Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 91

Chapter 91

In The Pit, Marcus pulled the phone away from his ear.

Rocco’s scream still echoed through the speaker, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the ground. Then nothing.

Marcus’s face went dark.

Bianca stood beside him, arms crossed, watching his expression shift. The underground arena’s crowd roared behind them, oblivious.

“I’m going.” Marcus shoved the phone into his pocket. “Get the car. I’m taking everyone.”

Bianca’s brow furrowed. “Marcus, whoever that is-Rocco’s not weak. If he couldn’t handle it-”

“So what? I sit here and let someone beat my people half to death?” His jaw was tight. “If I don’t show up,

what kind of boss am I?”

“I’m saying maybe you shouldn’t go yourself-”

“And Rocco said this guy’s got his eye on you.” Marcus looked at her. “You think I’m going to let that slide? I don’t care who he is. I’m going to meet him face to face.”

Bianca went quiet.

A beat passed. She nodded.

Marcus turned and walked toward the exit, snapping his fingers. Six men peeled off from the crowd and fell into step behind him.

The bar was wrecked.

Overturned tables. Broken glass. The metallic smell of blood hanging in the air like fog.

Ethan stood over Rocco’s unconscious body, rolling the tension out of his right hand. His knuckles were barely red. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

He looked at the four men still on the ground-groaning, clutching ribs, crawling toward consciousness.

“Get up.”

They flinched at the sound of his voice.

“Take him to a hospital.” Ethan stepped back from Rocco’s body. “Now.”

They scrambled. Two of them hauled themselves to their feet, wincing. The other two followed. They gathered around Rocco, lifting him between them-one under each arm, one supporting his legs. Their eyes never left Ethan. They moved around him the way animals moved around fire, giving him the widest.

1/3

+15 Bonus

berth the narrow aisle allowed.

They made it three steps toward the door.

The door exploded inward.

The hinges screamed. The frame cracked. Cold night air rushed in like a wave.

Marcus Donovan walked through first.

Behind him, six men filed in, shoulder to shoulder, filling the entrance. They were different from Rocco’s crew-harder, sharper, the kind of men who didn’t need to be told where to stand.

Marcus’s eyes swept the destruction-the blood on the floor, the shattered furniture, his men carrying Rocco’s limp body like a broken doll.

Then his gaze found Ethan.

“Was it you?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “Did you do this to Rocco?”

Ethan looked at him, then at the men dragging Rocco upright between them.

“Yes,” he said. “I did. So what?” He paused, calm in the wrecked silence. “And who are you?”

A grim smile pulled at Marcus’s mouth.

“I’m Marcus.”

A sharp wave of inhaled breath swept through the bar.

Marcus.

Even the drunkest people in the room looked stunned now. They had expected backup. They had not expected Marcus Donovan himself to walk into this place.

“You’re done,” Marcus said. His eyes were black and flat. “You understand that, right? You’re finished.”

Ethan exhaled slowly.

The tension in his shoulders actually loosened. He’d been bracing for another wave of faceless thugs, another round of pointless violence with men who didn’t even know why they were fighting. But Marcus himself-that was different. That meant this could end with a conversation instead of a body count.

“Good,” Ethan said. “You’re here. Then we can stop this.”

Marcus’s brow twitched.

“There’s been a misunderstanding,” Ethan continued. His voice was calm, measured. “This whole thing. tonight-none of it needed to happen. Actually, I am Eth-”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify