by the throat, and drive him back into a support beam. The crack of it echoes. I lift until his boots leave the ground.
"You think this is a game?" I hiss. "You think you can sit there and talk to me about points while my life is being systematically dismantled? I will put a hole in you right here, Dominic. I will decorate this fucking floor with your brains."
His men go for their guns. Mine are faster. A dozen safeties click off at once.
"Stand down!" Dominic wheezes, his eyes bulging, his hands clawing at my wrists. "Lorcan! It’s me! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I stare at him. I see the fear in his eyes, but it isn't the fear of a subordinate. It’s the terror of a man who realizes his boss has gone completely insane.
I see the ring, still clutched in my left hand, the diamonds digging into my palm.
I drop him.
Dominic hits the floor, gasping for air, clutching his neck. The room is dead silent. My men are standing there, their guns leveled, waiting for a command that I can't seem to find.
"Get out," I say. My voice is cold.
"Lorcan, what happened?" Dominic chokes out, coughing. "If it’s Silas—if he’s back—"
"It’s personal," I say, turning away. I walk toward the exit, my boots echoing like gunshots on the concrete. "Keep your crews on standby. We’re going to war. But this battle? This is mine."
The drive home feels like an eternity. Every mile is a reminder that the perimeter is thin. That Atara is inside. That the fortress I’ve spent years building is made of glass.
"Boss, perimeter alert!" Kieran shouts as we hit the gates.
"Go! Go!"
We barrel through the main gates just as the compound lights flicker and die. A series of controlled explosions rocks the front lawn—grenades, high-grade ordinance. The ground shakes beneath us.
"They're coming through the service entrance!" Echo’s voice crackles over the radio. "They’ve got breaching charges on the main gate!"
"Hold them!" I yell, pulling my gun from the holster. "Kieran, take the back flank! I’m going to the house!"
I'm out of the car before it stops moving, weapon up, safety off. The air is thick with sulfur and burning rubber. I cut toward the stone fountain by the entrance.
Maeve. Atara.If I’m too late, I don’t survive this night.
A muzzle flash from the tree line. I drop low, the water of the fountain exploding into mist around me as bullets tear through the stone. I don't give them a second chance. I lean out, catching the movement of two shadows shifting near the pillars. Two shots, two drops. The silhouettes go limp.
I don’t check them. I'm already moving toward the foyer.
I hit the front door at a full run, kicking it open with enough force to shatter the lock. The hallway is a graveyard of shadows. I see two men in tactical vests moving toward the East Wing, their weapons raised. They don't hear me until I’m on them. I catch the first one in the back, dropping him before he can turn. The second spins around, his rifle sweeping wide, but I’m faster. I put two rounds into his center mass, and he hits the floor with a wet thud.
I don’t stop. The fear is a cold, heavy stone in my gut, forcing me forward. I reach the East Wing hallway. Three more figures emerge from the shadows near the study door, their laser sights cutting through the dark.
I slide across the polished marble, my boots losing traction for a second. I use the wall as a pivot, firing as I rotate. The first man takes a round to the neck and collapses. The second tries to return fire, but I’m already closing the distance, slamming my shoulder into him and driving my pistol into his ribs before he can squeeze the trigger. The third dives for cover behind apedestal, but I’m on him in a heartbeat, finishing it with a clean shot to the head.
I'm standing over them, chest heaving, the barrel smoking. My stomach turns. I keep moving.
The study door is splintered, hanging off the top hinge. I kick the wood aside and bring the gun up into the room.
