Chapter 25 #2
I’m faster than him, anticipating the escalation. I throw myself in between them. My shoulder collides with his chest as he’s sent stumbling sideways.
His arms flail as he fights to regain his balance. But he’s been knocked back too hard. His hip catches the edge of the rooftop railing, and his weight sends him tipping over.
Fear flashes across his face as it dawns on him what’s happening.
His eyes meet mine in a second that feels minutes long.
Then gravity takes over, and he plummets fifty stories down toward the street below. The actual fall happens fast.
Within seconds his body collides with the top of a limousine; the morbid crunch it makes echoing for what feels like miles. Horrified screams and blares of horns follow as those on the street level react in real time to a man plunging to his death.
Senator Keith Banks is dead.
Up on the rooftop of the Crown, none of us move. Nobody even breathes as what just happened washes over us.
I’m still standing where I was when I wedged myself between the senator and my brat, only inches away from her.
Instinctively I holster my gun and then reach for her. She steps back, eyes wide and glassy and set on the exact spot her father last appeared. Her brows are drawn close and her lips are parted, the rest of her round face slack with shock.
It’s like her whole system has short-circuited and she can’t believe what she’s witnessed. She doesn’t recognize me or anyone else as she’s rooted in place.
I step toward her again, intending to pull her into my arms and comfort her. But my brother and his men decide they’ve stood by as spectators long enough.
“This isn’t over,” he says, drawing attention back over to them.
My arms drop to my sides, and I cut him a look from over my shoulder. “You’re right about that.”
His eyes narrow. “So what’s your move gonna be? You ready to finish what you started?”
I let a few seconds go by, his question hanging in the tense air. It’s hard to focus on what Ronan’s asking when to my left Chantal’s in the middle of a silent crisis.
How can I plunge ahead with the vendetta against my brother when the woman I care about needs me?
It’s another moment where I’m at a crossroads, forced to choose what takes precedence. I had to do it that night on the road when Chantal was injured in the car crash, and I had to do it earlier when I witnessed her accosted in the elevator.
And now I’m doing it again as I pause long enough to recognize the rage inside me is intense and unrelenting. But it pales in comparison to the feelings I’ve got for my brat—she wins, no contest.
She’s more important than the destruction I’ve sought; the war I’ve waged has done nothing but cause her pain.
How the fuck can I continue?
“I was,” I answer candidly. “Things’ve gotten in the way.”
Ronan tilts his head to the side, demonstrating how similar we are right down to our mannerisms. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’ve got bigger problems now. Tonight makes twice we’ve spurned the Russians—we’ve gone back on a sale. Fedorov and Rurik aren’t gonna let that slide. They’ll be out for blood. Anyone involved in tonight is gonna have a target on their back.”
“That’s your concern, not mine. You’re the one who started this shit with the Bratva.”
“True, but you’re still my brother. The Russians don’t give a shit about petty interfamily feuds. They’ll come for all of us.”
His glare doesn’t let up. He eyes me like the mortal enemy I’ve become, his gun and the ones held by his two backups still trained on me.
He’s weighing what I’ve said… but also what I haven’t said.
As he glares at me, his gaze briefly flits over to the silent and tearful Chantal. His jaw clenches as he makes up his mind, dissatisfied by his own decision before he even speaks it into existence.
“This is about more than the Russians,” he says. “All of this is about more for you.”
I give a rigid nod. “I’m done. The vendetta, the payback, the war… I’m done.”
“You expect us to believe that? After all the shit you’ve pulled?”
“You don’t gotta believe it. It’s the truth. It’s over, Ro. So do whatever the fuck you’ve gotta do. But I’ve got other priorities now.”
Ronan regards me for another long moment, searching my face for any sign of deception. At any second he could change his mind and decide he really does intend to keep the war going. He wants to finish it once and for all tonight like I originally planned.
Instead, he gives his own nod.
“Blood’s been spilled on both sides,” he says slowly. “We’ve both gotten our hits in. Eddie’s dead. Some of our buttonmen are. Your operation is in shambles. We’ve been sabotaged for months. I’d say we’re about even.”
“As even as it’s gonna get without any more lives lost,” I answer.
“Then it’s done.” He lowers his gun still at a cautious pace, an acknowledgment we’re still adversaries.
“But understand this: I don’t ever want to hear from you, Loch.
As far as I’m concerned, you died in that prison cell months ago.
Stay the fuck out of my way. If the Russians really are gonna become a problem, then I’ve got bigger fish to fry. ”
He inclines his head at Killian and Sean, who holster their weapons with obvious reluctance. Killian shoots me a final murderous glare before following Ronan toward the rooftop door.
My brother pauses at the threshold but doesn’t look back. “Take care of her,” he says. “Simone’ll never forgive me if something happens to her best friend.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone with Chantal for the first time in weeks. Neither of us utters a word or makes a peep ’til the blare of sirens jolts us into action.
…or me anyway.
Chantal’s still paralyzed, staring mournfully at the spot where her father last was.
I rush toward her, fingers locking around her wrist. Throwing a quick glance over the rooftop railing, I scan the scene below.
It’s as I thought—a large crowd has gathered around the dented in limousine where Senator Banks’s body is draped across the top. Ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks are pulling up, trying to clear the crowd enough to take control.
We don’t have much time.
I pull out my phone and shoot off a quick text to Akio telling him to wipe the hotel’s security cameras clean. Every last second from tonight’s event gone before the authorities can get to it.
“Brat, we’ve gotta go!” I tug at her wrist but she doesn’t budge, giving no indication she intends to run. “I’m not asking! We’ve gotta get out of here before anybody sees us.”
I pull her with me as I turn and bolt for the door.
She hiccups a cry as we reach the stairwell, and the sound is so sad and pained I stop again. I cup her face in my hands and sweep my thumbs across her cheeks to wipe away the tears.
“Brat, please,” I rasp. “Just hang on a little while longer. I know this is hard for you, but let me get us to safety, alright?”
Her chin quivers as she reluctantly nods, more tears sliding free.
“Good girl, c’mon.”
I tug her along as we start the long descent down the Crown Plaza’s fifty stories. It’s impossible to know what’s coming as we escape, but whatever happens next, we’ll face it together.