All the vile criminals entrenched in Connor's Manor had been eliminated by Lirael's elite guards—all except Tyler's son.
That sniveling traitor had turned coat to save his own skin, already contacting the scattered Connor Family enforcers with urgent, unquestionable orders to return immediately.
The turncoat cooperated with sickening enthusiasm, scrambling to summon his family's roaming thugs before Lirael even finished speaking. More cunning still, he invoked Marks's name—the Connor patriarch whose word carried absolute authority, whose commands none dared disobey.
Invoking Marks's authority worked like a royal decree. Every Connor thug who answered the phone practically groveled with promises of immediate compliance.
The deception unfolded with terrifying efficiency, the traitor's pe
