Chapter Eighty-Six: The Smoke Clears

The smoke hung thick in the air, curling in ghostly tendrils as it slithered down the marble halls of the Moretti estate. The once pristine floors were slick with blood, bodies scattered like discarded cards from a rigged game.

Lucien stood at the heart of it all, his shirt soaked, torn, clinging to muscles tense with rage and fatigue. His hands were stained crimson, his knuckles raw, and the pistol he held was nearly fused to his grip. He barely noticed the sting. Not when death still lingered around the corners like a patient predator.

Another shot rang out in the distance. Two sharp cracks. Then silence.

He didn’t flinch.

Instead, Lucien tilted his head, listening, not for more gunfire, but for her. For Emilia.

The last time he’d seen her, he’d shoved her into Julio’s arms and ordered them both out of the crossfire. He’d fought with the fury of a man stripped bare, because that was exactly what he was. Every bullet he fired, every life he ended, was for her.

And yet every second she