CHAPTER 866: CHAPTER 865

The tension was palpable as all eyes and weapons turned towards Sean and Steward, vengeful rage seething on behalf of Rain.

The building, an unfinished concrete skeleton without doors or windows, provided the perfect ambush point. Sean’s crew, hidden outside, sprang to life, their gunfire tearing through the silence. One by one,the villains dropped like flies, smoke filling the air. Standing amidst the chaos, Sean exuded an aura of icy grief.

His sister.

That quirky little girl who meant the world to him gone because of these monsters!

"Sean, there’s more noise upstairs - probably their accomplices. I’ll take some men and handle it. You head to the car. The explosives are set; once we’re out, this place will blow."

"No one gets a free pass today," Sean’s voice was laced with a bloodthirsty resolve. "Whatever they did to my sister, I want them to pay back a hundredfold, a thousandfold."

"Understood!" Steward had never seen Sean like this before.

Always cocky and arrogant, Sean was now enveloped in sorrow and rage.

"I’m going to find her."

Even if she was dead, disfigured, limbs severed, he would gather every piece of her and bring her home.

On the eighteenth floor.

Martha’s men exchanged glances, plotting to shoot Rosemary in the chaos.

But Rosemary was no ordinary woman. Sensing the danger, she kicked a chair towards them with lightning speed.

The bullets only shattered the chair mid-air, and before the pieces hit the ground, Rosemary had already sent another chair flying towards them, knocking several heads with a thud. In a swift motion, she kicked again, seizing their guns and gaining the upper hand.

The room erupted in chaos, the sounds of gunshots, breaking objects, and thugs collapsing filled the air.

Serena couldn’t see clearly from where she was hiding, her view obstructed, leaving her only with the sight of Horace pummeling Martha.

"Stop. That’s enough." she murmured anxiously, not daring to raise her voice.

Even after days confined at home, she feared the walls had ears, that servants might overhear her.

Seizing a moment, Martha threw a handful of powder at Horace, who quickly shielded his face and staggered back. Martha pulled a gun from beneath a fallen wooden table and fired several shots in Horace’s direction.

Horace moved extremely fast, dodging the bullets with ease.

Wiping blood from her lip, Martha aimed the gun at Horace and questioned, "How did you get free?"

The knots binding them were Doom’s signature, impossible to escape without a blade.

Horace smirked, revealing a hidden razor blade sewn into the hem of his shirt. "Not that it matters now, but we’ve got blades sewn into our clothes. With a thread, we were free."

Not just him, but Rosemary had several blades hidden too.

Whether their hands were bound in front or behind, they could effortlessly access the blades and slice through the ropes.

Rosemary had come up with this trick years ago. The stitching was inconspicuous, undetectable without

close inspection, especially in the thick fabric of winter clothing.

And it wasn’t just blades – the button on his cuff hid a lifesaving pill crafted by Rosemary. To an onlooker, it seemed he’d simply rolled his sleeve for comfort, but only he knew its true potential, a secret weapon that could turn the tide when it mattered most.

His belt also contained a clever mechanism. By touching a button on its side, he could quickly draw a small handgun that was capable of firing four bullets.

That wasn’t an original invention of theirs—At the end of the 19th century, military units from other nations had been taken such weapons onto the battlefield. But Rosemary had improved the performance of these older models, to create a safer secret weapon suited for their outfit, the Mafia Flame.

His shoes were no less ingenious. Martha’s goons had only thought to check under the insoles. But the crucial part was in the tiny metal buckle on the shoelaces—By pressing and holding this clasp for two seconds, it could be detached and thrown to the ground to create a thick smokescreen.

It was one of their secret weapons—a smoke grenade.

That’s why, when their car was swarmed by Martha’s lackeys, Horace wondered why Boss Rose was even considering surrender.

With the arsenal they both carried, the odds of escaping were more than good.

Later, as Boss Rose kept grilling the hag with questions and tipping Horace the wink, Horace started to realize Rose was setting a trap for Martha.

But even though it was a trap, seeing Boss Rose being slapped still hurt him.

His Boss, who was worshiped by them as God, was tormented by this old crone!

"That’s quite a lot of gimmicks." Martha snorted upon hearing this. Raising her gun, she fired into the air and bellowed, "Listen up, everyone! Catch them, tear off their skins, and pull out their tendons—I

want them to die so,"

She hadn’t finished her sentence when "bang"—a shot from Rosemary sent Martha’s weapon flying.

Rosemary was a crack shot. As her last bullet was spent, she threw down her own gun and moved toward Martha with the grace of a swallow.

Without her gun, Martha was forced to fight hand-to-hand.

But it was clear, Martha was no match for Rosemary.

Rosemary’s skills were forged in countless battles, a far cry from Martha, who had only managed to secure a minor post in Doom.

Rosemary had the upper hand in all aspects—in moves, speed, and strength.

Martha was sent stumbling back with Rosemary’s kick, refusing to accept defeat, she glared at her, "Who the hell are you?"

No average families could raise someone like her!

Could she also be from some organization?

"If I’d known, I would’ve stripped you and that minion."

Then she would not be snapped by the button from the minion’s shirt, and Serena wouldn’t have been dragged into such a mess.

"Even without my clothes on, your voice can still be recorded. And don’t forget, my hair band also doubles as a camera."

"What?" Martha stared incredulously at the inconspicuous hair band on Rosemary’s head. If one were to talk of its value, only the tiny diamond tiara counts, which didn’t look pricey anyways—and it certainly looks not like a camera.

"You’re bluffing? That can be a camera?"

Rosemary pinched the tiny tiara, and what Martha just said echoed from within it.

Serena, who hadn’t ended the video call, widened her eyes in shock.

She had seen in the news that how someone would disguise micro-cameras as screws, USB drives, lighters.

But the tiara, no one can tell it was a camera at the first glance!

She’d never imagined cameras could be masked as buttons and tiny crowns, yet look so convincing.

What should she do now? Rosemary and her underling both held "incriminating evidence" against her and Martha.

If the evidence fell into the hands of the Collins family, she and Martha would be finished!