Chapter 8
The war ended three weeks later beneath Atlantic City.
Literally beneath it.
DeMarco operated from an underground casino hidden beneath an abandoned hotel near the shoreline. Politicians gambled there. Traffickers negotiated there. Men disappeared there.
And tonight—
Weston intended to destroy it.
Rain hammered the streets while black SUVs surrounded the building silently.
Inside one vehicle sat Holly wearing black tactical gear that still smelled unfamiliar on her skin.
“You can stay in the car,” Weston said.
Holly checked the pistol calmly.
“No.”
He studied her face carefully.
“You’re sure?”
“My father burned alive because of that man.” Her voice remained terrifyingly steady. “I’ve been sure for twelve years.”
Weston nodded once.
Then the war began.
The underground casino exploded into violence within seconds.
Gunfire shattered chandeliers.
Men screamed.
Smoke flooded the gambling floor.
Holly moved through chaos beside Weston with frightening precision, covering blind corners and stairwells while his men cleared rooms.
“You weren’t just a rancher’s daughter,” Weston realized during a firefight.
“No.”
“Who trained you?”
“My mother.”
Weston blinked once.
Holly fired twice toward approaching gunmen.
“She worked intelligence operations before I was born.”
Of course she did.
Nothing about Holly Bennett had ever been ordinary.
They found Vincent DeMarco in the lower vault counting room trying to escape through service tunnels.
The old mobster froze when he saw Holly.
Recognition hit instantly.
“Well,” DeMarco breathed. “The little Bennett girl survived.”
Holly raised the gun.
Her hands did not shake.
DeMarco smiled cruelly.
“You have your father’s eyes.”
Weston watched Holly carefully.
One pull of the trigger.
Twelve years of hatred ended.
But Holly’s expression changed suddenly.
Not softer.
Sad.
“My father died because he believed decent men still existed,” she whispered.
DeMarco sneered. “He was weak.”
“No,” Holly said quietly. “You were.”
Then she lowered the gun.
Weston stared at her.
DeMarco laughed once—
And Weston shot him directly through the chest.
The sound thundered through the vault.
Silence followed.
Weston looked at Holly.
“You spared him.”
Holly’s eyes filled unexpectedly with tears.
May you like
“No,” she whispered. “I spared myself.”
And somehow that hit Weston harder than the violence ever could.
