Chapter 371:
Even Ableson was caught off guard. The cameras in the operating room had been active, but when his men checked the villa’s system, they found nothing. The entire day’s footage was gone.
“There was a glitch with the cameras,” Ableson said, his tone defensive. “But everything you saw inside the operating room was real. Your men and mine were right outside. I couldn’t have altered a thing. You’re the one who worked with the doctor behind our backs to operate on him.”
As voices gathered, neutral members arrived at the scene. Jonny Barker stepped forward, slowly pulling out a gold-plated revolver. “If what he’s saying checks out, then by our rules…”
Deandre struck the nearest medical cart with a vicious kick. Glass vials crashed to the floor, scattering across the tiles. His glare was sharp as steel. “This was a trap. You went that far? After all those years he gave you, you still threw him away just to erase me?”
He stepped toward Ableson. The man’s face tensed in fear. He backed away until his wheelchair bumped into the window. “I didn’t frame anyone,” he said in a rush. “I’m crippled. What could I possibly do? You think I’d murder my own father? That’s insane. I never wanted to kill you either. I just need answers!”
Ableson tapped his fingers twice on the edge of his wheelchair. The silver ring on his hand caught the last of the sunlight, flashing once — just enough to signal his men.
Outside the villa, hidden riders mounted their motorcycles and charged.
Up in the watchtower, a sniper dropped low, crosshairs centered on Deandre’s head through the glass. Just as he steadied his finger on the trigger, a quiet voice slipped in behind him. “Planning to shoot someone?”
His eyes flared wide. He hadn’t heard a single step. He twisted quickly but froze as soon as he saw her — an alluring woman staring him down with unreadable eyes. His vision shrank to the size of her pupils.
When he looked down, the pistol was already there, its barrel pressed into his ribs. Before he could react, her shots ripped through his chest, quick and silent.
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Rylie’s hands were stained with blood. Her gaze remained cold as she watched the man collapse slowly, his wide eyes locked on hers — filled with shock and disbelief — even in death. She kicked the body aside, picked up the sniper rifle, and slung it over her shoulder. Closing one eye, she looked through the scope and adjusted her aim toward the surgical room window.
Beside her, a colorful pinwheel spun gently in the breeze. As it slowed to a stop, Rylie narrowed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
In that instant, Ableson — still pretending to mourn his father — was shot clean through the temple. Blood sprayed across Deandre’s face.
Ableson’s face froze mid-grief. His body fell like a statue, blood splashing everywhere.
The room went silent. Everyone was stunned by the sudden turn of events. Deandre moved first, diving for cover. His thoughts were in chaos. That bullet should have been meant for him — so why was Ableson lying dead?
Just then, the bodyguards burst in. “Boss, those bastards charged in headfirst! Like they didn’t care about dying!”
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