Page 144 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

The blade traces his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. "Did you mean from you?"

"I meant from weakness," he spits. "Which I eliminated."

She presses harder, the cut deepening. "You eliminated nothing. My parents' love lives in me. Their strength, their kindness—everything you tried to destroy survived."

"Sentiment. You're about to execute an unarmed man. That's not their legacy—it's mine."

The knife hovers over his throat. One motion ends thirteen years of nightmares. I can see her arm tensing, ready to—

"He's right."

She freezes. Looks at me.

"Killing him quick proves his point. But making him live, making him face justice, watching his empire crumble from a cell? That's your parents' legacy. That's choosing justice over vengeance."

Petrov laughs, blood bubbling through split lips. "Justice? You think the system will hold me? I own judges, prosecutors, politicians—"

"Not anymore." Cole's voice cuts through as he emerges from the fog, Damian and Asher flanking him. "Your operations are compromised. Your contacts are being arrested as we speak. Katya's very thorough."

I watch Mira process this. The choice between thirteen years of planning and something potentially more satisfying—watching him rot.

She stands slowly, the knife disappearing. "Death is too quick. Too merciful."

"Weak," Petrov spits. "I made you strong and you choose—"

The Glock swings down, catching his knee. The crack of bone is followed immediately by his scream.

"I choose justice," she says calmly. "Zip-tie him."

Cole moves forward with restraints while Petrov writhes and curses. I catch Mira's hand, feeling the tremors she's hiding from everyone else.

"You did it," I murmur. "You won."

"Did I?" She's staring at Petrov as sirens approach. "Or did I just prove I'm exactly what he made me?"

"No. You proved you're stronger than what he tried to make you."

She looks at me then, really looks, and I see the exhaustion under the adrenaline. Thirteen years of carrying this weight, and she's finally put it down.

The wail of sirens cuts through the moment, closer now. Red and blue lights start flickering through the fog.

"Extraction. Now," Cole says into his comm.

Gunfire erupts from the container maze—Prague team drawing police away. We haul Petrov toward the secondary vehicles, his shattered knee dragging.

"Coast Guard has the victims," Asher confirms. "They never saw us."

Damian shoves Petrov into the van with that particular smile of his. The convoy splits—Prague team one direction, us another, disappearing into Baltimore's industrial maze.

Mira's burner buzzes. She pulls it out, and I watch the blood drain from her face.

"What?"

She turns the screen toward me. A photo: our entire team on this pier, taken from an angle that should be impossible.

Someone was watching.

thirty-three