Chapter 159
A bullet skimmed past Elizabeth's ear and slammed into the floral wall behind her, sending rose petals raining down like a crimson shower.
Screams ripped through the ballroom. Guests scrambled in blind panic, hands over their heads, tables overturning, chairs crashing, glassware shattering across the floor.
Security swarmed in, a dozen guns snapping up to aim squarely at Sawyer.
Sawyer stayed exactly where he was, the muzzle of his gun still smoking, that same unbothered smile fixed on his face.
He looked at Elizabeth, who was shielded beneath Jacob, and said , "Nice reflexes. You really did inherit our father's talent, if not, how else would you know what to do the second you touched a gun?"
Now in Jacob's arms, Elizabeth could feel her own heartbeat pounding like a drum.
Not from fear.
From rage.
He had actually fired — In front of all these people. At her wedding, he aimed at her.
Jacob released her and got to his feet, his expression turning so dark it was almost frightening. He stared at Sawyer and said, each word clipped and hard, "Take him down."
Just as the security team moved in, a sharp mechanical whine cut through the air overhead.
Everyone instinctively tilted their heads back. The helicopter that had dropped Sawyer off hovered above them, and now its side door slid open. Something dark and heavy was shoved out of the cabin and plummeted straight toward the ballroom.
Someone screamed before tackling the person next to them.
Guests lost whatever was left of their composure. They bolted in every direction, wailing, sobbing, calling for their parents, their kids, their God.
Chaos swallowed the room whole.
But the object never exploded.
It hit the floor with a heavy thud, bounced,and rolled a few times, before it came to a stop beside an overturned banquet table.
It was a metal case, steel-gray, with a red skull stenciled on the top. Next to it, in block letters, were a few words: [Wedding Gift.]
The whole room froze.
Sawyer didn't move. He watched the case where it lay, and the smile on his lips deepened.
He looked at Jacob and said softly, "Mr. Smith, no need to panic. It's just a little gift to celebrate the happy couple."
Jacob stared him down, the lethal intent in his eyes almost tangible.
This was a threat. This time it was a bluff — the next time might be disastrous.
But he didn't move. His mind ran the numbers: there was no way Sawyer had this kind of firepower on his own.
The helicopter, the bomb stunt, pulling something like this in front of so many people—none of it fit Sawyer's usual style.
Someone was backing him.
Vincent.
Jacob looked toward Vincent. He was clinging to Lilith like a survivor who'd just escaped a shipwreck, his face streaked with tears. But in his eyes, just for a heartbeat, was a flash of smug satisfaction.
Jacob's chest tightened.
Vincent. Vincent was the one helping him.
He drew a long breath, forcing the murderous impulse back down where it belonged.
This was not the moment to make a move. There were too many guests, the room was a mess, and he had no idea what was actually inside that case. He couldn't gamble with Elizabeth's life.
"Mr. Scott," he said, his voice so calm it was terrifying, "since you're here, you're a guest. Please, have a seat."
The room erupted in shocked whispers.
No one could believe it. Was Jacob backing down? The same Jacob who was known for striking first and never letting an insult slide, actually choosing to swallow this?
Even Sawyer looked mildly surprised. He raised an eyebrow, studying Jacob as if trying to see whether he was serious.
After a few seconds, he chuckled, holstered his gun, and smoothed his collar.
"Mr. Smith really is generous," he said, turning away. He strolled into the ballroom and dropped into the nearest chair at a table, crossing one leg over the other, looking as relaxed as if nothing at all had happened.
Seeing this, everyone else slowly drifted back to their seats.
Bit by bit, the ballroom regained its shape, but the atmosphere had curdled into something sharp and uneasy.
Guests leaned in toward one another, trading whispers, theories, fragments of information.
This wedding was destined to be the story the city would still be telling decades from now.
Jacob went back to Elizabeth and bent to help her up. Her wedding dress was dust-stained, her veil a little crooked, but overall she looked unharmed. He straightened her hair with quick, controlled motions and murmured, "You okay?"
Elizabeth shook her head, then squeezed his hand.
His palm was slick with sweat.
"You're letting this go?" She asked under her breath.
Jacob hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "This isn't the time. He's got someone behind him."
Elizabeth followed his line of sight toward Vincent and understood instantly.
She tightened her grip on his hand and didn't say another word.
They stepped back up to the altar as if what had just happened was nothing more than a minor interruption. The music started again, the staff moved quickly to clear the debris, and the guests did their best to paste their smiles back on, lifting their glasses, making small talk.
Everything looked polished and harmonious on the surface. But everyone there knew that beneath the glossy calm, a storm was churning.
In the shadows off to the side, Tina slipped out quietly.
The mood in the ballroom was strange, taut as a wire.
Servers moved between the tables with trays in their hands, setting down one beautiful plate after another in front of the guests.
Champagne fizzed delicately in crystal flutes. The band played something soft and tasteful. On the face of it, everything was impeccably civilized.
But no one really felt like eating. Every gaze eventually drifted back to the same three people.
Sawyer sat in a corner, leisurely cutting into his steak, as if the man who had pulled a gun and sent a "bomb" crashing down minutes ago had been someone else entirely.
He even had the nerve to tell a passing server, "The champagne's good."
Jacob and Elizabeth stood once more at the altar, and the ceremony resumed.
The pastor's voice trembled, but he clung to his role and pushed through the script.
The rings were brought forward, two plain bands sparkling softly under the lights.
Jacob had crafted them himself. They looked simple, almost understated, but nobody dared treat them as ordinary.
He picked up the woman's band and took Elizabeth's hand. Her fingers were cool and trembling just slightly in his palm.
He lowered his head, ready to slide the ring onto her finger—
"Hold on." Sawyer's voice drifted over from the corner, not loud, but sharp enough to halt every motion in the room.
He set down his fork and knife, dabbed at his mouth with his napkin with practiced elegance, then rose and straightened his jacket as he walked toward the altar.
Each step was unhurried, his dress shoes clicking crisply against the marble floor.
"Mr. Scott," Jacob said, not turning around, his tone cold as ice, "you're crossing a line."
Sawyer stopped a few paces away and looked down at their joined hands, at the ring poised at the tip of her finger. For a second, something complicated flickered in his eyes.
"Mr. Smith, I'm not the one crossing a line," he said. "You can't marry a daughter of the Scott family without the Scott family's consent."
Elizabeth finally hit the end of her patience. She pulled her hand free from Jacob's, turned to face Sawyer, and met his eyes, fury burning hot in her own.
"Sawyer, what is it you actually want?" Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a tightly coiled anger, like a volcano about to erupt. "This is my wedding. You stormed in, fired a gun, tossed down a bomb stunt, and now you're saying I can't get married—who do you think you are?"
Sawyer looked at her, putting on a wounded expression. "Elizabeth, I'm your brother."
"I don't have a brother." Elizabeth enunciated every word. "I had a father and a mother, and I was raised by my grandfather. Through all those years, no one from the Scott family shared a single bit of that with me. Now you show up claiming to be my brother and try to meddle in my marriage. Don't you think that's ridiculous?"
Sawyer fell silent for a moment, then said softly, "That's why I want to make it up to you. Come back to Italy with me. Take over the Scott family business. It was supposed to be yours all along."
Elizabeth let out a short, cold laugh. "An inheritance? Sawyer, I'm not coveting your money. I don't want a single cent of the Scott family's fortune."
She paused, her gaze turning even colder. "And go back to Italy with you? I'd probably make it there alive, but I doubt I'd make it back."