Blood in the Shadows

Alexander’s POV

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The gunshot tore through the night like the crack of God’s own whip.

I didn’t think—I moved. My body was already throwing itself toward Isabella, my arms locking around her, pulling her down as shards of glass rained across the marble floor. Her scream cut through the chaos, raw and terrified, but it was her heartbeat beneath my hands that rooted me to life.

Another shot rang out. The glass doors behind us shattered, moonlight spilling through the jagged frame. My men shouted, boots thundered, weapons drawn. But all I heard was her ragged breath and the whisper in my head: Too close. Too fucking close.

“Stay down,” I barked, my voice sharper than the gunfire outside.

Her hands clutched at me, trembling. “Alexander—”

“Don’t speak.” My grip tightened around her waist, my body shielding every inch of hers. If a bullet wanted her, it would have to carve its way through me first.

Matteo slid into the hall, firing toward the trees beyond the broken glass. “Snipers!” he shouted. “Two at least!”

“Kill them,” I snapped.

My men moved like shadows, efficient, trained. The air filled with muzzle flashes, the stench of gunpowder thickening. The mansion—my fortress, my kingdom—had been breached again. And this time, they had aimed for her.

I dragged Isabella across the glass-strewn floor, ignoring the sting of shards cutting into my palms. Her hair clung to her face, eyes wide with terror, but she didn’t fight me. She trusted me, even when she shouldn’t.

We reached the steel-lined door at the end of the hall. I slammed my palm against the panel. The lock clicked, the safe room yawning open.

“Inside,” I ordered.

She shook her head violently, gripping my arm. “No, not without you—”

I caught her chin, forcing her gaze to mine. “Isabella. You do not argue with me now.” My voice cracked with a ferocity I couldn’t soften. “You want to keep me alive? Then obey me. Get inside and don’t come out until I return for you.”

Tears burned down her cheeks. “You can’t fight them all—”

“I can. And I will.”

I kissed her hard, rough, desperate, pouring every ounce of promise I couldn’t say aloud into her lips. Then I shoved her gently into the room. The door sealed shut with a hiss, cutting off her muffled cries.

For a single heartbeat, I wanted to tear it open, to hold her again, to keep her pressed against me where I knew she was safe. But I couldn’t. My world didn’t allow for softness. Not tonight.

I turned back to the war.

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The grounds of the mansion sprawled before me, silver under the moonlight, crimson under the gunfire. Shadows darted between the hedges, rifles glinting. My men returned fire, the crack of bullets echoing through the trees.

I strode into the chaos, gun in one hand, knife in the other. Rage sharpened everything—the gleam of steel, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots, the copper tang of blood in the air.

One of the bastards broke cover, sprinting across the lawn. I lifted my pistol, squeezed the trigger once. His skull snapped back, his body crumpling into the grass.

“Push them toward the east gate!” I roared.

Matteo and the others flanked left, herding the attackers like wolves cornering prey. Bullets ripped through hedges, splintering wood. One of my men went down with a cry, but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t falter.

Another enemy lunged at me from the shadows, blade flashing. I caught his wrist mid-swing, twisting until bones snapped beneath my grip. His scream was music to my rage. My knife plunged into his throat, hot blood spilling across my hand.

He fell. I didn’t look down.

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The hunt became blood-soaked theater.

Every shadow I stalked. Every breath I tracked. My fury drove me forward, precise and merciless. I wasn’t a man anymore. I was the weapon they feared, the monster whispered about in smoke-filled bars, the King who would paint the ground red before bowing.

One by one, they fell. Some to my bullets. Some to Matteo’s blade. Some to my bare hands when the need to feel their death outweighed efficiency.

But still, more came.

The east lawn flickered with muzzle flashes, the scent of burning gunpowder suffocating. My chest heaved, sweat mixing with blood. My knuckles split, my vision tunneled. All I saw were threats. All I saw were men who dared to aim at her.

And then—silence.

The last of them collapsed against the gates, Matteo’s boot pressed to his chest, his gun still smoking. My men regrouped, panting, bloodied, alive.

But victory tasted like ash.

Because in the silence, I remembered the card.

Even kings bleed. Will she?

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I stormed back into the mansion, my boots leaving dark prints across the marble. My hand slammed against the safe room’s panel, unlocking it with trembling fury.

The door hissed open.

Empty.

Cold dread pierced my spine.

“No,” I whispered, stepping inside. The room was immaculate. Untouched. As if she had never been here at all.

“ISABELLA!” My roar cracked the walls, my voice raw, frantic.

I tore through the room, overturning furniture, searching for any sign. Nothing. No blood. No struggle. Just absence.

“Boss!” Matteo’s voice thundered from the hall. He burst in, eyes wide, chest heaving. “She’s gone. They must’ve breached from inside.”

Inside.

The word gutted me.

It wasn’t just an ambush. It wasn’t just snipers at the gates.

It was betrayal.

Someone inside my fortress had opened a door. Someone had led them to her.

My fists clenched, blood dripping from my knuckles onto the steel floor. My men shifted uneasily, waiting for orders, waiting for me to be the monster they needed.

My vision burned red. My lungs ached with fury. My heart—my black, brutal heart—felt like it was splitting in two.

She was gone.

And I would tear this world apart, brick by brick, bone by bone, until I brought her back.