Chapter 8 - COLLATERAL DAMAGE
Claire woke up to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. She was in a sterile, white room—the estate’s underground medical bay. Her shoulder throbbed with a dull, heavy ache, but she was alive.
Julian was sitting in a chair beside her bed. He looked like he had aged five years. His white shirt was stained with dried blood, his hair unkempt, his jaw tight with repressed rage.
When he saw her open her eyes, he exhaled a long, shaky breath and leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
“The bullet went clean through,” he murmured against her skin. “You lost a lot of blood. If it had been two inches to the right, it would have hit your heart.”
“The children?” Claire asked weakly.
“Safe. Rosie is upstairs watching movies with the boys. They haven’t left each other’s sight since it happened.” Julian lifted his head, his black eyes blazing with a cold, terrifying fire. “The Moretti syndicate crossed the final line. They came into my home. They hurt the woman I love.”
Claire’s heart skipped a beat. The woman I love.
Julian stood up, pulling a heavy tactical vest over his bloodstained shirt. He loaded a fresh magazine into his sidearm. The grief in his eyes had been entirely replaced by the cold, calculating mind of a predator.
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“Where are you going?” Claire asked, trying to sit up, wincing in pain.
“I’m going to end the war,” Julian said softly. He leaned down, pressing a fierce, possessive kiss to her forehead. “Rest, Claire. When you wake up, there won’t be a single Moretti left breathing in this city.”
