Page 65 of Blood Queen

I crouch low to the ground, sliding through the corridor toward the elevators. Three guards are stationed there, their postures relaxed as they converse animatedly, laughter echoing softly through the hall—a careless error on their part. They are blissfully unaware of my presence. I don’t need to get within arm’s reach to execute my plan.

With swift precision, I draw the crossbow from beneath my jacket, its cold metal a comforting weight in my hands. A single, silent bolt sails through the air, embedding itself into the first guard’s temple with deadly accuracy. He collapses silently, and before his companions can register what’s happening, I’ve already dispatched two swift shots from my silenced pistol.

Their bodies slump to the floor, joining the first in a heap of silence.Be safe. Stay alert.Papa’s voice echoes in my head.

My pulse is steady, but adrenaline surges through me. I slide the crossbow back into place and move forward, now walking with a brisk pace, though still cautious. The door to the stairwell is on the left—perfect. I bypass the elevator, knowing it will be too slow and too exposed.

My legs carry me up the stairs to the 25th floor. I rest a moment at the landing. Catching my breath. I pass the security guard on duty, but he doesn’t see me. One quick maneuver, a tap to the back of his head, and he’s unconscious, slumped against the wall.

I think of Truman, a friendship that blossomed into so much more. He made me notice him with affectionate words, touches and small gifts, but after he had my attention, it was the way he held my hand, the random text in the middle of the day, the way he stopped to kiss me when I passed by him or letting me eat his fries. He paused Netflix shows so I could talk, and laughed at my terrible jokes. That’s what kept me, hooked me. From the compliments to the care with which he delivered them, it was a romance of gestures. Actions that snared me and held me hostage. Loyalty and love so intertwined that I couldn’t possibly letthislife consume me whole. He tethered me to my true self—to him.

Even after I left him.

After I used him.

I think of all the things I need to say to him, to show him.

I reach the door to the conference room, and listen to the muffled voices inside. The heads of the Falcone, Scarfo, Testa and Leonetti families. Four of the most dangerous men in the world, all in one place. I’ve got one chance to do this right.

I pull out my throwing stars, flip them between my fingers. A slight breath in. I slip into the shadows just as the two guards by the door turn to face the hallway. Their eyes sweep the area for a moment, and then I make my move. Both fall, no soundbut a quick gasp as the blades embed in their throats. They drop silently to the floor.

My fingers curl around the cold metal handle, twisting the door open just enough to make out their words. The men—their voices deep and full of arrogance—are seated at the conference table. They’re discussing things they have no idea will end in bloodshed. I step inside, soundless as a shadow.

The room is large, dimly lit by overhead lights casting an ominous glow across the marble floors. The four heads of the families sit at the table.

Trust no one.I hear Papa’s voice clearly as though he were standing next to me.

“Hello boys,” I say. All heads turn toward me.

Sal Scarfo, the man who shot Papa, scrambles for his weapon, but I’m faster. I pull the pistol, silencing him in one clean shot. Blood runs out of his head and his shirt drinks it up. The room erupts into chaos.

Lorenzo Leonetti follows suit, his eyes widening in fear as I turn toward him.

Another shot. He crumbles.

Enzo Falcone drops with a bullet between his eyes.

It’s just Uncle Leo and me. The room is still, the weight of the moment thick in the air. The only sound is the hum of the AC. I’ve taken out the competition, but it’s Leo’s death that will send the ultimate message.

He turns to me, eyes narrowing as recognition hits him. He stands slowly, his hand resting on the back of his chair. He knows. The grin on his face is tight, his lips curling with cold amusement.

“You always were a disappointment, Evany,” he says, his voice oozing venom. “But you can’t beat me.”

I tilt my head, my grip tightening on the gun. The moment is so close now, I can taste it.

I take a step forward. “Did you order the hit on my family?” I ask, my voice low but clear, steady. Every word laced with cold steel.

He laughs, a rasping sound that fills the room. Then, he spits in my direction, and I feel the sting of his hatred in the air. “Yes,” he says, his voice full of spite. “I hired Antonio Scarfo to kill you all.”

My hand doesn’t tremble. Instead a calmness ripples through me. I pull the trigger, the silencer cutting through the air with a precise pop. Uncle Leo’s body jerks back as the bullet hits its mark, his groin. He doubles over in pain. Blood gushes.

I want to make this slow.

Painful.

“Evany…” he groans, collapsing to the floor like a dying animal. “You… filthy…”

I stride towards him, gun still raised, my shadow casting long and dark across his writhing form.

---