Chapter 34
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Havana, Cuba
Lizzy returned her husband’s look with shared understanding built on years of common secrets and survival, concealing what had happened that night at great personal cost.
They were certain they’d done the right thing back then. Flint could tell.
“So I changed the plan,” Tantanella smirked, probably calculated to deflect Flint’s attention from Lizzy.
“What did you tell Cole?”
“Nothing. He told me to torch the house and get the hell out of town. I did all of that.” Tantanella’s expression didn’t change. “No reason to tell him anything else and he never asked.”
Flint said, “So Cole still believes Lizzy and the kids actually died?”
“Who knows what he believes? He never checked. That much I can say for sure.” Tantanella’s words carried cold contempt. “Man gives an order and assumes it gets carried out. Never bothers to confirm. That’s his problem, not mine.”
Corrupt politicians and soulless billionaires were cut from the same cloth. Give the order, delegate responsibility, maintain plausible deniability, move on while ignoring the destruction. Same story every time.
But in this case, Tantanella was wrong. Cole might not have cared about the Fisher kids when he hired Tantanella to torch the house. But he was a junior congressman back then with a lot less to lose than he had now.
If the full story got out, or if Cole felt threatened in any way, he would most definitely care now.
Which made him more dangerous than a rabid tiger.
Flint took a step forward. The floorboards creaked under his weight. “And you? What have you been doing all this time?”
Tantanella didn’t answer. He stood ready for whatever came next. Blood continued to seep through his shirt, but he showed no sign of weakness or surrender.
Flint said, “She’s coming with me.”
“She’s not a prisoner.” Tantanella looked at Lizzy. Something soft crept into his expression. “You want to go?”
She remained frozen between the past and whatever future Flint and her husband were offering. Trauma did that to people. Paralyzed them when they needed to make choices.
Flint said, “She has answers. The Fishers deserve to hear them directly from her.”
“She’s my wife. She stays,” Frankie said, making the decision.
Flat. Final. No room for negotiation or compromise.
He stepped forward.
Flint raised his weapon. “That’s far enough. Let her go.”
No luck.
Frankie’s right hand moved fast along his flank and drew a knife.
Long, slim, sharp as hell.
The blade caught what little light came through the broken windows and threw it back like a warning. The kind of deadly weapon designed for only one purpose.
Tantanella stayed balanced on both feet, ready to move in any direction. He didn’t posture or waste energy on threats or intimidation. He was an experienced knife fighter.
Defend against the blade. Get inside his reach. Control the weapon. Don’t get cut.
Without warning, Tantanella lunged.
The blade came in fast, slashing for Flint’s side in a killing stroke aimed at his liver. Quick and quiet. And almost lethal.
Just in time, Flint twisted a hair’s breadth away from the blade.
The knife whispered past his ribs, close enough to slice the fabric of his shirt.
Lightning fast, Flint thrust his hand forward and caught Tantanella’s wrist.
Flint redirected the momentum and Tantanella stumbled.
They slammed into the wall with enough force to shake loose more plaster.
Tantanella staggered but didn’t fall. Tough. Experienced.
He adjusted his grip and struck again. This time aiming for Flint’s groin to sever the femoral artery.
Flint spotted a broken chair leg on the floor near his feet. Heavy hardwood with good weight and reach.
In one quick sweep, he bent, grabbed the makeshift club, and swung low.
The club connected with Tantanella’s knife hand and knocked the blade wide and away.
The steel sparked against stone as it deflected off course.
Disarmed, Tantanella adjusted again.
But he was slower and weaker than he should have been, already bleeding from whatever had happened before.
They grappled.
Shoulders locked.
Breath coming hard.
Each man trying to control weapons and positioning.
Tantanella drove his knee into Flint’s ribs.
Pain shot through Flint’s torso like lightning. He grunted but didn’t let go.
Couldn’t allow Tantanella a chance to pick up the knife again or the space to use it effectively.
Flint turned Tantanella’s arm and shoved it up behind his back. He applied pressure to the joint until the tendons creaked under the strain, but Tantanella resisted with more force than Flint expected.
Flint forced Tantanella’s arm down and drove his hand into the sharp edge of the metal desk, slicing deep into Tantanella’s palm.
Flint kicked the knife farther away and the blade clinked along the limestone floor, spinning until it hit the far wall and landed in a pile of debris.
Tantanella stumbled back against the wall, breathing hard. Blood ran freely from the earlier injury to his side now. A dark stain spread across his torn shirt. He pressed one palm there, applying pressure, but the blood didn’t slow.
Lizzy stood frozen in horror. Her face had gone pale. She couldn’t bear to look at Tantanella’s injuries.
His voice was rough and strained when he spoke. “You don’t know what you’re starting.”
Flint picked up the knife. Tested its weight and balance. It was one of the finest knives he’d ever handled. He set it on the table behind him where Frankie couldn’t easily retrieve it. “If you want to stop me, you’re welcome to try again.”
Tantanella gave him an outraged glare.
Flint looked at Lizzy. “Let’s go.”
She stood still, torn between loyalty and survival. Between the past and an uncertain future.
She had been protecting secrets for decades. Hard to walk away from that kind of commitment.
Flint stepped toward her to make it clear there’d be no argument or hesitation.
She looked back at her husband once more. A final glance that carried years of shared survival. Then she allowed Flint to lead her toward the exit while he eyed Tantanella until they were out of the building.
Tantanella stayed on the floor against the wall. Hand clamped to his side. Blood seeping between his fingers. Watching the exit.
Still breathing.
Still dangerous.
And probably already planning his next move.
Flint went outside and closed the door behind them with a solid thud that echoed through the building. Drake was waiting.
“Is he done?” Drake asked as they began to hurry through the dark streets.
“We’ll probably see him again,” Flint replied.
Lizzy glanced back one last time.
Probably hoping that her husband would rally and come for her again like he’d done in Ravenswood all those years ago.
“This way,” Drake said, leading them down into a dark alley heading toward the harbor.
Flint watched their backs. Tantanella said Devon Cole was his boss. Cole’s current power, resources, and reach had been more than enough to keep Lizzy afraid and controlled. Crossing him now was terrifying her.
Lizzy was right to be afraid. A well connected billionaire like Cole and a handful of others had access to power in ways mere mortals did not. He wouldn’t let Lizzy or anyone else thwart him, no matter what he had to do to stop her.
Nothing Flint could do about Lizzy’s fear.
Even less he could do about Devon Cole’s reactions.
Which meant he’d need to find the Fisher kids before Cole got wind of the truth.