Page 59 of Iron Roses

And in an instant—

The wolves turn on each other.

Weapons draw. Men lunge.

I grab Lorenzo by the collar and drag him down behind a column.

Allegra is already moving, pistol in hand, eyes cold.

My fingers close around the grip of my gun.

The meeting’s over.

The second bullet hits the pillar behind us, stone shards spitting into my shoulder like teeth. The chamber is alive with gunfire and shouting, steel chairs crashing, bodies scrambling for cover. Lorenzo’s behind the far column, gun drawn. Allegra’s crouched low, calculating angles, her mouth tight with focus.

Then—

A whisper of movement behind me.

The man slams into me from behind, an arm around my throat, driving me forward. My back crashes into a table. My breath punches out of my lungs.

He’s younger. Strong. Desperate.

A knife flashes in his hand—short, jagged, not clean.

He goes for my ribs.

I twist.

The blade misses my vest by inches and cuts into my side. Pain flares. I don’t flinch.

My elbow drives back into his jaw—once. Bone cracks. He stumbles.

I spin and grab him by the throat, slamming him into the edge of the metal table. His head hits with a sickening clang. He groans—tries to crawl away.

I drag him back. Fist to his face. Again. Again.

Blood splatters.

He reaches for the knife again. My boot crushes his wrist. Bone gives with a wet snap. His eyes are wide—pleading. He tries to speak.

I take the knife from the floor.

And drive it through his collarbone. He screams.

I twist. His blood coats my gloves.

Another one’s already moving.

He charges, wild-eyed, swinging a crowbar. I sidestep—barely a motion—grab his wrist mid-swing and twist. He drops the weapon with a cry, but I don't let go. My fist crashes into his temple. His body folds sideways.

Before he hits the ground, my knee drives into his chest. The sound is soft, sickening—like something collapsing inward. He wheezes, mouth open, eyes wide. I shove him backward, and he hits the ground, unmoving.

Gunfire cracks again.

Lorenzo shoots two to our left. Someone comes to Allegra—he never gets the chance to scream.

Another figure rises from behind a fallen chair, swinging a blade in a backhanded arc toward me.

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