Page 153 of Vicious Kingdom

But I wasn’t that frightened little girl anymore.

I spoke before I could stop myself.

“You missed,” I said. My voice rang out, sharp enough to cut glass.

Jon’s lip curled. “Doesn’t matter. Got your attention, didn’t I?”

“You always did like theatrics,” I said, my words echoing in the double-height ceiling, bouncing off concrete and glass. “But this isn’t your stage anymore. Hertz Media is done.Youare done.”

He sneered, gun drifting from Leo’s chest to my own. “You think you’re safe just because you have him?”

I held my ground, though every nerve screamed for me to dive behind the island. “I’m not the one who’s scared, Jon.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think I’m scared?”

I took a breath, filling my lungs with the bitter, chemical tang of gunpowder. “I think you’re terrified. That everyone’s going to find out what really happened in that house. What your son did.”

For the first time, Jon flinched. The movement was tiny—a tic in his left cheek, a tic I’d memorized in childhood whenever someone got close to the truth.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spat. “Jonatan was a good boy. A GOOD boy, you hear me?”

I stepped out from behind Leo, drawing Jon’s attention back to me. “And that’s how he’ll remain if you walk away. If not…I’ll publish every damn truth, make it so his name rots long after his body is dirt.”

His jaw worked, teeth grinding audibly.

“Jon,” Leo said, voice steady as ever. “Put the gun down.”

Jon’s laugh was pure venom. He cocked the hammer again, finger curling. “This time, I won’t miss.” Jon’s breath came ragged. “You ruined everything.”

“No,” I said. “You did.”

Jon’s hand trembled, his knuckles bone-white around the grip. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up!”

I clenched my jaw. He would never see his son as the demonic plague. That was the Tormentor’s legacy.

“Tie him up,” Jon spat, tossing a zip tie at my feet. The flimsy plastic fluttered to the ground, out of reach.

Leo bent and scooped up the thread. He held it to me, crossing his wrists. The look in his eye promised it would be okay.

I didn’t believe him.

My fingers trembled as I failed to push the tip through the snare. Leo bent and gave me a reassuring smile. I wanted to believe the mobster in him would survive.

The moment Leo’s wrists were secured, Jon grabbed Leo by the collar and slammed him against the wall hard enough to shake the wine rack.

Leo’s head cracked back, but his eyes never left mine.

“If you call the law, I’ll kill you too,” Jon snarled as he pushed my husband through the front door. At the end of the hall, the service door to the roof access banged open.

I didn’t hesitate another moment.

My fingers gripped a weapon, drawing it from the block next to the stove. And then I was running, blade pointed down, hidden beside my body.

The wind hit me as soon as the door opened—hot, wild, updrafts catching every scrap of grit and tossing it in our faces. I tasted blood in my mouth and realized I’d bitten the inside of my cheek. I hated it up here. The feeling of stepping off the edge and becoming one with the sky. The roof was an expanse of tar and gravel, ringed with a steel railing that looked more decorative than functional. The city beyond had turned violet in the dusk, every window a molten square, the skyline burning and indifferent.

Jon frog-marched Leo to the far edge, the one facing Lake Michigan. I followed, every step a new surge of dread, my mind already cataloguing every way this could go wrong.

At the parapet, Jon shoved Leo so hard his ribs bounced against the rail. Leo didn’t grunt—didn’t give Jon the satisfaction. He just stood, back to the void, breathing slow and even.