Chapter 290
With a deafening crash, Andrew Smith kicked open the car door and stormed out.
"What happened?" He rushed to Nathaniel Smith's side in three strides, his voice laced with suppressed fury.
The scene before them was suffocating.
Nathaniel shook his head grimly, his expression dark. The two men strode toward the mangled vehicle. The driver lay in a grotesque pool of blood, his head barely recognizable. Snow mingled with crimson under the streetlight, casting an eerie glow.
"Dead," Nathaniel said coldly after a quick examination.
Andrew slammed his fist against the car door, the metal screeching in protest. "That bastard, Frank!" he spat through gritted teeth, veins bulging at his temples. "Dares to come back looking for death!"
No further explanation was needed—the answer was obvious.
Nathaniel's gaze remained fixed on the bloodstains, his eyes shadowed. That car had been aiming for Luna. If he hadn't reacted in time, she would be the one lying there now...
"We'll tear this city apart to find him," he murmured, his quiet tone sending chills down the spine.
Andrew yanked off his tie, revealing a ruthless side he'd never shown before. "He's got a death wish, touching my people on my turf."
Inside the restaurant, chaos reigned.
Luna knelt on the floor, bandaging the wounded, her fingers stained red. Her white coat was soaked in blood, yet she remained composed, swiftly applying needles to stop the bleeding.
"Luna!" Andrew rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he checked her for injuries.
"I'm fine," she said, lifting her head. Her eyes were icy. "He came for me."
Nearby, Luna Whitaker and Ryan Wallace stood pale-faced in the corner. No one would blame them for reconsidering after such a disaster on opening day.
"Nathaniel's already called in a construction crew. They'll have this place fixed by tomorrow," Andrew assured her, gripping her cold hands. "I promise."
Nathaniel ended his call and approached, his suit splattered with blood. "They'll work through the night. You'll have your restaurant back by morning." He bowed deeply. "This is my fault. I'll make it right."
"When you catch him, I want to see him," Luna said, her voice terrifyingly calm.
General Charles Turner took personal charge of the case in his fury, but everyone knew the truth—the evidence was gone with the dead.
After seeing off the last guest, Andrew escorted Luna back to her dorm.
"Get some rest. Tomorrow will be better," he whispered, but as he turned to leave, she caught his arm.
Her eyes locked onto the blood seeping through his bandage. Without a word, she retrieved her silver needles.
"Stay still," she ordered, her fingers trembling slightly as she inserted two needles. A faint energy pulsed through them.
Andrew felt warmth flood his wound, the pain instantly easing.
"Keep it dry," she muttered, her voice hoarse.
As the jeep's taillights vanished into the night, Luna stood by the window, her nails digging into her palms.
She was still too weak.
Too weak to even protect herself.
The realization carved into her heart like a blade. The power and connections from her past life were now just illusions. And the Ferguson family loomed like a beast in the shadows, waiting to tear her apart.
"Not enough..." she whispered into the darkness. "I'm still not strong enough."
Moonlight bathed her pale face, illuminating eyes burning with the fire of vengeance.