Chapter 171

Chapter 171

The instant the iron pipe came whistling toward Arabella, a gunshot shattered the silence of the dock.

The bullet struck Hawk's forearm with surgical precision. Blood sprayed. The pipe flew from his grip and clanged against the concrete ten feet away.

Hawk let out a guttural scream, clutching his arm as he staggered backward. The expression on his face shifted from savage fury to sheer disbelief.

He looked down at the bullet hole in his arm, blood pulsing steadily from the wound. Then he raised his head, eyes snapping toward the direction the shot had come from.

Cornelius stepped out from the shadow of a shipping container behind Arabella's flank, the barrel of his gun still trailing a thin wisp of smoke.

His face was ice-cold, his gaze locked on Hawk. He didn't look at Arabella. He said only two words: "Get up."

Arabella pushed herself off the ground. The fabric over her knees had torn through, blood seeping into the raw scrapes beneath. She didn't look down.

Her gaze fell on the iron pipe that had rolled to a stop nearby, then shifted to Hawk's arm—blood streaming between his clenched fingers.

The manila envelope slipped from his hand. Several torn photograph fragments scattered at his feet.

Hawk clutched his bleeding arm and tried to run. He made it one step before armed officers surged in from every direction, closing around him in a tight circle.

His one free hand still groped for the scattered document fragments on the ground. An officer's boot stomped down on the paper. In one swift motion, the cop wrenched Hawk's arm behind his back. The handcuffs clicked shut.

Hawk was forced face-down onto the ground, his cheek grinding against the rough concrete. His blood stained the dust beneath him.

He struggled to lift his head, his gaze cutting through the crowd to find Arabella. His voice came out ragged and venomous: "You'll end up just like your mentor. Mark my words."

Arabella brushed the dust from her knees, met his stare head-on, and said calmly, "That's not for you to decide."

Two officers hauled Hawk to his feet and shoved him toward the patrol car.

He turned back for one last look at Arabella. That look carried hatred, bitter defiance, and something else—something tangled and unreadable.

Then he was pushed into the back seat. The car door slammed shut, severing his line of sight.

Arabella didn't watch the patrol car leave.

She bent down and gathered the scattered document fragments one by one, collecting them carefully along with the torn envelope, pressing everything tight against her chest.

She walked to a clean shipping container nearby and spread the documents flat on its surface, smoothing out each crease with painstaking care.

Gregory's familiar handwriting stared back at her from the yellowed pages. Her fingertips traced the lines slowly. Her eyes reddened at the rims.

She didn't cry.

Cornelius walked up beside her, holstering his gun. He glanced at the documents and asked quietly, "All there?"

Arabella checked them over carefully, then nodded. "A small corner piece is missing, but the core sections are intact."

She looked up toward the patrol car disappearing in the distance. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "My mentor's work. I finally got it back."

Cornelius said nothing. He just stood beside her, a silent, steady presence.

A long time passed before Arabella tucked the documents carefully back into the envelope. She turned to Cornelius. "Let's go. There's one more thing I need to do."

"What?"

Arabella held the envelope tighter, her gaze resolute. "Tell Ulysses that Hawk's been caught."

Cornelius nodded without further questions and headed toward the car.

Arabella followed, then stopped after two steps. She turned back for one last look at the wrecked dock.

Sunlight fell across the concrete. The pool of blood had already begun to darken, stark and brutal in the afternoon glare.

She turned away and matched Cornelius's stride.

As the car pulled away from the dock, Arabella leaned back in the passenger seat with the envelope resting on her knees. One hand pressed lightly on top of it, as if afraid it might vanish.

Cornelius drove in silence. The car stayed quiet for a long time.

"That was a hell of a shot back there."

Arabella broke the silence.

Cornelius kept his eyes on the road. His tone was flat. "I've practiced."

Arabella didn't push further, but she understood.

A shot like that—hitting a moving target at that distance with that kind of precision—didn't come from casual practice. It came from doing it a thousand times over.

She didn't say it out loud. She just held the envelope a little tighter.

The car entered the city and pulled up in front of a hospital.

Arabella got out, stood at the entrance, and drew a deep breath. Then she pushed through the doors.

In the hospital room, Heath was propped up against his pillows. His color was better than a few days ago, but still far from good. Ulysses stood by the window, staring out at something—or nothing.

Father and son sat in silence until the knock came. Both turned toward the door.

When Ulysses saw Arabella walk in, his gaze lingered on the envelope in her arms for just a beat before shifting away. His voice was slightly rough. "You're here."

Arabella walked to the bedside, sat down, and placed the envelope on her knees. She didn't rush to speak.

Heath glanced at her. Ulysses had already told him everything. He closed his eyes briefly, unsure how to face her now.

The person who'd betrayed him, he had treasured. The person who'd helped the Visconti family, he had lashed out at again and again.

The shame sat heavy in his chest.

"Hawk's been arrested."

Arabella pressed her lips together, then added, "Hawk, Amara, Efrain—all of them. They're all in custody."

Heath was silent for several seconds. Then he gave a slow nod and asked nothing more.

He turned his head back toward the window. A long time passed before he spoke. "Thank you."

He'd held his back straight his entire life. He had never thanked anyone. And now his first time was to someone a generation younger.

But the words were genuine.

Arabella sat for a while longer, then glanced at Ulysses. She understood. What remained was between father and son.

She stood, offered Heath a small smile, and said politely, "Get some rest. I'll come visit again soon."

Out in the hallway, Cornelius was leaning against the wall, waiting. When she emerged, he straightened up, his gaze sweeping quickly across her face.

Arabella gave a small nod.

She paused, then said, "I want to go back to my mentor's old house."

Cornelius didn't ask why. "I'll drive you."

The car started again, winding through city streets until it stopped in front of an old house draped in climbing ivy.

Arabella got out, pulled out a key, and unlocked the familiar iron gate.

Inside, everything was the same. Thick dust. Stale, heavy air.

She didn't linger on the first floor. She went straight upstairs and climbed the ladder to the attic.

The light in the attic was dim. She walked to the corner, to the floorboard where the documents had once been hidden. She crouched down and tapped it with her fingers.

Hollow.