Chapter 20 - The abyss opens
Julian smiled, drinking in Clara's devastated expression like a gourmet feast. "Poetic, isn't it? The little waitress married the arsonist who made her an orphan. And every dollar of the Raines empire was built on the ashes of Helen Bennett."
Clara stood frozen between the two men, her mind fractured by grief and betrayal. The silver gun felt burning hot in her hand. She looked at Roman—the lethal king of Chicago, who currently stood before her with his head bowed, offering no defense, his chest completely open to her judgment.
"If you want to pull that trigger, Clara," Roman said quietly, his voice devoid of pride, "shoot me first. You have every right."
"How touching," Julian mocked, raising his hand toward his mercenaries. "Unfortunately, neither of you will leave this room alive. You see, the detonator on this table isn't wired to this house. It’s wired to the federal transport vehicle currently carrying your dear father to the safehouse."
Clara snapped out of her trance, her eyes widening in horror as Julian rested his thumb over the red button of the transmitter.
"Drop your guns, both of you," Julian commanded, his face twisting into manic triumph. "On your knees, Roman. Kneel before me, and perhaps I'll let Arthur live long enough to bury his daughter."
Roman didn't hesitate. He prepared to drop to his knees to protect Arthur Bennett, relinquishing his pride, his kingdom, and his life.
"No, Roman!" Clara screamed.
Before Roman’s knees touched the carpet, the heavy bay windows of the library shattered into a million glittering shards of glass. A blinding flash grenade detonated in the middle of the room, turning the world into pure white light and deafening thunder.
Through the ringing in her ears, Clara heard the roar of gunfire, the sickening thud of falling bodies, and Roman's ferocious roar as he lunged forward into the smoke. Clara fired blindly toward the desk, diving across the shattered floorboards toward the transmitter.
Her hand caught the steel casing of the detonator just as Julian Vance’s heavy boot slammed down onto her wrist, pinning her to the floor.
Through the clearing smoke, Clara looked up into the barrel of Julian's revolver, pressed directly between her eyes. Beside him, Roman was pinned to the wall by two heavily armored assailants, bleeding profusely from a bullet wound in his shoulder.
Julian’s scarred face twisted into a demonic grin as his finger began to squeeze the trigger. "Say goodbye to your king, little girl."
A deafening shot tore through the library.
Blood splattered across the white ceiling—but it was not Clara's.
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From the shattered terrace outside, a figure stepped through the swirling rain and smoke, holding a smoking sniper rifle with lethal, practiced grace. A woman with silver hair, wearing an old federal intelligence trench coat, her face half-burned but instantly recognizable from the locket Clara had worn around her neck.
Clara gasped, her voice choking on blood and rain. "Mother...?"
