A metallic taste filled my mouth where my lip had split against my teeth.
Pain. Real. Physical.
For the briefest fraction of a second, every instinct inside me roared to life, screaming at me to react, to retaliate, to unleash the violence I had been trained so meticulously to control, and in that suspended heartbeat my training surged forward with ruthless clarity.
The familiar weight of the Benchmade Infidel strapped inside my right boot suddenly feeling like a promise against my skin: quick draw, a sharp upward thrust aimed precisely at his rib cage, three rapid and merciless strikes delivered before the target could even process the attack, then twist the blade, withdraw cleanly, and step back just far enough to create the kind of fatal bleed that would ensure there was no recovery.
It would be easy.
He was close.
Unprotected.
Unaware of how lethal I had become.
The memory of the plane crash surged forward like fuel for revenge.
My fingers twitched toward my ankle.
But I didn’t move.
I forced my body to remain still.
I was not a vigilante. I was not an emotional operative.
I was undercover.
Drawing a weapon now would destroy my mission.
Expose my cover.
Compromise months — maybe years — of investigative work.
I swallowed the rage.
Locked it down.
Let it burn internally instead of erupting outward.
He had hit me. He had crossed a line.
But he had also just shown his true character in front of witnesses.
That reaction was evidence.
I turned my face back slowly.
My expression remained controlled. Cold. Unshaken.
“In just a few weeks, I will take my place as the head of all five families in California—the single authority they will answer to, the name spoken before any decision is made, the man who commands not just loyalty, but fear,” he snarled.
His composure fractured completely.
The mask of calculated superiority dissolved into raw arrogance.
“When that happens, I will become the most powerful man in this city—so powerful that even those holding political office will have no choice but to answer to me, to lower their voices in mypresence, and to remember exactly who truly holds the power behind the curtain.”
His voice rose, louder now — no longer pretending to be discreet.
