"Now, Darius."
The moment the words left my lips, the dark, rainy pier was instantly illuminated by five distinct, piercing red laser beams.
They cut through the heavy rain, landing dead center on the foreheads and chests of the cartel gunmen.
The tattooed leader's triumphant smile froze. "What the—"
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
There was no deafening roar of gunfire, only the chilling, suppressed coughs of high-caliber sniper rifles echoing from the shadows of the cranes above.
In the blink of an eye, three of the heavily armed cartel men dropped to the wet concrete like marionettes with their strings cut. Blood pooled around their lifeless bodies, washing away in the rain.
"Ambush! Open fire!" the tattooed leader screamed, frantically raising his assault rifle toward me.
But my hand was already moving.
Years of performing microsurgery had given me reflexes faster than a striking viper. My fingers brushed the leather holster on my thigh, drawing two silver-plated scalpels in one fluid motion.
With a sharp flick of my wrist, the blades sliced through the rain.
Shnk! "Argh!" The tattooed man shrieked as the first scalpel buried itself deep into his right wrist, severing the tendons instantly. His rifle clattered to the ground.
A split second later, the second scalpel embedded itself into his shoulder, the force of the throw pinning him backward against the rusted metal of a shipping container.
The fifth and final cartel member panicked, turning to run, but a massive, dark figure stepped out from behind a crate, blocking his path.
Darius Blackwood.
He didn't even use a weapon. Darius grabbed the man by the throat with one hand, lifting him effortlessly off the ground before slamming him down onto the concrete with a bone-crunching thud. The man was out cold instantly.
The entire firefight lasted less than ten seconds.
Darius stepped over the unconscious body, his dark trench coat billowing in the wind. Flanked by a dozen of his elite Ghost Unit operatives emerging from the shadows, he looked every bit the terrifying ruler of the underworld.
He walked straight to me, his cold, murderous gaze softening the moment his eyes met mine.
"Flawless aim, wife," Darius murmured, looking at the tattooed leader pinned to the crate, groaning in agony. "Though I would have aimed for the throat."
"I'm a doctor, Darius," I smirked, casually adjusting my umbrella. "I know exactly where to cut to inflict maximum pain without hitting a lethal artery."
A pathetic, terrified whimper broke the silence.
I turned my head. Julian Thorne was on his knees, his hands covering his head, trembling so violently he looked like he was having a seizure. A dark, embarrassing stain was rapidly spreading across the front of his expensive trousers, mixing with the puddles of rain.
He had actually wet himself.
"Elara... Elara, please!" Julian sobbed, his voice cracking as he looked at the dead bodies, then at the towering, demonic presence of Darius Blackwood. "I was forced! They made me do it! They said they'd kill me if I didn't call you! Please, you have to believe me! We used to be married!"
Darius's eyes darkened with pure, unadulterated lethal intent. He pulled his matte-black handgun from his coat, racking the slide with a terrifying clack.
"You don't get to say her name," Darius growled, pointing the barrel directly at Julian's forehead. "And you certainly don't get to remind me that you ever touched what is mine."
Julian screamed, squeezing his eyes shut, waiting for the bullet.
"Wait," I said gently, placing a hand on Darius's arm.
Darius paused, looking at me with a frown. "You can't possibly want to spare him, Elara. He sold you for a briefcase of cash."
"I don't care about him. He's a rat," I said coldly, walking past Julian and approaching the tattooed leader, who was still pinned to the container.
I reached out and brutally yanked the scalpel free from his shoulder. The man howled in pain, collapsing to his knees.
I crouched down, wiping the bloody blade on the lapel of his jacket, my eyes locking onto his terrified ones.
"You wanted to deliver the Living Yama to your boss?" I whispered, my voice dripping with ice. "Go back and tell him this: The Living Yama is no longer hiding. And the Mafia King is standing right beside her."
I stood up, looking down at Julian, who was still sobbing in his own filth.
"Leave the rat alive too," I commanded, turning my back on them and walking toward Darius. "Let him live with the knowledge that the woman he threw away for a paper cut now holds the power of life and death over the entire city. Living as a broke, terrified coward is a much worse punishment for Julian Thorne than a quick bullet."
Darius stared at me, his chest heaving slightly, utterly captivated by the ruthless, commanding aura I radiated. He holstered his weapon and wrapped a possessive arm around my waist, pulling me under his umbrella.
"You heard the Queen," Darius ordered his men. "Leave the trash in the rain. We're going home."