Page 38

Bullets ricochet off the walls. Stone chips fly like razors. One round grazes my upper arm, hot and sharp like fire licking my skin. I grit my teeth, forcing my legs to keep moving.

Cassian shoots two more as we dive behind a toppled table. We crouch, breathing heavy, hearing shouting up ahead—chaos breaking loose.

But something changes.

Gunfire erupts behind the men chasing us. Screams echo from the far corridor. We’re now in a slaughterhouse.

I see Gustavo through the smoke further down the hall, barking orders, panicking. His men are breaking formation under the pressure. The traitors aren’t prepared for a proper assault.

“Come on!” Cassian tugs me.

Two more men rush us. My ribs burn, but I charge. The first swings his baton wildly. I duck low, driving my shoulder into his gut, slamming him into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. I yank his pistol free and fire point blank into his chest before spinning toward the second attacker.

He tackles me.

We hit the floor hard, my spine screaming in protest. His hands close around my throat, eyes wild. My vision starts to blur. But I’m not dying like this.

Cassian fires two rounds into his chest from behind, saving me. My chest heaves. My ribs feel shattered. My mouth tastes of iron and dust.

“Keep moving!” I rasp, grabbing the fallen man’s gun.

Cassian nods, wiping blood from his swollen eye. We stumble forward as more gunfire rattles through the halls. Bodies pile along the floor—ours, theirs—it’s impossible to tell who’s winning.

The estate is a warzone now. Screams, orders, gunfire—it's all one symphony of violence.

Another squad of Gustavo’s men charges ahead, blocking the final hallway to the service exit.

I lift the pistol I just took.

Cassian raises his.

We open fire together.

The gunfire crackles around me like violent static, but all I can hear now is the pounding in my ears.

Blood streaks down my ribs, warm and sticky from the earlier wound.

Cassian and I have almost reached the final corner that leads out toward the service entrance when a voice cuts through the smoke behind us.

“Cousin.”

I stop cold.

Through the swirling haze, Gustavo steps into view, shirtless, chest glistening with sweat and streaked with blood, whether his or someone else's, I don’t know. His lip is split open, and one eye is swollen almost shut. His wild eyes lock onto mine.

“Finally, I get to pay you back for humiliating me. Over a woman, no less.” His voice drips with venom.

Cassian moves to step forward, but I raise a hand. This is mine.

I drop my empty pistol, letting it clatter to the ground.

Gustavo lunges.

We collide in the center of the hallway, fists flying, the world narrowing to just the two of us. I duck under his first swing, feeling the air shift as his knuckles slice past my jaw. My fist crashes into his ribs, hearing a satisfying crack. He grunts, stumbling.

I don’t let him breathe. I grab his shoulder, driving my knee into his stomach, folding him in half. He coughs, spitting blood, but he's not finished.

He surges up, headbutting me. My vision blurs. I stagger back a few steps, but I keep my footing.

He charges again. We slam against the wall, my back slamming into it with a dull thud that shoots pain through my already broken ribs.

I block his next punch with my forearm and drive my elbow into his jaw, sending him stumbling back into a toppled chair.

He reaches for his boot and pulls out a knife—a thin, serrated blade that gleams in the flashing light of muzzle fire behind us.

I swing, but not fast enough.

The knife plunges into my side.

White-hot pain sears through me. My body stiffens, the wound pulsing with every frantic beat of my heart. He rips the blade out and shoves me backward, sending me crashing onto my back. My breath hitches as I clutch my side, blood seeping rapidly through my fingers.

Gustavo steps over me, towering, panting heavily, sweat dripping from his chin.

“The mighty Serevin,” he sneers. “And this is how you go down. On your back, like a fucking dog.”

His boot presses into my chest, pinning me. The knife glistens above, trembling slightly in his hand as he aims for my throat.

In my periphery, Cassian rushes forward—but one of Gustavo’s men intercepts him, landing a brutal punch that sends Cassian crashing into the wall, dazed.

I try to twist away, but my limbs are sluggish, my vision swimming. The blade descends. My breathing shortens, heart hammering in my ears.

And then—

A single sharp crack.

The sound slices through the chaos like a lightning strike.

Blood splatters across my face. Gustavo’s expression freezes—shocked, wide-eyed—before his body jerks and collapses sideways. The knife clatters harmlessly beside my head.

I suck in air and turn my head.

Standing several feet away, framed by the broken smoke and flashing lights, is Fioretta.

She holds the smoking gun steady, her face cold, her eyes sharp and burning.

The world narrows to just her and me for one fleeting moment.

She rushes toward me, her face pale, eyes wide, pupils blown with terror. I want to speak, to say her name, but my throat burns, and all I can manage is a rasp.

She drops to her knees, sliding on the slick floor, her hands immediately pressing over my wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispers, her voice cracking. She’s shaking. “God, you’re bleeding.”

I lift my hand with what little strength I have and find her cheek. My fingers tremble as I touch her skin. She’s here. She’s real. Warm. Breathing. Not a dream. Not this time.

“You came,” I manage. The words feel foreign, like they’re scraping out of my chest.

The tight coil in my chest snaps, and before I can even think, I pull her forward and crush my mouth to hers.

Her lips taste of salt and rain. The kiss is desperate. Starving. I kiss her like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do. My hand buries into her hair, pulling her closer because even this isn’t enough. It’s never enough.

She melts into me. God, she always melts into me. Her breath is warm against my mouth. Her fingers clutch my shirt, smearing blood as if claiming me. She’s shaking, but she doesn’t pull away.

For a brief second, the world dissolves. The gunfire, the blood, the bodies—they’re all gone. Just her. Only her.

And then—

“Oh, come on, you two!” Emilia’s sharp voice slices through, snapping reality back into focus.

I breathe hard against Fioretta’s mouth as she reluctantly pulls back. Our foreheads rest together for a second longer.

I can barely stand. My entire body is on fire. But I don’t care. She’s here.

Cassian groans beside Emilia, leaning heavily against her. His temple’s bleeding, his breathing shallow, but he manages a crooked grin through the mess.

“Come on,” Fioretta whispers, slipping under my arm. I lean into her, groaning with every step as we stagger toward the doors.

Gunfire echoes behind us—Monte’s remaining men scrambling after us in the chaos. My legs threaten to buckle, but she holds firm, never letting me fall.

The night air punches into me as we break through the door into the courtyard. Cold rain slaps my skin like needles. Flashes of lightning illuminate the blood-slick stone beneath our feet.

A car waits. My eyes narrow. I don’t know how she pulled this off, but I know who I owe my life to.

“Keep moving!” she shouts, voice fierce as she helps shove Cassian into the backseat.

Emilia scrambles in after him. Fioretta practically throws me into the passenger seat before slamming the door and racing around to the driver’s side.

The engine roars to life as she floors the gas pedal. Tires scream against the rain-slicked ground.

Behind us, shouts explode into the air. Gunfire rains down on us, bullets slicing through the storm. A round shatters the rear windshield. Another pings off the roof.

I grunt as another sharp twist of pain cuts through my side, but I grit my teeth, my eyes flickering to her.

She’s gripping the wheel, knuckles white. Jaw clenched. Eyes locked ahead.

“My aunt,” I rasp, every word scraping my throat raw.

“I know,” she answers.