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Mikhail's face hardens, revealing the monster beneath. "You ungrateful bitch. I gave you purpose when you were nothing but a broken toy. I showed you who you truly are."

"Yes, you did." My finger tightens on the trigger. "And I'm not what you wanted me to be."

A movement to my left distracts me. Z is struggling to sit up, pressing his hand against his bleeding shoulder. Relief floods through me at the sight of him alive, fighting. Oz stirs beside him, his breathing labored but steady. They're hurt, but they're alive.

Mikhail seizes the momentary distraction, his hand darting beneath his jacket. I react instantly, muscle memory taking over as I squeeze the trigger. The bullet hits my grandfather in the stomach. He staggers backward, shock registering on his face as his hands clutch at the wound. Blood seeps between his fingers, staining his immaculate suit.

"You shot me," he gasps, the reality of his situation settling in as he slides down against the pew, leaving a crimson smear in his wake.

"Yes, I did," I reply, watching him with the same cold detachment he showed me. “How does it feel to be at someone else’s mercy?”

I approach him as he slumps against the pew, clutching his stomach.

"You think this is over? My organization will hunt you down. They'll find your son. They'll?—"

I watch his own men dropping their weapons. “Your men are abandoning you. Look at this legacy you built. Not even those you’ve paid to protect you will stand by your side now.

Footsteps sound behind me as Alex, Luca, and Talon move to flank me.

"No, they won't," Luca interrupts. “Your organization is finished."

I feel something cool press into my palm. Talon's fingers brush against mine as he discreetly transfers a syringe filled with clear liquid. I close my hand around it, understanding immediately.

I lower myself to one knee beside my grandfather, feigning concern as I lean closer. My free hand slips beneath the folds of my dress, concealing the syringe from the view of anyone watching.

“Watching you die will never take away the pain from the destruction you’ve caused, but it will help,” I say loud enough for the room to hear, keeping my voice steady while I fix him with a cold, unwavering stare.

“What are you doing?” he sputters, confusion cracking through his composure.

I reach for his hand, as if to offer comfort, and gently turn it over to expose his wrist. “Ensuring justice.”

The needle slides into his vein with smooth precision, my thumb pressing the plunger before he can react.

He jerks slightly, eyes going wide as he feels the liquid entering his bloodstream. “What have you?—”

“Not poison,” I say quietly, almost kindly. “They need you dead, and I need you alive just a little while longer." I lean closer, my lips nearly touching his ear. “All they’ll know is that the man responsible for their pain is gone.”

For the first time, real fear crosses Mikhail’s face. Not fear of death, but of erasure. Of losing the legacy he’s sacrificed everything to build. His body begins to slacken, muscles giving in to the sedative. His eyelids droop, panic still flickering in the depths of his dulling gaze.

Within seconds, he goes limp, head lolling to the side, his empire unraveling faster than he can stop it.

"It's done," I announce, rising to my feet. "Mikhail Vasilyev is dead.”

A collective exhale ripples through the chapel. The armed figures in the balcony lower their weapons, some crossing themselves in silent prayer, others embracing as decades of fear dissolve in an instant.

I look up at the balcony where dozens of faces stare down at us. These people have lost everything to my grandfather's obsession. Children stolen, bodies violated, futures shattered. They deserve more than just Mikhail's apparent death.

"This isn't over," I call out, "What my grandfather built still exists. The facilities where he kept your loved ones, the labs where he stole pieces of you, they're still operating."

I step forward, the bloodied wedding dress trailing behind me like a battle flag as I address the assembled families.

"I know what was taken from you. I know because it was taken from me, too." My hand moves instinctively to my abdomen, to the internal scars hidden beneath. "But I swear to you, on everything I hold dear, I will find every single facility. Every lab. Every hidden bunker where The Collector kept his prizes."

A woman's voice calls down from above. “My daughter was taken five years ago. We never found her body.”

“I will find her,” I promise, holding her tear-filled stare. “If she’s alive, I’ll bring her home to you. If her genetic material is still stored somewhere, I’ll return it to your family. And if she was sold—” my voice hardens, steady with purpose, “I’ll hunt down whoever bought her and make them pay.”

A murmur ripples through the chapel, low and rising. Grief-stricken families who moments ago clung to despair now sit straighter, eyes fierce. The chapel now thrums with something more powerful than vengeance. Hope. Fueled by rage, yes, but hope all the same.