Page 100 of Knuckles & Knives
Combat follows, the kind that separates professionals from amateurs, strategists from thugs, leaders from pretenders. Cross’s operatives are well-trained and properly equipped, but they’re fighting according to conventional tactical doctrine against opponents who’ve abandoned conventional limitations.
Dom transforms the lobby into his personal killing ground, using architecture and psychology to funnel attackers into positions where superior numbers become disadvantage. His massive frame moves with brutal efficiency, each strike calculated to neutralize threats while protecting his allies.
Kieran fights with the elegant precision of someone who’s channeled family training into personal purpose, his movements economical and devastatingly effective. No wasted motion, no unnecessary risks—just the kind of controlled violence that demonstrates absolute mastery.
Marcus coordinates our defense with analytical precision, calling out threats and opportunities with the timing that comes from understanding both tactical principles and personal dynamics. His voice in our comm system provides the tactical intelligence that keeps us always one step ahead.
Axel embodies beautiful chaos, his unpredictable movements and unconventional attacks creating psychological pressure that forces enemies to react instead of plan. He’s everywhere and nowhere, striking from angles that shouldn’t exist and disappearing before retaliation becomes possible.
And I stand in the center of it all, not directing from safety but fighting alongside them, proving that leadership means sharing risks rather than avoiding them.
When the last of Cross’s operatives falls unconscious—again, non-lethal takedowns, because we’re not murderers despite what our enemies believe—Alexander Cross stands alone in our lobby, facing the woman he trained and the family she chose.
“Impossible,” he breathes, his composure finally cracking as he realizes the magnitude of his miscalculation.
“Inevitable,” I correct. “You taught me strategy, but you never taught me love. You showed me how to control people through fear, but never how to inspire loyalty through trust. You demonstrated power through isolation, but never strength through connection.”
“Vincent—”
“My father was a great man with one fatal flaw,” I interrupt. “He trusted you completely. He never imagined that his most loyal lieutenant would orchestrate his murder to steal his empire.”
“I built this empire!” Cross snarls, his mask of civility finally slipping. “Vincent was weak, sentimental, too concerned with legacy to seize opportunities. I made the hard choices, eliminated the obstacles, positioned us for generational dominance.”
There was a time I might’ve agreed with him, but now I know love is the hardest choice of all.
“You destroyed the man who trusted you like a son and tried to murder his daughter,” Dom growls, his protective instincts channeled into barely contained violence.
“For the greater good,” Cross insists. “For the future of the organization.”
“For your own ambition,” Kieran corrects with cold precision. “I recognize the logic. I was raised with the same justifications for betraying family loyalty.”
“And look how that worked out for you,” Cross sneers. “Disowned, hunted, reduced to serving a woman instead of commanding an empire.”
“I discovered that love properly wielded is more powerful than any empire,” Kieran replies simply.
“Philosophy,” Cross dismisses. “Pretty words that won’t protect you when reality intrudes.”
“Reality,” Marcus interjects, his analytical voice carrying absolute certainty, “is that you’re alone, outmaneuvered, and facing opponents who understand something you never will—that true strength comes from connection, not isolation.”
“Reality,” Axel adds with his wild grin, “is that you’re fucked.”
I step forward, closing the distance between myself and the man who shaped my strategic thinking, who murdered my father, who tried to destroy everything I’ve built.
“Alexander Cross,” I say formally, “I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest for the murder of Vincent Blackwood, conspiracy to commit murder, and approximately forty-seven other charges that federal prosecutors are very excited to discuss with you.”
“You think this ends it?” he asks, desperation bleeding into his voice. “You think destroying me eliminates every threat to your precious family?”
“I think,” I reply, “that defeating you proves something important—that the student has finally surpassed the teacher.”
When federal agents arrive twenty-three minutes later—coordinated through Kieran’s legal connections and Marcus’s electronic evidence—they find Alexander Cross in restraints, surrounded by twenty-three unconscious operatives and five people who’ve just dismantled a criminal empire without firing a single fatal shot.
The agent in charge, a woman named Director Kelly Clements, surveys the scene with professional appreciation. “Ms. Blackwood,” she says formally, “the Federal Bureau of Investigation would like to thank you for your cooperation in this matter.”
“My pleasure, Director Clements,” I reply. “Though I suspect you’ll find that Mr. Cross’s arrest is just the beginning of a very extensive investigation.”
“Indeed,” she agrees. “Mr. Frost has provided us with enough evidence to keep federal prosecutors busy for several years.”
As Cross is led away in federal custody, he turns back for one final attempt at psychological warfare. “This isn’t over, Raven,” he calls. “Defeating me doesn’t change what you are—Vincent Blackwood’s daughter, shaped by violence, destined to repeat his mistakes.”
