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By the expansive bay window stands Lucas—the swanky motherfucker is dressed in a sharp velvet blazer, twirling a gold lighter with casual, arrogant indifference.

The moment my eyes lock onto my father, the air completely leaves my lungs. The phantom sting of old leather, the echo of heavy footsteps in empty hallways, and years of systematic torment rush to the surface.

Then, a voice cuts through the static in my mind.

"Take control, Noa," Lana whispers, her voice low, sharp, and commanding. The woman who had been my enemy, my ex, and the absolute love of my life steps just close enough for her warmth to break my chill. "Look at me. You run this room now. Not him."

I’m so happy she’s here. I brace my shoulders, hardening my gaze into pure stone as I stare my abuser down.

“My dear son, I’m so happy you are here.” his voice is flat, and his eyes tell me that he’s detached from any emotion.

“I wish I could say the same. Tell buddy boy to let him go.”

Evan growls because he always hated me calling him buddy boy; it made him feel small and inferior. I never gave a shit, and I never will.

“I will once you kill her.” He points towards Lana, and we all look at her. She’s just as confused as us.

I turn to my father once more. “I won’t do that. And you won’t kill anybody here. If your life means anything to you, let him go.”

Across the desk, my father's smug expression fractures, replaced by a dark, twisting fury. His eyes dart between my friends and me. It’s like he can’t conceptualize that I found a group of people who love me.

I want to say something, but he interrupts me. “You’re trying to upstage me with your crew, but that will never happen. Evan, show my son what loyalty really looks like.”

Evan grins and starts driving the silver blade of his knife into Josh’s ribs. A sharp gasp escapes Josh as the blade pierces lightly into his ribs, drawing a bright line of crimson against his shirt.

“You are going to die!” Oliver yells at Dario, and he lunges forward. He stops once he sees that Evan is driving the blade deeper.

“One more step and you’ll bury another loved one. Just like your whore of a mother.”

I ignore Dario’s insult to my mother, as I need to find a way to save my friend.

“Actually, I need you to suffer.” Dario’s words are venom, and he means every bit of it. He motions to Evan to finish what he started. He plunges the knife deeper, aiming for a kill shot—

Crack.

The massive bay window explodes into a million shimmering shards before Lucas can even register the sound; a high-caliber sniper bullet tears through his skull, fired by Adam.

He finally got his revenge.

Evan collapses like a sack of bricks, dead before he hits the hardwood floor.

Dario bolts for the secondary exit at the back of the study, shoving the doors open. Fuck, I didn’t even notice that. Evan keeps his grip tight on my bleeding friend, dragging him along as a human shield. Once they are through the secondary exit, he drops Josh on the floor.

And Oliver goes completely feral. Evan is responsible for stabbing Josh.

Oliver tries to sprint past the desk, ready to tear my father apart, but I grab the collar of his jacket and slam him back.

"Get Josh and drive to the hospital!" I bark, my voice cutting through the ringing in the room. I look at the rest of my team, my eyes landing on Lana. "All of you, hold this room. He’s mine."

I don't wait for an answer. I draw my weapon and sprint out the exit after my father.

As I burst into the hallway, a deafening boom rocks the foundations of the house. The blast wave throws me against the wall, wood and plaster raining down around me. I choke on a sickeningly sweet scent of jasmine and fresh roses. Coughing through the perfumed smoke, I blink the dust from my eyes. The haze is thick, but through the swirling pinkish-white tint of the floral mist, I can still see Dario’s unmistakable silhouette.

The smoke doesn’t blind me. It just makes me angrier. I push off the cracked wall, but with the smoke swirling, a gun line would be too risky. I need something precise.

Reaching down, my hand finds my cleaver tucked at my lower back. I don't hesitate. In one fluid, explosive motion, I whip my arm forward, releasing the heavy blade into the perfumed haze.

The cleaver slices through the floral smoke, spinning over and over.