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I open my eyes to see Viktor being lifted bodilyoff me, then thrown to the ground with brutal force. Above him stands Damiano, his face a mask of cold fury, fists clenched at his sides.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” Each word drops like a stone, precise and deadly.

Viktor scrambles to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth where he hit the ground. “Well, well. The gardener to the rescue.” He spits red onto the gravel. “Just like old times.”

I pull down my nightgown, sitting up on the bench, still shaking from what nearly happened.

“Get out,” Damiano says. “Now.”

Viktor laughs, the sound chilling in the night air. “Or what? You’ll kill me, too? Like you did to Erik?”

Damiano stands there, chest heaving, eyes blazing with fury in the moonlight. Before Viktor can recover, Damiano charges, tackling him to the ground with a feral growl.

The two men collide with the sound of meat hitting stone. They roll across the gravel, a tangle of limbs and violence, each fighting for dominance. Damiano gets in the first solid blow, his fist connecting with Viktor’s jaw with a sickening crack.

But Viktor is bigger, stronger, trained in security. He absorbs the hit and counters with a knee to Damiano’s ribs that makes him gasp. They separate momentarily, circling each other like wolves.

“I’ve waited a long time for this.” Viktor spits blood onto the gravel. “Should have done it years ago when you took Erik from me.”

“He attacked me,” Damiano growls. “Just like Liam attacked Briar.”

Viktor’s eyes darken with rage. “So you admit it. You were involved in Liam’s disappearance.”

Instead of answering, Damiano lunges again. The fight turns brutal, primal. They crash against the stone bench, then against the hedge wall. Fists connect with flesh, grunts of pain fill the air. Blood spatters across the white stone, black in the moonlight.

I scramble to my feet, desperate to help but unsure how. These men are evenly matched in their fury if not their size, and the violence unfolding before me is terrifying in its intensity.

Viktor manages to slam Damiano against the ground, straddling him, hands closing around his throat. Damiano thrashes, his face beginning to turn red as Viktor applies pressure.

I grab a broken branch from the ground and swing it at Viktor’s head with all my strength. It connects with a dull thud, but he barely flinches. Instead, he swings his arm backward without looking, his fist catching me square in the face.

Pain explodes through my skull as I’m knocked to the ground. My vision blurs, the taste of blood filling my mouth. I hear Damiano’s strangled cry as he sees me fall.

That momentary distraction costs him. Viktor tightens his grip on Damiano’s throat, his massive hands squeezing mercilessly.

“I’m going to finish what I should have done years ago,” Viktor snarls. “Then I’ll deal with your little girlfriend. And finally Flint.”

Damiano’s struggles weaken, his face turning from red to purple. I try to get up, to help him, but my limbs won’t cooperate. The world tilts and spins around me.

“Damiano,” I manage to choke out, reaching toward him uselessly.

His eyes find mine, and I see something there—regret, apology, goodbye.

Then, suddenly, a dark blur bursts into the clearing. Flint appears like a demon summoned from the shadows, a garden statue clutched in his hands. Without hesitation, he brings it down on Viktor’s head with terrible force.

The sound is sickening—a wet crack that echoes through the maze. Viktor’s grip on Damiano loosens immediately. He sways, turning toward Flint with confusion in his eyes, blood already streaming down his face.

Flint doesn’t give him a chance to recover. He swings the statue again, catching Viktor on the temple. This time, Viktor crumples to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.

Damiano rolls away, gasping for air, his hands going to his bruised throat. Flint stands over Viktor’s body, the bloody statue still gripped in his hands, his chest heaving.

“Is he...?” I whisper, my question barely audible.

Flint kneels, pressing his fingers against Viktor’s neck. After a long moment, he looks up, his expression grim in the moonlight.

“He’s dead.”

The three of us stare at each other across Viktor’s body, the reality of what just happened sinking in. Another Bastian brother dead. Another body to hide.