Chapter 160
Sawyer looked at her and suddenly laughed.
There was a kind of hard-to-name appreciation in that smile.
"Elizabeth, you really are smart," he said quietly. "You got it right."
A collective gasp rippled through the ballroom.
Guests stared at Sawyer in horror, then at Elizabeth, then at Jacob—Sawyer had just been talking about leaving an inheritance to Elizabeth, and now he was admitting he wanted her dead? What the hell was he playing at?
Elizabeth locked her gaze on him, fury blazing higher and higher in her chest.
"Sawyer, are you playing me?"
"No." Sawyer shook his head, his expression so serious it was impossible to take it as a joke, "I genuinely want to leave you an inheritance. I've set aside a share of the Scott family fortune for you. But before he died, my father made it clear: the Scott family assets cannot fall into the hands of outsiders. So—" He paused, as if weighing his words. "If you come back to Italy with me and take the Scott name, then all of that is yours. If you don't…"
He didn't finish. He only let out a soft sigh.
In that sigh, there was regret, resignation, and a kind of icy resolve that made people's spines go cold.
"What if I don't go back?" Elizabeth asked.
Sawyer looked at her, and the last trace of warmth vanished from his eyes. "Then the Scott bloodline cannot be allowed to remain in this world. That was my father's dying wish."
The ballroom erupted.
The guests could no longer sit still. Chairs scraped back, people shot to their feet, and began shoving toward the doors in a panicked rush.
But they froze as soon as they reached the entrance—outside, a dozen men in black stood lined up, each holding a gun, dark muzzles aimed straight into the room.
"Everyone," Sawyer's voice drifted from behind them, as calm as if he were making small talk, "don't be in such a hurry to leave. The wedding isn't over yet."
Someone broke down and started sobbing. "Psycho! He's a freaking psycho!"
Sawyer acted like he didn't hear a thing.
He kept his eyes on Elizabeth and went on, "Elizabeth, come with me. I won't hurt you."
He paused, as if reaching back into some distant memory. "You know, my father had a lot of kids. So many illegitimate children, we couldn't even keep count. I'm his only legitimate son, but I had five older brothers and two older sisters. Every single one of them wanted a piece of the inheritance, every single one of them wanted to grind me into the dirt."
His tone was as flat as if he were telling someone else's story. "So I killed them all. Every last one."
The ballroom fell into a deathly silence.
Everyone looked at him like he was a monster. Seven siblings, all murdered by his hand.
Now he was standing here, talking about giving Elizabeth an inheritance—who in their right mind would dare take it?
Sawyer seemed oblivious to those looks. He simply watched Elizabeth, his gaze unexpectedly gentle.
"But you're not like them. They were enemies who wanted me dead. You're my sister. My real sister. I won't hurt you."
Elizabeth stared at him, a strange, tangled emotion rising inside her.
This man was insane. Completely, utterly insane. And yet his eyes were so earnest, so sure, as if every word out of his mouth was some kind of natural law.
"And if I don't go with you?" She asked.
Sawyer was quiet for a beat, then said softly, "Then everyone dies."
He lifted a hand and pointed upward. Above the ceiling of the ballroom, the helicopter was still circling, the thudding roar of its rotors seeping through the plaster, heavy and oppressive.
"There's enough explosives on that chopper to level this place," he said. "As soon as I give the word—" He didn't finish. He only let out a faint, almost amused chuckle.
The guests completely fell apart.
"Let us out!"
"Maniac! You're a goddamn maniac!"
"I don't want to die!" Someone tried to climb out a window, only to find more armed men stationed outside.
Some people dropped to their knees, begging. Others collapsed where they stood and sobbed hysterically.
The scene dissolved into chaos.
Elizabeth stayed where she was, watching it all, her fingernails biting deep into her palms.
She hated this.
She hated Sawyer, hated that he had destroyed her wedding, hated that he had thrown all these innocent people into sheer terror.
But more than that, she hated herself—for knowing all along that Sawyer was a lunatic and still failing to prepare for the worst.
Just then, a burst of wild laughter rang out from the crowd.
Vincent shoved past the people in front of him and strode forward.
His face was lit with smugness, his eyes gleaming with vindictive triumph.
He walked up to Sawyer, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and said with a laugh, "Mr. Scott, why are you wasting your breath on them? Kill them and split the profits. Isn't that so much simpler?"
Sawyer gave him a brief look and said nothing.
Vincent went on, "Jacob, look at you now. You ruined Lilith, stole my territory, and made me a joke in our circles. Today, I'm taking it all back—with interest."
He swung his gaze to Elizabeth, his eyes burning with hate. "And you, Elizabeth. You got cozy with Mr. Scott and screwed over Lilith—you two filthy cheaters, you're both dead today."
The more he talked, the more worked up he became, his voice rising, his smile stretching into something twisted and ugly.
"Mr. Scott, come on, let's do it. Kill them, take over the Smith family's territory, take Nightfall—everything's yours. I just want—"
The rest never came out.
A single gunshot cracked through the room.
Vincent's grin froze on his face.
He lowered his head, staring at the blossoming hole in his chest, blood pouring out in a steady stream. Then he looked up at the smoking muzzle in Sawyer's hand, disbelief filling his eyes.
"You… you…"
Weren't they supposed to be allies?
Sawyer holstered the gun and watched him fall, his face completely blank. "I told you, I'm here to bring Elizabeth her inheritance. Who are youto think that you can boss me around?"
Vincent was dead, but the men surrounding the estate didn't react at all. It was obvious they'd all been replaced by Sawyer's people.
Vincent's lips moved, as if he were trying to say something, but no sound came out.
He hit the floor, eyes still wide open, refusing to close even in death.
Lilith let out a piercing scream and threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around Vincent's body and sobbing like her heart was being ripped out of her chest.
Sawyer didn't spare her a glance. He turned back to Elizabeth, that gentle smile slipping back onto his face.
"Elizabeth, did you see that? That's my sincerity. Vincent wanted you dead, so I killed him for you. Come back to Italy with me, okay?"
Elizabeth looked at him, then at Vincent's corpse on the floor, at Lilith clutching the body and crying her lungs out, at the guests around them, wild-eyed with panic and dread, and suddenly she felt bone-deep exhaustion.
This man killed without blinking, dropped his allies the second they annoyed him.
His so-called sincerity was built on a pile of fresh corpses. How could she possibly trust that?
"Sawyer," she said, her voice raw, "do you really think I'd believe you?"
Sawyer's smile faltered, just a fraction. "Elizabeth—"
"You were just saying if I don't go with you, you'll kill everyone," Elizabeth cut him off. "Now you shoot Vincent, and I'm supposed to believe you mean well? Your idea of sincerity is pretty damn cheap."
Sawyer was silent for a moment. He watched her, something like hurt flickering through his eyes. "Elizabeth, you don't trust me?"
"I don't." Elizabeth forced the words out, one by one.
Right then, Jacob moved.
He was so fast that no one had time to react before he'd drawn the gun from his waistband, aimed straight at Sawyer's right shoulder, and pulled the trigger without the slightest hesitation.