Run? No.
Tiffany hadn’t followed in her father’s footsteps just to run away from situations like this.
Taking advantage of the chaos, she broke free from Henri’s grasp. In one swift motion, she retrieved the knife hidden in her boot and pressed it against his throat. Henri’s men immediately raised their weapons, but their hesitation was clear—they didn’t want to risk harming their boss.
“Tell your men to stand down,” she hissed in Henri’s ear, her voice sharp and unwavering. “Or I’ll paint this floor with your blood, uncle dearest.”
Henri chuckled darkly, seemingly unfazed by the blade digging into his skin. “You wouldn’t dare,” he sneered. “You don’t have the stomach for it, girl.”
Tiffany pressed the knife harder, drawing a thin line of blood. “This is what I was trained to do,” she
