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We wait for almost an hour before another SUV pulls in. This one is a deep midnight blue, so dark it almost looks black under the dim lights. If there’s one thing the bosses in my world love, it’s standing out—setting themselves apart from the men who do their dirty work.

The back door swings open.

Elena steps out.

She scans the area with sharp, assessing eyes. One of her men approaches, leans in, and murmurs something. Whatever he says makes her smile. Then she moves. Her coat flares behind her, her boots clicking against the pavement with each deliberate step. Every part of her screams confidence—arrogance. The belief that she’s untouchable.

My grip tightens around my gun.

She reaches the truck.

I give the signal.

Gunfire erupts. The night explodes into chaos. Bullets rip through the air, each shot echoing off the empty docks. Elena’s men scatter, caught between fighting and fleeing, but there’s nowhere to run.

Bodies drop faster than I can count. The sharp tang of gunpowder thickens the air, mixing with the stench of blood. Marco’s men close in from the east, cutting off their escape. Matteo’s men sweep in from the west. The trap is set.

I move through the chaos, my gun kicking in my hand as I drop one, then another, then another. No hesitation. No mercy. These bastards chose the wrong side.

I scan the battlefield, searching for the only target that matters. But instead, I spot James.

He moves fast, a shadow weaving through the carnage. His gun flares as he takes down two men in quick succession. Then, with practiced ease, he buries a knife into another one’s eye socket. But he doesn’t see the man behind him.

Gun raised.

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate.

I lunge.

The bullet cuts through the air just as I slam into James, knocking him to the ground. It misses, burying itself into a crate instead. I roll, fire twice, and the man behind me drops—dead before he hits the ground.

James coughs, his eyes wide with shock. “Boss?—”

“Get the fuck up,” I snap, grabbing his arm and hauling him to his feet. Matteo rushes toward us, gun still raised, scanning for more threats.

But even as I keep moving, keep fighting, there’s something lighter in my chest.

I couldn’t save Ken. I couldn’t save Luca.

But I saved James.

Maybe, for once, I evened the score.

Then I see her.

Elena bolts toward the car, her coat billowing behind her as she tries to escape. Not a fucking chance. I close the distance in seconds, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her back. She thrashes, kicking and clawing, but I lock my arm around her, pressing my gun to her skull.

I fire a shot into the air. The sharp crack silences the fight.

One of her men hesitates for a split second. That’s all it takes. I put a bullet in the back of his head. He crumples, blood pooling beneath him. The rest of them freeze. One by one, weapons clatter to the ground.

Elena’s still struggling in my arms.

Her struggling pisses me off, so I slam the back of my gun against her face. She hisses, blood trickling from the fresh cut on her lip, but she stops fighting.

I should kill her right now. Put the barrel in her mouth and pull the trigger.

I can’t believe this bitch had the audacity to get close to Aria. To pretend to be her friend. The rage boils over, and I strike her again, harder this time. She winces, her cheek swelling, but I don’t give a fuck. I yank her head back, forcing her to watch as her men lower their weapons.