She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 280

Antonio turned on Loyce, hatred blazing. He drew a pistol and aimed it straight at her heart. “You get one chance to tell the truth. Was this an accident… or did you do it on purpose? Think carefully before you answer.”

Loyce finally looked properly afraid. “He made me do it! The Godfather—he ordered it! I’m telling the truth, every word!”

“Take her.”

They dragged her out.

In the corridor, she heard Antonio on the phone, voice trembling with excitement. “Lock Hank down, now! Bring him here!”

When Loyce was thrown back into her bedroom, the lock clicked from outside. She rubbed her wrists, expression blank, then pulled a gun from under her clothes—one she’d stripped from a guard’s thigh holster during the chaos.

She checked the rounds, walked to the door, and knocked. “Why am I locked in? Aren’t you sending me out right away?”

No answer.

So Antonio was doing what he always did—using people, then cutting the rope.

Loyce turned toward the window. Three floors up. She climbed onto the sill, dropped onto the air-conditioning unit, then swung sideways and caught the exterior drainpipe, sliding down fast and silent to the first floor.

Every movement was calculated. She slipped through blind angles, waited in dead zones, and made her way toward the watchtower.

At the same time, Hank arrived from the airport, still unaware of the full story. The moment he stepped out of the car, Antonio’s men blocked him.

Both sides squared off.

Antonio screamed at him, “I gave you the chair, didn’t I? Why would you still kill my father—my only family left in this world?”

Hank’s temper flared. “That’s bullshit. I didn’t kill him!”

His eyes cut to the men waiting outside the operating suite—his own. Their subtle nods confirmed it: Laurence was “dead.” And this was a setup.

Antonio backed toward the window, fear painted across his face. “I didn’t frame you. I’m crippled, so what can I do? Kill my own father? That’s insane. And I never wanted you dead. We’re like brothers. I just want an explanation!”

Antonio’s index finger tapped twice against the arm of his wheelchair. A silver ring on his knuckle flashed in the sunset.

It was a signal.

Outside the villa, a rival crew—bikers—rushed the gates. High up in the watchtower, a sniper leaned in, sighting Hank’s head as it hovered near the window.

Just as his finger tightened on the trigger, a soft voice spoke behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The sniper’s eyes widened. He’d heard no footsteps.

He whirled, and a stunning young woman filled his vision. His pupils shrank.

Then he looked down. A suppressed pistol was already buried in him, firing again and again.