Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 90

Chapter 90

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Rocco’s fingers twitched.

A low groan crawled out of his throat. He pushed himself off the floor. His vision swam. The bar tilted sideways, then righted itself.

He staggered backward, three full steps, until his spine hit a table.

His eyes found Ethan.

Terror. Raw, animal terror-the kind that lived in the gut, not the brain. But underneath it, something hotter. Rage. The humiliation of being dropped in front of his own men by a single blow.

“Get him!” Rocco’s voice cracked. He jabbed a bloody finger at Ethan. “All of you-together! I don’t care how good he is, he can’t take all of you at once!”

His men hesitated. They’d just watched their boss crumble like wet cardboard.

“NOW!”

The command broke through. They moved.

All four rushed Ethan at once-from the front, the sides, closing the gap fast.

Rocco didn’t watch. His hand was already fumbling for his phone, smearing blood across the screen. He hit the contact and pressed it to his ear, backing toward the far wall.

Two rings.

“What?” Marcus’s voice came through, flat and impatient. Music thumped in the background-the heavy bass of The Pit’s sound system.

“Boss, I need more men.” Rocco’s breath was ragged. “Send backup. Now.”

A pause. “You don’t have enough? How many are there?”

“One.”

Silence.

“One person,” Marcus repeated slowly. “And you can’t handle one person?”

Rocco gritted his teeth. The shame burned worse than the wound on his scalp. “Boss, I know how it sounds. But this guy-he hit me once. Once. I almost blacked out. I’ve never been hit like that in my life. Not in The Pit, not anywhere. This isn’t normal.”

A crash behind him. Rocco flinched and looked up.

His stomach dropped.

Ethan stood in the middle of the bar floor. All four of his men were on the ground-one draped over an

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overturned table, one curled in a fetal position by the pool table, two more sprawled flat on their backs,

not moving.

It had been seconds. Seconds.

Ethan turned his head. His gaze locked onto Rocco.

He started walking.

“Boss.” Rocco’s voice went thin. “Boss, this is worse than I thought. You need to come. Personally. Bring

everyone you’ve got.”

“Rocco, what the hell is-”

“Just come!”

Rocco yanked the phone from his ear, ready to run.

But Ethan was already there.

Ethan reached down with his other hand and plucked the phone from Rocco’s fingers the way one might take a toy from a child. He set it on the table behind him, screen-down, and turned back to Rocco.

He crouched.

Their faces were level now. Rocco stared into those eyes-quiet, cold, utterly devoid of rage-and realized that the absence of anger was worse. Far worse.

“I want you to listen to me,” Ethan said. His voice was low. Soft. Almost gentle.

“I’ve been provoked too many times lately. More times than you can imagine. And every time I turn around, someone new shows up wanting to test me, for reasons I never invited.” He tilted his head slightly. “I came to this bar tonight for one thing. Quiet. A drink. Five minutes of not being someone’s target. And I couldn’t even get that.”

He let the words settle.

“So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to use you-specifically you-to send a message. Not because I enjoy it. Not because you matter. But because I need every person like you, every errand boy and hired fist and middle-of-the-night ambush artist, to understand something very clearly.”

He leaned closer.

“The cost of coming after me,” he said, “is more than any of you can afford.”

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