The fight lasted exactly 4 seconds. When it was over, Vic Malone lay on the floor, alive, but barely conscious. His gun hand bent at an angle that would require surgery to fix. Cass stood in the center of the restaurant, surrounded by five bodies, all breathing, none dead. Her own breath was steady, controlled, not a single drop of sweat on her brow. The restaurant had gone silent.
Customers cowered behind tables. Marcus’ bodyguards stood frozen, their weapons drawn, but useless, staring at the woman who had just done in 90 seconds what they couldn’t have done in 90 minutes. Marcus Castellano slowly lowered his fork. He looked at the carnage around him, then at the bartender standing amid the wreckage like an angel of controlled violence.
Well, he said, his voice carrying a hint of dark amusement despite everything. I think I need to know your name. Cass met his eyes, those calculating brown eyes that had seen their own share of darkness. And for the first time in 2 years, she felt something other than emptiness. Cass, she said simply, “I’m just the person who makes your drinks, Marcus studied her for a long moment.
” The sirens were growing closer now, but he made no move to leave. Instead, a slow smile spread across his face. the smile of a man who had just found something he didn’t know he was looking for. “No,” he said quietly. “You’re much more than that……….
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