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The gun pointed from Chase to Phoenix now.
Phoenix just shook his head, then finally looked over at Junior. “What do you prefer?”
Junior smiled. “I’m no longer the acting boss of the De Lange Family. Ask him.”
All eyes fell on me, including that of Tank, who was still pointing a gun at this person’s head.
“Be right back.” Ivan kissed me on the head and walked away, I only hoped it wasn’t to his death—again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Revenge isn’t just about getting even, it’s about making things right.” —King Campisi
Ivan
I didn’t believe it when I saw the text from King—directly from Junior. Proof. The proof we needed. The proof that stared me down in the face. I knew it would be volatile.
I didn’t, however, know how bad it could have gotten with the rest of the men there watching.
Some knew the history of the Families.
Others whispered about it.
How the De Langes fell.
And today, I would be the one—to make them rise.
I stood in the middle. The gun moved to my forehead. I took a deep breath and realized in that moment, I had to make the choice as boss.
I wasn’t trying to be the hero.
I was trying to be humane to someone who lost it all and never forgave themselves in the process, someone who carried the weight of the De Langes mistakes and, in order not to let it destroy them, embraced them in wait.
“Mil De Lange,” I whispered. “Death would be too kind for what you did to our Families, for the mistakes you made and never owned up to, for the lives you willingly destroyed. You slid down the slope and forgot to ask for help to get out. That’s on you, and I won’t make the same mistake.” I crooked my fingers to Tank. “Shoot me, shoot all of us, but it won’t change what’s about to happen, you’re under arrest, may you rot in prison for using these Families against their own, and may the grace the Five Families are bestowing upon you right now, feel like the fires of Hell itself.”
Her hand shook as she lowered her gun.
Chase impatiently swatted it out of her hand, and with shaking hands, pulled the hood from her face, her sunglasses went with it.
There was a jagged scar running down the left side of her face that ran through her throat in such a grotesque way it was hard to look at.
One eye was a milky white, as if blinded.
Her hair was pulled back into a tight black braid. She had aged from the pictures I had seen of her, but she was still striking in her own way.
“Why?” Chase tilted his head and leaned in. “You should have stayed dead.”
“Says someone with a perfect life,” she spat.
He shook his head. “One, I fucking fought the same way that I fought for everything and everyone I hold dear, the way I sadly and mistakenly fought for you.”
She flinched. I wondered if stabbing her would have been kinder.
A tear slid down her cheek. “You don’t know where they put me, what I went through, what I fought for to get back, to get to you.” She reached her hand down to her thigh. “I love you. I loved you then, and now.”
Her movements were slow, but she was quick when she pulled a knife from her hip.
She stabbed it directly into Chase’s side.
