His expression is cool, detached, almost bored.
“Sorry, boss,” he says, and the title drips with mockery. “But I’ve been playing this game a lot longer than you realize.”
“Why?” I demand, my voice a growl.
“They made me a better offer, and let’s be honest—you’ve been distracted. Love makes a man weak, Leon. And I don’t follow weak leaders.”
The betrayal cuts deep. Murderously deep. I trusted this man with my life. With mywife.But there’s no time for it to fester, not now. Not when Mia is still on the floor, unknowingly surrounded by the enemy.
“Drop the gun.”
Max smirks. “Consider this my formal resignation.”
I react on pure instinct as he fires. The noise shatters the illusion of calm all around us. Someone screams.
Pain blossoms in my chest.
And then everything falls apart.
25
MIA
The gunshot cracks through the air, sharp and final. For a second, the room stills, the sparkling hum of the casino turning to stunned silence.
Then I see him.
Leon clutches his chest, blood seeping through his suit. His knees buckle, and he collapses, the shock on his face cutting me deeper than the chaos erupting around us.
“No!”
The scream tears from my throat as my body propels forward, shoving through the panicked crowd. My heart pounds, every instinct screaming to get to him, to make sure he’s okay. He has to be okay.
God, please let him be okay.
I’m close, so close, when a hand clamps down on my arm.
I twist violently, coming face to face with a man dressed as a server. Except…no, how did the Cartel get in here? I thought Leon had them in retreat. No. No. No. This is all wrong.
“Let go of me!” I snarl, yanking my arm back, but his grip tightens, dragging me toward him.
A knife flashes in my face, and I lunge sideways, narrowly avoiding the blade.
He swings again, and I catch his wrist, using all my strength to push back. But he’s bigger, stronger, and his other hand grabs for my neck.
Out of nowhere, a blur of movement crashes into him.
Isabella.
She moves with lethal precision, blonde and furious. Her fist connects with his jaw, and he stumbles. Before he can recover, she drives her knee into his stomach and twists the knife from his grip.
With one final strike, he crumples to the floor, unconscious.
“Get up,” Isabella snaps as she offers me her hand. “We need to move now.”
I stagger to my feet, still dazed, as someone else stumbles into us, eyes feral and wild, a broken champagne bottle clutched in her hand as if her life depends on it.
“Isabella! What’s going on?” Cassandra gasps, her voice trembling.
