Chapter 117: Last Shot

Bartholomew's face contorted into desperation as Grace  began to advance with knives in both hands. His blood-slicked arm clutched the armrest while the other remained limp, useless after the first gunshot. His authority which was once so absolute, had fractured and was no longer the terrifying figure looming above all, he now looked small, weak. Mortal.

"Marco—" he barked hoarsely. "Marco, do ...