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I roll as bullets pepper my position, coming up behind another pillar. Two more guards rush to my previous hiding spot, and I take both of them out with ruthless efficiency. Headshot. Center mass. No wasted ammunition.
Seven down.
But I'm running out of time. And options.
Movement above catches my eye—catwalks spanning the warehouse ceiling. Perfect angles for snipers. Which means...
I dive forward just as shots rain down from above. Pain explodes in my shoulder as one finds its mark, but I don't slow down. Can't slow down.
Because this isn't just about survival anymore. This is about Ava. About our child. About making sure these bastards never threaten my family again.
"You're dead, Rega!" Marco's voice is closer now. Confident. "Just like your father. Your brothers. Everyone who ever thought they could stand against us!"
The taunt is aimed to enrage me. Instead, it brings perfect clarity.
I see the whole space in my mind, support pillars, catwalks, exit points. I see the pattern in their movements, the fatal flaw in their strategy.
They think they're hunting me.
Time to show them exactly why they call me Monster.
I move like a shadow, using the pillars for cover as I work my way around the perimeter. Each step is calculated, each breath measured. The pain in my shoulder fades to background noise as I track my targets.
One sniper on the catwalk. Three guards on the ground. The Fiori brothers.
The sniper goes first, dropped by a single shot through the scaffolding, catching him as he tries to track my movement. His rifle clatters to the floor, the sound masking my approach to the next target.
Two more guards go down before they realize I'm behind them. The third manages to turn, eyes widening in recognition before my bullet finds his heart.
Now it's just me and the brothers.
"Marco!" Carlo's voice holds real fear now. "Where is he? Where?—"
I step out from behind the last pillar, gun trained on his head. "Right here."
They spin toward me, weapons raised, but we all know they're too late. Blood runs down my arm, drips from my fingers onto the concrete.
It’s also too late for me. I see it in the devilish smirk in Dante’s eyes just a second before something hits the back of my head.
The blood loss hits like a tide, dragging me down. My knees hit concrete as shapes move around me, voices calling my name from what feels like miles away.
The gunfire becomes a distant buzz, my vision blurring as multiple hands grab me. My body fights—muscle memory, training, the monster inside me refusing to go down easily—but there are too many of them. Too many bodies pressing against me, crushing my wounded shoulder, driving me to my knees.
Pain explodes through my system. Not just from the bullet wound, but from every punch, every brutal strike designed to break my spirit before breaking my body.
I catch glimpses between the blur of bodies—Tomasso moving with Tony, a flash of movement toward the exit. Good. At least they'll be safe. At least my last act will protect them.
"Fucking Rega," someone spits, a boot connecting with my ribs. I taste blood, feel something crack inside me. Probably a rib. Maybe two.
But I'm still watching. Still calculating.
My last thought before darkness takes me is of Ava. Of our child. Of the promise I made to keep them safe.
I hope Tomasso understands. I hope he gets them away from here.
The blows keep coming, each one driving me closer to unconsciousness. The monster in me growls, refuses to surrender completely. But physics has other plans.
One final strike.