Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
"FIRE!" Leo roared, pulling a fire extinguisher from under the sink while Wilton slammed himself against the wall beside the front window, drawing his sidearm.
Milo scrambled up, barking fiercely despite his stiff joints. Kayla didn't flinch. She grabbed Milo’s leash, clipping it to his collar with practiced speed, and guided him toward the kitchen’s reinforced rear door.
Outside, tires screeched against the wet asphalt. A chorus of crude laughter echoed down Ashgrove Street as two modified muscle cars sped away, leaving black rubber burn marks on the road.
Wilton extinguished the flames within seconds, leaving the living room smelling of acrid smoke, chemical foam, and scorched carpet. He walked over to the broken window, picked up a heavy iron nut tied to a piece of paper that had been tossed in with the Molotov cocktail.
He smoothed out the paper and handed it to Kayla.
Written in crude red spray paint were five words:
LEAVE THE STREET OR DIE.
Beneath the text was the emblem of a broken sword—the mark of Dominic Vance’s muscle.
Kayla stared at the paper. She didn't scream. She didn't weep. The soft, gentle woman who had spent eight months planting marigolds and carrying tea to her porch vanished completely. In her place stood the widow of Richard Cross—the woman who had managed the financial accounts of the largest criminal syndicate on the coast for fifteen years.
"Wilton," Kayla said, her voice dropping an octave into a low, terrifying stillness.
"Ma'am?"
"Call the city building inspector. Call the tax assessment board. And call the chief of the precinct."
Wilton blinked, surprised. "You don't want us to hit back with force?"
"A fire cleans a house, Wilton, but red tape buries a man alive," Kayla said, her eyes burning with cold, brilliant intellect. "Gary Dixon owns a illegal chop shop on 5th Avenue. Brenda Dixon runs an unregistered daycare out of her basement. They want to use the neighborhood rules against me? Let's show them what real rules look like."
May you like
She walked to the shattered window, looking out at Number 40. Through the dark glass, she could see Brenda watching her, clutching a fresh glass of wine, smiling as if she had won a great victory.
Kayla raised her hand, resting it against the broken frame. "Leo, secure the perimeter. Tomorrow morning, we go to work."
