Chapter 7 - ASHES AND SECRETS
The world dissolved into a blinding wall of orange fire and deafening concussive force.
Enzo shielded Harper’s body with his own as flying timber and shattered glass rained down around them like shrapnel.
The heat of the blast singed the back of his tactical coat, but adrenaline kept him moving.
Rolling swiftly to his feet, Enzo dragged Harper up by her arm, coughing heavily through the thick, acrid smoke that filled the ruined boathouse.
Outside, the lake water churned violently against the shoreline, illuminated by the roaring flames consuming the wooden structure.
"Are you hit?" Enzo demanded, his hands gripping her shoulders as he checked her over in the flickering firelight.
"I'm fine," Harper gasped, coughing as she wiped soot from her forehead, her wedding gown now completely charred and ruined.
"The boathouse was rigged," she muttered, staring at the blazing wreckage.
"My father knew I was trying to access the server. He activated the self-destruct sequence remotely."
Enzo’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his cheek.
"He didn't just want to kill you," Enzo said, his voice dropping to a terrifying register. "He wanted to wipe out the evidence before I could trace the traitors inside my own family."
"Your capos," Harper nodded grimly, her blue eyes reflecting the dancing flames.
"The ones who sold out Nathan. They’re meeting tonight at the Obsidian Club downtown to finalize the merger with Preston's remaining assets."
Enzo looked down at her, a dark, dangerous smile slowly spreading across his lips—a smile that had nothing to do with vengeance and everything to do with absolute war.
"Then let’s crash their party," Enzo said, pulling a spare encrypted radio from his pocket and keying the frequency.
"Vance, get the armored suburban ready at the private gate. We're going hunting."
Within minutes, the heavy black SUV tore down the snow-choked drive of the DeLuca estate, leaving the burning ruins of the boathouse behind them as they plunged into the blinding Chicago blizzard.
Inside the vehicle, the heater blasted hot air against their freezing skin.
Harper sat in the passenger seat, wrapping a thick tactical blanket around her shoulders over her ruined dress.
She glanced sideways at Enzo, who was methodically reloading the magazine of his Beretta with cold, calculated precision.
"You didn't shoot me," Harper noted softly, breaking the tense silence of the cabin.
"I still might," Enzo replied without looking up, though the harsh edge had vanished from his tone.
"You're a liability, Harper Whitcomb."
"And you're a fool if you think you can take down Preston's syndicate without my decryption keys," she retorted smoothly, a spark of defiance returning to her eyes.
Enzo finally looked over at her, his dark gaze lingering on the jagged scars visible beneath the edge of the blanket.
"Why didn't you tell me about the scars back at the mansion?" he asked quietly.
Harper looked away, staring out the frost-covered window at the blurred neon lights of the city flashing past in the dark.
"Because in my world, weakness is a death sentence," she whispered.
"And I learned a long time ago that nobody saves a broken woman unless they intend to use her pieces."
Enzo felt a strange, unfamiliar ache in his chest—a sharp pang of guilt that he hadn't felt since the day he buried Nathan.
He reached out slowly, his large hand gently covering her trembling fingers resting on the console between them.
"You aren't broken, Harper," Enzo said, his voice unusually soft.
May you like
"You're the most dangerous weapon in this city."
Before Harper could process his words, the SUV lurched violently to the left as a hail of high-caliber bullets shattered the rear windshield.
