“That’s my Bugatti Chiron parked out front,” Q-tip said, his voice trembling with fear. “It’s worth nearly three million dollars. Take it. Just let me live.”

“The girl,” Sebastian said.

“I can give you money, anything you want—”

“The girl. Where is she?”

The old man pointed to the front door. “Out there,” he said. “He took her out—”

In his mind’s eye Sebastian saw the old man laughing at something Paul had said, Grace standing next to them both and crying, and shot him in the face.

No witnesses.

He heard gunfire coming from outside—not from a handgun but the rapid fire from an AR-15. Had to be Faye, unless Paul had grabbed a similar weapon on his way out. He assumed Paul was armed. Sebastian approached the doorway, looking down the iron sight, ready to fire.

The area outside the front door appeared clear. He swung around the door, to his left, and saw the bodyguards and the small, fat man running, almost to the cars. Sebastian kept his finger pressed on the trigger, shooting at them and having no idea if he’d hit them, because he saw Faye—saw her standing, her hood pulled back and her mask gone, firing from her shoulder at a cherry red Lamborghini Aventador convertible that drove, in fits and starts, across the lawn as though the driver didn’t know how to drive a standard. He caught sight of the steel pockmarks created by the AR rounds and knew Paul was driving the car. Paul was driving away, and he was going to escape.

Grace stood behind the tree where Faye had taken cover. Faye must have grabbed her. His daughter’s shins and knees were scraped and cut in places, but she didn’t look like she was in pain; she didn’t appear even to know what was transpiring around her.

His daughter was safe.

But he had to consider Paul. Paul was alive, and the only way Sebastian could ensure the safety of Ava and their daughter was by killing Paul. If he didn’t, he would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, wondering if Paul was going to make another move against him, threaten everything he loved once more.

No. End this shit now.

The Range Rover wouldn’t be able to catch up to a Lamborghini.

A Bugatti would.

“Take her to my house,” he called to Faye. “I’ll meet you both there.”

Sebastian glanced at the Lamborghini—it was almost at the gate—and bolted back inside the foyer. He grabbed the keys from the floor, and when he came back outside, rushing to the Bugatti, he saw the Lamborghini’s dim taillights racing in the distance, fading.

Sebastian started the car and floored the gas pedal. As he went after Paul he thought again about his daughter. What was more important? Taking Paul down or meeting his daughter and bringing her home to Ava?

They were both important, he told himself.

He deserved both.

Paul didn’t know how to properly work the clutch and gearshift to drive smoothly, to take full advantage of the power and speed of the Lamborghini’s engine, which meant he wouldn’t be able to get as much distance from Sebastian and the house as he would have liked.