Everyone watched Victoria raise her hand against a helpless elderly woman, but only one waitress dared to stop her—and seconds later, Chicago’s most powerful billionaire walked straight toward them. / Chapter 148 / 191

Chapter 148 - Blood in the Hangar

The darkness was instantly shattered by the rhythmic, deafening bark of Vincent’s tactical team engaging the sentries.

Emma moved with Vincent, staying low behind the heavy concrete barrier that lined the tarmac apron. Muzzle flashes flickered inside the cavernous hangar like violent strobe lights. The mercenaries, caught off-guard by the sudden failure of their automated defenses, scrambled to establish a defensive perimeter around the Gulfstream jet.

"Advance!" Vincent barked, firing three controlled shots that dropped an enemy rifleman attempting to take cover behind a fuel truck.

Emma stepped into the hangar, her weapon raised, sweeping the catwalks above. A shadow moved near the gantry crane; she squeezed the trigger twice without hesitation. The target collapsed over the railing, crashing onto the wooden crates below. There was no room for panic, no space for the doubts that had once plagued her life as a girl scraping by on tips in a cold city. Survival was a matter of angles, speed, and unwavering resolve.

In the center of the bay, near the boarding stairs of the private jet, stood Arthur Van Dorn—a tall, emaciated man in his sixties with slicked-back gray hair and cold, reptilian eyes. Beside him, trembling violently in a torn prison jumpsuit, was Victoria Sterling.

Her former splendor was gone. The designer gowns, the arrogant posture, the haughty sneer that had defined her at the grand gala—all of it had been stripped away. Her mascara was smeared across her pale, bruised cheeks, and her hands were bound in front of her with heavy zip-ties.

"Van Dorn!" Vincent’s voice thundered through the hangar, echoing over the dying whine of the jet’s auxiliary turbines. "Step away from the aircraft. The perimeter is contained."

Van Dorn did not run. He drew a polished silver automatic from his pocket and pressed the barrel firmly against Victoria’s temple.

Victoria let out a muffled whimper of absolute terror. When her bloodshot eyes caught Emma walking beside Vincent, a spasm of disbelief and humiliation contorted her face.

"The waitress..." Victoria choked out through cracked lips. "You... you brought her here?"

"Quiet, you useless creature," Van Dorn spat, digging the gun deeper into her flesh. He looked directly at Vincent. "You think you've won, Moretti? You think dragging Bennett into the light changes anything? We are the foundation of this state. We own the judiciary, we own the waterways, we own the soil beneath your feet."

"You owned them," Vincent replied, taking slow, deliberate steps forward, his weapon locked onto Van Dorn’s center mass. "Until you allowed your greed to exceed your discretion. The Sterlings fell because they believed their wealth made them gods. You are making the exact same mistake."

"Kill them, Arthur!" Victoria suddenly shrieked, her mind snapping under the pressure. "Shoot them! Don't let her look at me like that! Don't let that common peasant look down on me!"

"Shut up!" Van Dorn hissed, his focus wavering for a fraction of a second as he adjusted his grip to silence her.

That fraction of a second was all Emma needed.

Without waiting for Vincent’s command, Emma raised her sidearm and fired a single, precisely placed round into the hydraulic actuator of the passenger boarding stairs directly above Van Dorn’s head.

The severed cable snapped with a sound like a rifle shot. The four-hundred-pound steel stair assembly collapsed downward with blinding speed, striking Van Dorn’s outstretched arm and crushing the silver weapon into the concrete floor.

Van Dorn screamed in agony, collapsing backward onto the slick tarmac.