Chapter 4

"Ah!"

Carlos let out a yelp and yanked his hand back.

Flying shards of metal tore deep, bloody gashes in the hand he'd thrust at me.

"Sniper! Protect the boss!"

Tyson roared, drew the Desert Eagle at his waist, and glared in the direction of the shot.

Hundreds of South District gunmen scattered for cover, their weapons trained outward.

Lily screamed, clutched the baby tight, and hid behind Maria.

Maria flinched, then quickly recovered, her eyes blazing.

"Who dares cause trouble at the Rossi family's wedding? Do you have a death wish?!"

A hair-raising roar of engines rose from the far end of the street.

The sound was deep and heavy, every beat pounding in everyone's chest.

A murderous chill came with it. Even the air seemed to turn colder.

The crowd parted, opening a wide path.

A convoy of black armored SUVs rolled into view like war machines.

The soldiers wore matching black tactical vests and skull masks.

Only their eyes showed, cold and full of bloodlust, and every one of them carried an M4A1 assault rifle.

The Rossi gunmen, so bold a moment ago, went pale at the sight.

Tyson nearly dropped his gun. His legs shook.

"The... the Tribunal..."

His lips trembled as he spoke, as if he'd seen a demon.

Wherever the Night Tribunal went, nothing was left alive. It was the organization's most feared purge squad.

Carlos clutched his bleeding hand and stared at the convoy, afraid and confused.

All he'd done was bring his lover to the wedding. How had that drawn the attention of the Night Tribunal?

The SUVs rolled to a stop ten paces from the Rolls-Royce.

The vehicles parted to reveal an extravagant black armored Maybach.

A tall young man stepped out, his presence commanding.

He was strikingly handsome, with a face like a Greek statue and a dark, arrogant air.

His ice-blue eyes swept over the crowd as if everyone there were already dead.

"Which mutt was barking just now about making my Isabella face reality?"

He didn't raise his voice, but his words hit Carlos and Maria like thunder.

Alexander Ricci was the current Chief Executioner and the youngest man ever to rise so high in the underworld.

After my father died, this cold-blooded tyrant had gained the power of life and death over the entire organization.

Violent and ruthless, he was known across the underworld of the Americas as the devil himself.

Maria went limp. Her silver wolf's-head cane clattered onto the marble, and she collapsed into a maid's arms.

Carlos's face drained of color. Despite the searing pain in his hand, he dropped to one knee.

"Mr. Ricci... my respects."

He gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Alexander didn't spare him a glance. He walked down the red carpet to my car door.

He tossed the custom Desert Eagle, still smoking, to the aide behind him.

Then he opened the car door fully and held out his pale hand to me.

The bloodlust in his eyes gave way to tenderness and pain.

"Isabella, I'm here to take you home."