Page 140 of Shattered In Darkness

Back across the city, it’s dawn now, streets waking up. A cop car flies by, sirens off but lights pulsing. There’s a charge in the air, like a storm is about to hit.

49

BRODY

“Breaking—Richard Voss, high-profile local attorney and business consultant, arrested at his downtown office in a massive pre-dawn raid. Sources cite ongoing investigation into official corruption, organized crime ties, human trafficking, witness suppression…”

The words appear across the screen, white on black. I watch it land, see the look in Richard’s eyes as they perp walk him out of the building. Hands cuffed, suit rumpled. No smile. Just that old, dead look. The one he used to wear when I disappointed him.

Mob of reporters surround him. Cameras everywhere. Someone calls out his name, and for the first time, he flinches.

I pour myself a glass of water, and hand one to Lola. She takes it, hand shaking, barely spilling a drop.

“The hell did you do?” she asks.

I sit down across from her. My knuckles start to bleed again, split along the scab. I lick it clean. “Ended it.”

The phone on the counter rings, Sophie’s number, blowing up the lockscreen. Eight missed calls. Two voicemails. I don’t answer. Not yet. Let her wonder.

“Connections to NorthLine—possible ties to national criminal syndicates—subject of ongoing federal investigation. Evidence of Marcus Bloom being corrupt, he is nowhere to be found…”

I watch the city swallow it, piece by piece. The phone keeps buzzing, frantic now. Sophie’s crying in her voicemail, voice breaking. Lola leans forward, face pale, but her lips curve into something like a smile. Not hope or victory. Just survival.

My hand throbs. My back aches. I reach for her, and she lets me pull her into my lap, no resistance. We sit together as the world tears down everything Richard built. Every lie, every bribe, every threat.

I let myself smile, just for a second, knowing what I am. Knowing what it cost. This is the part that’s mine.

Let the rest burn.

The news cycle repeats. Asset seizures, houses stripped down to the studs for evidence, boxes of paperwork. Photos of buildings I know by heart, glass and steel and secrets. The words corruption, organized crime, racketeering, parade across the ticker in red. All his sins laid bare. I want to feel something. Pride? Relief? Instead there’s a hollow cavity where my chest should be, droning emptiness, only the satisfaction of a job finished.

The kill is done. No thrill, just the taste of necessity.

Lola’s voice is so quiet I almost miss it. “It’s really over. He’s actually…gone.”

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. The evidence scrolls by on repeat. His name. His mugshot. The end of everything he ever tried to build. “He won’t hurt anyone again,” I say. My voice. “Not now. They’ll make sure.”

Her fingers tighten. There’s no color in her knuckles. She tries to process, but the shock smothers her. I know that look. I’ve worn it before. Breathe in, breathe out, wait for the other shoe, because it always drops.

On TV, they roll the tape again. Cuffs biting his wrists. His tie askew. The camera zooms, catching the flash of his eyes, still calculating even as the world burns down around him. My father, the kingpin, the fixer, reduced to a cautionary tale and a hashtag. Not even a man anymore. Just a lesson.

Lola’s head turns, just barely. She’s still sunk into herself, but something in her eyes finds mine. “You really did it,” she says. “You turned on him. Betrayed him.” No accusation, just awe. Like I’m something she can’t understand.

I breathe. Cold air. “He made it easy.” The words cut out, angry and dark. “After I saw the truth of what he was—what he did—there was nothing left to be loyal to. He was a rabid animal. Needed to be put down.”

She’s shaking, just a little. Not fear. Residual tremor from abandonment, from knowing the ground under you is gone for good. “But he was still your dad,” she says. Like the word means something. Like blood outweighs reality.

I almost laugh. There’s no humor. “He stopped being my father a long time ago. All he ever wanted was a puppet, not a son.” I watch her face, and it’s like looking at the sun through cracked glass. “You’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, Bambi. The only good thing. The only innocent left."

She blinks, her lashes wet. Blue glow scatters over her cheekbones, making her look like a ghost girl, someone delicate and impossible. “Don’t say that,” she whispers. “I’m not. I’m not innocent. Not anymore.”

I reach across the stolen space between us. My hand covers hers. Her bones press against my palm. “I know you don’t believe it. But I do. Marcus tried to ruin you. Break you.” At the memory of him, leering, voice spiked with smugness, his hands on everything, my fists clench. “He failed. You’re still here.”

Lola bites her lip. The TV volume dips, static crackle, some legal expert pontificating about plea bargains and federal time. None of it matters. Nothing out there matters. Only her, alive and breathing, in the ruins of a life we can maybe build from scratch.

“Was it hard?” she asks. “Turning on him like that?”

“No. Not after what he made me do. Protecting him meant putting you in danger. It meant becoming a fucking monster. I couldn’t. Not with you in the world.”