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“What is your role in this world, Richter? Main character, extra, or not even worth giving a fuck about?”
McCourt, who was still seated. His calmness left no doubt about his involvement in this. He knew everything. And now, he was asking for my head. My gaze shifted to Luca, who stood there motionless.
Just a few feet away, the gunman lay lifeless on the stage, blood pooling around him. He had shot himself. But twice?
Who shot Mccourt? Luca or Rose
“You know it wasn’t me who did this, right?” he whispered loudly, stepping closer. I hesitated, then offered a faint smile. “Your actions on the stage spoke for your innocence.”
He must have asked Luca Domizio to make good on his promise to you. But why didn’t he? Why did Luca turn on McCourt instead?”
"Kirby! He had extensive files on all his victims, information you'd normally need a warrant to obtain. It was as if they were handed to him by a government agency. And right before he died, Kirby told me that he was too powerful. I thought he was talking about a voice in his head, but now . . .” Rose's eyes widened. "You're suggesting someone fed Kirby those files to manipulate him? Play him like a puppet? Maybe even tipped him off when we were closing in on him?”
“Ogledalo Corporation?” I repeated, feeling a chill spread through my veins. “Ogledalo,” she repeated, confused. “Does that mean anything?” “It means ‘mirror’ in Slovenian,” I said. “Or, metaphorically, ‘ankh,’ in this context.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Rose asked, her gaze not meeting mine. I tilted my head upward, directing my gaze toward the security camera of the Boston Symphony entrance hall. I looked straight into it, then smiled. Triumphant. Fearless. Provocative. “I’m just saying hello,” I explained to Liam and Rose.
Let him come. After all, we kill killers.
He had always feared this day would come—the day he would become the target of someone as brilliant and determined as he was. The fact that she had actually uncovered his identity was nothing short of marvelous. Especially considering the extreme measures he had taken to erase the scar on his shoulder. The skin graft surgery had cost a fortune and been performed by a team of the world's top plastic surgeons, all paid in cash to keep his identity hidden.
he wouldn’t go down without a fight. His work was too important. Not the company. His other work.
As they watched the train approaching in the distance, Mojca felt a tremor in his hand. He instantly knew his own hand wasn’t trembling. In sheer panic, he looked at Anton. His brother’s eyes had rolled back as if a demon were possessing him "Help, he's having a seizure!" Mojca shouted as Anton’s violently shaking body fell forward onto the train tracks, almost pulling Mojca along with him.
