The Garrison was dead silent. Every breath in the room felt like it could tip the balance between life and death.

A blade pressed against Arthur Shelby’s neck, the glint of steel sharp against his skin. His brothers stood tense, hands twitching toward their guns, waiting for the perfect moment. The Peaky Blinders didn’t do fear—but even they knew this was different.

Because you were in the room.

And for the first time, the fierce, ruthless hitwoman—feared by enemies, respected by killers—showed a crack in her facade.

Your grip on your gun tightened, but your chest burned with something far more dangerous than anger—fear. You and Arthur had been through everything, torn apart by your own damn pride, but right now, none of that mattered.

His blue eyes met yours, dark with amusement even in the face of death. “Didn’t know you still cared, love,” he rasped, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

The man holding the knife didn’t know it yet—but he had just signed his death warrant.