Page 87 of Silent Schemes

"We can't. Not without making a scene. And a scene is exactly what they want." He's right. The Rosettis want public revenge, blood on the ballroom floor, headlines tomorrow about the Bastard King brought down.

"Then what?"

"We give them what they want. Just not how they want it."

Before I can ask what that means, he's moving.

Not toward the exit but toward the Rosetti men by the kitchen.

I follow, hand finding the knife strapped to my thigh.

What happens next is complete chaos.

Varrick approaches the first Rosetti like an old friend, all smiles and handshakes.

Then his smile turns sharp, and there's a knife in his hand, buried between ribs, before anyone realizes what's happening.

I take the second one, my blade finding his femoral artery, dropping him in seconds.

The room erupts.

Screams, running, tables overturning.

The other Rosetti men are moving, but Varrick's men are already in position.

It's not an ambush anymore—it's war.

I lose track of Varrick in the fight, focused on my own survival.

A Rosetti soldier comes at me with a broken bottle.

I sidestep, grab his wrist, drive my knee into his solar plexus.

He drops, gasping, and I finish him with his own weapon.

Blood on my dress.

Blood on my hands.

The baby doesn't care—if anything, the adrenaline makes me feel more alive, more dangerous.

Thisis what I am, what my father made me.

A killer in designer clothing, a weapon that happens to be carrying life.

When the dust settles, seven Rosetti men are dead.

Three more are running.

The ballroom is destroyed, and sirens are already approaching.

But Varrick is alive, standing among the wreckage like a king surveying his kingdom.

"We need to go," I say, tugging his arm.

He looks at me,reallylooks at me, and I see the moment he puts it together. "You knew. You knewexactlywhen and where and how many."

"Car. Now. We can fight about this later."