Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“Enzo Fikile—”
“Is protecting his family. As am I.”
Torin’s eyes shoot wide, along with the rest of ours, because that voice. That thick, raspy tone is so easily recognizable. There is no mistaking who it belongs to.
Torin pales, the words clearly holding a deeper meaning to him, and swiftly spins to follow the sound, but he sees her too late.
The arrow has already left her nock of the bow. It flies through the air at the perfect downward trajectory, splitting straight into the dead center of Torin’s chest.
He gasps, sways, then falls to his knees.
He slumps over and all eyes snap to the rooftop.
Slowly, she stands, the bow lowering to her side, sun setting right behind her and illuminating her silhouette. She stands there, staring this way for several silent seconds, before she spins and walks away.
I close my eyes, hating this for her, but admittedly relieved.
If there is one person who will face no consequence today for ending the man who made a traitorous move without a proper investigation by the other founding families?
It’s his very own daughter.
The cleanup crews of the underground crime families are the true magic makers.
Two hours and half a bottle of chardonnay later, the winery is as spotless as it was when I arrived this afternoon.
The union is gone, my sister and the others too, having taken a silent, stone-faced Bronx back to the mansion. I have no idea how she’s going to deal with having taken out her own father, but something tells me there’s a reason it was her who took him down tonight, and at the very moment she chose to do so.
Enzo shakes hands with Carlos Vicente, the owner of the winery, and stalks toward me, Mino falling in line beside him. Once in front of me, he reaches out and grips my hips, hauling me off the tailgate of the black truck the Brayshaws and I have been sitting in.
“Where’s Katana?” Mino looks around.
“Passed out in the back seat.” I jerk my head toward the car I rode here in. “Damiano is in the driver seat.” I raise a brow in question, but Enzo only winks in response.
Enzo glances over my shoulder, face hardening. “I’m tempted to threaten you right about now.”
I glance back just as Maddoc nods and hops down from where he was sitting on the hood.
He walks right up to us, holding his hand out.
Enzo stares at him for several silent seconds longer, then finally slaps his hand in Maddoc’s.
“She did good,” Maddoc states, gaze sliding my way. “Fearless.”
Enzo opens his mouth to speak just as several loud bangs sound and a muffled shout follows.
Our frowns match as we look around, settling on Royce when a manic laugh leaves him and he hops over the side of the truck, holding on to his belt buckle as he sinks his teeth in his lower lip.
He walks toward the old, broken-down white car, and we shuffle closer. He pops the trunk and my mouth drops open with a laugh.
Enzo glares down at the man who shuts up quick at the sight of us all. Sweat pouring from his temples and a black eye so swollen, there is no way he can see out of it. Enzo’s head snaps toward Royce. “You wanted Nicholas Galley this whole time? Why?” he demands.
“Because his name isn’t Nicholas Galley,” Raven shouts, slowly making her way over.
“Bullshit,” Enzo mumbles, his mind likely racing.
“Christof Galley has no blood relatives. The paper trail began and ended with his mysterious, sudden arrival of a nephew.” Raven slides up, bracing her hands on the edge of the trunk and staring down at the guy inside it.
“Who is he?” Enzo forces past clenched teeth.
She smirks, cocking her head when fake Nicholas’s eyes go wide. “His name is Collins Graven. We exiled him from the States, kept tabs to make sure he’d never come back, but our PI lost track of him a while back.”
“Let me guess, last whereabouts you had were Costa Rica?”
“Ding, ding.”
Collins opens his mouth, but Maddoc is done listening. He slams the trunk closed and wraps his arm around his girl. He tries to hide it, but there’s a visible weight lifted from his shoulders that this man’s capture offers him. Maybe one day I’ll hear the story of what happened back in Brayshaw.
Today, though, I have other plans.
I tug on Enzo’s hand, leading him to our vehicle, Mino instantly following behind. “Later, Brayshaws.”
They wave and grunt their goodbyes, but we’re three feet from the car when Victoria calls out to me.
“Wait!” She jogs over.
She smiles, stepping in close as if to hug me, and Enzo turns toward Mino. Her hand shoots out then, a small blade reflecting off the car light, and I dart forward, catching her around the wrist.
She seems shocked but smiles as if impressed.