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ella
my reality. I sat in the back of the Russo family's stretch limousine, my hands resting on the ch
olished walnut table. Next to it sat a one-way tic
yx bracelet on her wrist clinked against the wood. "A blood oath of exile. You renounce the Russo name, you main
ond on her left hand. "Gavin says hello, by the way," she smirked, her voice dripping with venom. "He pic
oked at Victoria's perfectly manicured hands, noting the slight tremor she couldn't control. She wasn't here out of power; she
combat boots planting fi
, my voice as cold and sharp as a surgical scalpel. I locked eyes with my stepmother. "
r mouth to scream, but the sound was instantlyas violently shoved across the asphalt, the tires shrieking in protest. Victoria's crystal champagne f
absorbing the shock. Through the sudden spiderweb cracks of the bulletproof window, I saw t
it us
had clearly never seen real combat-was hyperventilating. He screamed uselessly i
ning. The precision, the sheer power of the assault-this was a coordinated, military-grade extraction.
s of this weeping driver, we were
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