Chapter 9 - The Blood on the Snow
The battle was short,
brutal,
and one-sided.
Tristan moved like a wraith across the rooftops,
picking off Webb’s men before they even reached the front door.
He was a ghost with a gun,
a shadow that bit back.
Below him,
Knox’s teams moved in,
closing the trap with surgical precision.
The sounds of the night were swallowed by the muffled pops of suppressed fire and the wet thud of falling bodies.
Tristan reached the edge of the roof,
looking down at the last man standing—Razor Rossi,
the man who had sent the Vipers.
Razor was screaming into a radio,
his face pale with a terror that Tristan found beautiful.
Tristan jumped.
He landed on the hood of Razor’s car with a bone-jarring thud,
his weight crushing the metal.
Razor looked up,
his eyes widening as he saw the "cripple" from the fourth floor.
Tristan didn't say a word.
He grabbed Razor by the throat,
his fingers like iron bands.
"Who sent you?"
Tristan asked,
his voice as cold as the winter wind.
"Webb... Webb sent me!"
Razor gasped,
clawing at Tristan’s hand.
"He said you were dead! He said—"
"He was wrong,"
Tristan said.
He leaned in close,
his eyes burning with a dark,
ancient fire.
"Tell him the King is coming home. Tell him he has twenty-four hours to say goodbye to his life."
He tossed Razor aside like a rag doll.
"Go,"
Tristan commanded.
Razor didn't wait.
He scrambled into his car and sped away,
leaving a trail of smoke and fear.
Tristan stood in the middle of the street,
surrounded by the bodies of his enemies.
Knox walked up to him,
cleaning a blade on a silk handkerchief.
"It's done,
Boss. The message is delivered."
Tristan looked up at the fourth-floor window.
Elara was standing there,
looking down,
her hand pressed against the glass.
She had seen him.
She had seen the man who could walk.
She had seen the man who could kill.
Tristan felt a sharp,
hollow ache in his chest.
The lie was over.
The porridge,
the cinnamon,
the warmth—it was all gone,
replaced by the cold reality of who he was.
He turned away from her,
his heart hardening into a diamond.
"Prepare the cars,"
Tristan said to Knox.
"We're going to the estate."
"And the girl?"
Knox asked.
Tristan paused,
the wind howling through the empty street.
"Set up a trust for her. Enough to buy a house,
a car,
a life. But she is never to see me again."
"Understood,"
Knox said.
Tristan got into the back of a black Mercedes,
the leather seats feeling like a grave.
He looked back at the building one last time.
He saw Elara’s silhouette in the window,
a small,
fragile light in the darkness.
He had saved her life,
but he had destroyed her stranger.
The car pulled away,
merging into the shadows of the city.
May you like
Tristan Wolfe was back.
And Chicago was about to tremble.
