Chapter 235

She turned back to Amerigo. “Tell Charla I’ll see her in court. I’d rather rot in a cell than let you poison my children with your toxic legacy.”

She turned on her heel and marched toward the massive double doors.

“You’re making a mistake!” Preston shouted after her. “We will destroy you!”

Amerigo didn’t shout. He watched her go, a small, slow smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

“She has fire,” the old man murmured. “Good. The children will need that fire.”

Hilliard didn’t wait. He shoved his chair back and went after her.

He caught her in the driveway just as she reached for the door of Vance’s car. The rain was coming down hard now, drenching them both in seconds.

“Cailin, wait!”

She spun to face him, water running from her hair. “What? Did you forget to ask for my kidneys too?”

“He didn’t mean it,” Hilliard called over the rain. “He wanted to see if you’d sell them out. If you’d said yes, he would have despised you.”

“I don’t care what he thinks!” Cailin shouted back. “I care that you sat there. You brought me into that house knowing exactly what they are!”

“I’m trying to help you!” Hilliard stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “I’m on your side. I’m fighting them from the inside.”

“Then fight better!” She shoved his chest hard with her good hand. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just holding the door open while they sharpen the knives.”

“I won’t let them take Elia,” Hilliard said, gripping her shoulders. “Or the boys. I swear it to you.”

“I don’t need your promises, Hilliard. I need you to stay out of my way.”

She wrenched herself free and dropped into the car. “Drive,” she told Vance.

Hilliard stood in the rain and watched the taillights bleed into the darkness. He dragged a hand down his soaked face.

She was right. He couldn’t just hold the door anymore.

He had to tear the house down.

The morning sun filtered through the grimy windows of the safe house, catching dust motes suspended in the still air.

A sharp knock on the metal door shattered the quiet.

Ashley checked the monitor. “Process server.”

Cailin opened the door. A bored-looking man pressed a thick stack of papers into her hand.

“You’ve been served,” he mumbled, and walked away.

Cailin closed the door and flipped through the document. It was heavier than a brick.

Civil Suit: English v. Morton. Damages sought: $50,000,000.

“Fifty million?” Ashley choked on her coffee. “Does she think you’re Elon Musk?”

Cailin’s burner phone buzzed. Unknown number.

She answered and put it on speaker.

“Did you get my invitation?” Charla’s voice dripped with saccharine sweetness.

“I got your fan fiction,” Cailin said, tossing the lawsuit onto the table. “Fifty million. You’re ambitious for someone with nine fingers.”

A sharp intake of breath on the other end.

.