In the Carter estate seethed with thunder, as if the heavens themselves knew a reckoning was near. The iron gates loomed like prison bars while inside, the halls were a maze of hushed voices and hurried steps. Guards whispered into radios, servants moved in nervous clusters, and at the heart of it all, Diane Carter sat in her grand chair like a brittle monarch daring the world to topple her crown.Amanda stood at her mother’s side, feeling the weight of every betrayal pressing into her spine. Diane’s thin fingers tapped against the armrest, the only sign of the storm swirling behind those sharp, calculating eyes.“Henry will be here any moment,” Diane said, voice like ice. “When he comes, you don’t flinch. You don’t break. If you do, we lose everything.”Amanda’s mouth felt dry. “And what if Jake gets here first?”Diane’s smile was barely there, a ghost of triumph mixed with venom. “Then we remind Jake Sullivan that this was never his kingdom to claim.”Amanda wanted to argue, to scr

Rain lashed the city like a warning from the gods, sheets of it hammering rooftops, swelling gutters, washing the blood and ashes of old dynasties into the sewers where they belonged.In the armored Syndicate car roaring down the east corridor, Amanda Carter stared through the streaked window, her reflection a ghost floating over neon signs and shuttered storefronts.Beside her, Jake Sullivan sat silent. One hand pressed against the window, the other wrapped around the cold steel of his gun. The hum of the engine and Ethan’s tight muttering up front were the only sounds filling the cramped space. Greg sat opposite them, his eyes flicking between his boss and the city blurring by.Amanda broke the silence first. “Where are we going?”Jake’s voice was low, ragged at the edges. “Someplace Henry won’t think to look first.”Greg barked a humorless laugh. “Where’s that? Mars?”Jake ignored him. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on Amanda. “You understand what you did back

The rain came back before dawn, pounding the corrugated roof of Warehouse 17 in a relentless drumbeat that rattled the rusted beams and echoed down concrete corridors. Outside, armed men in black coats paced the loading docks, rifles slung casual across broad shoulders. Inside, beneath the exposed steel girders, the Syndicate’s stolen empire pulsed like a living heart — crates stacked with contraband, dirty money counted under hanging lamps, whispers traded in corners thick with cigarette smoke.Amanda Carter stood at the warehouse’s entrance, her damp hair slicked to her forehead, her shoulders squared under the weight of the small pistol hidden in her coat pocket. She could feel it against her ribs — cold, heavy, alive.Two of Henry Blackwood’s lieutenants flanked the door. One gave her a polite nod. The other patted her down with gloved hands, too quick to find the gun, too arrogant to believe she’d need one.“Miss Carter,” the taller one drawled, stepping back. “Boss is expecting

Henry Blackwood sat alone in the penthouse’s grand sitting room, its once glittering marble floors littered with broken glass and discarded whiskey bottles. The vast windows offered him a panoramic view of the city that had once bowed to his every command—now it only reflected his downfall back at him, neon signs flickering through the storm like mockery.A half-empty glass trembled in his grip as thunder rolled across the skyline. He could feel it in his bones now—this empire he’d spent a lifetime clawing together was crumbling like wet ash. Somewhere below, in the lobby and the halls of the building, the last of his loyal guards argued in low voices, their resolve cracking as quickly as their paychecks lost value.He’d made calls all night—old senators, frightened judges, syndicate remnants from the docks to the shipping yards. Some had answered. Most hadn’t. And the few who did spoke in riddles, the same cowardly song: We can’t help you, Henry. Not this time.He knew Amanda had tur

Amanda Carter sat in the shadowed corner of the penthouse’s expansive living room, a glass of untouched whiskey resting on the low table beside her. Her eyes, cold and calculating, followed Jake Sullivan and Elena Moreno as they moved together like a twisted dance—he offering reluctant compliance, she commanding with quiet, ruthless certainty.From where she sat, Amanda could see the lines of tension carved into Jake’s face, the hesitation that flickered when Elena brushed her hand along his arm, whispering promises laced with threats. Elena’s smile was sharp and possessive, a queen claiming her king’s crown. Amanda’s jaw tightened. She hated the way Elena touched him, the way she spoke to him, as if he were a prize to be secured or a pawn to be played.But Amanda hated Jake even more.She rose silently, the floorboards creaking softly under her weight, a reminder that no alliance was truly invisible. She moved toward the balcony, slipping through the sliding doors into the cool night