Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 89

Chapter 89

The bar went still. Even the whispering stopped.

Then the whispers exploded.

“He’s insane-”

“One move? Against Rocco? The man’s lost his mind-”

“Someone call an ambulance. Seriously. Call one now.”

Rocco stared at Ethan. The laughter was gone from his face. What replaced it was something hot and dark and deeply, personally offended.

“One move,” he repeated slowly. Then his mouth twisted into something vicious. “Alright. I was going to leave you conscious. But since you want to play hero-”

He rolled his neck. The crack echoed through the silent bar.

“-I’ll put you in the ICU.”

Ethan didn’t move. He was still sitting there. He even reached for his drink again.

That was the last thing Rocco could take.

“Die then!”

His right fist came in fast-a straight punch aimed dead at Ethan’s face, launched with the full rotational power of a man who had knocked out fighters twice his opponent’s size. The kind of punch that ended conversations. The kind of punch that ended consciousness.

“It’s over-”

“He’s done-”

The words had barely left someone’s mouth when everything changed.

Ethan moved.

Not backward-sideways, at an angle that shouldn’t have been possible from a seated position, his torso bending like a reed in wind. Rocco’s fist cut through the space where his face had been a fraction of a second ago and kept going, momentum carrying him forward.

In the same instant, Ethan’s left hand shot up and locked around Rocco’s extended wrist like a steel clamp.

Rocco’s eyes went wide.

Before Rocco could react, Ethan’s right hand closed around the neck of the whiskey bottle Chloe had set

on the table.

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One motion. Fluid. Unhesitant. Brutal.

He swung the bottle upward in a vicious arc and brought it crashing down onto the crown of Rocco’s

skull.

The sound was enormous.

Glass detonated on impact-a sharp, percussive crack that split the air like a gunshot.

Rocco’s eyes went blank.

His legs buckled. His body folded. He hit the floor like a sack of wet concrete, face-first, and didn’t move.

Blood pooled beneath his headn. Shards of glass glittered in his hair like broken stars.

Silence. Total, absolute, deafening silence.

Ethan sat on his stool, the broken neck of the bottle still in his hand, whiskey dripping from his fingers. His expression hadn’t changed. His breathing hadn’t changed. He looked down at Rocco’s motionless body with the same flat, quiet calm he’d worn all evening.

Then he set the shattered bottle neck on the bar with a soft click.

He looked at the four men standing behind their fallen leader.

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