The warehouse was empty. The silence was insulting. Isabella's men spread out, searching every corner, but found nothing.
"Boss," one soldier stammered, "they… they've cleared out."
Isabella's jaw tightened, teeth grinding until her phone buzzed. A coded alert lit up the screen:Armory compromised. Strategic defense destroyed.
Her fingers clenched so hard the device cracked. A sound tore from her throat—not words, just rage.
"Engines. Now," she hissed. "We move."
No one argued. Not with her.
When they arrived, flames already licked at the ruins of her armory. Weapons shattered, crates burning, the air thick with the acrid stench of melted metal and oil. Dominic's men were pulling back, smoke curling behind them.
And then she saw him.
Dominic.
For the first time in years , their eyes locked across a battlefield.
Dominic froze. His chest locked, the pistol in his grip suddenly heavier. "Isabella…" His voice was raw, torn from his throat.
Elena, beside him, raised her gun instantly, gaze narrowing. "That's her?"
"Yes." His knuckles whitened. His lips curled in a snarl. "That's the woman who betrayed me."
Isabella's silence was louder than his fury. She didn't answer. Didn't defend. She just drew steel, blade flashing as she launched forward.
"Elena—" Dominic barked.
"I've got you," Elena cut in, cold and precise, firing into the chaos. "Don't you dare freeze."
Gunfire erupted. Isabella's men surged forward, following her into a frenzy that was less strategy, more slaughter.
Dominic shoved an attacker aside, his eyes locked on her. "Look at you!" he roared over the chaos. "You're killing your own army, Isabella!"
Her blade slashed so close he felt the wind of it. Her eyes burned with fury, no hint of reason. "Better they die fighting than crawl away like you did."
The words cut deeper than the steel she swung.
Dominic's face twisted, betrayal bleeding into rage. He blocked her strike with his pistol, shoving her back. "You think this is strength? You're weak. Reckless. Every one of them is dying because you can't control yourself!"
She lunged again, blade sparking against his weapon. "Control is for cowards."
"Elena!" Dominic growled, struggling against the onslaught.
"I said don't let her in your head." Elena's shots cracked through the chaos, dropping three of Isabella's men in clean succession. Her voice was ice, calm, cutting through the madness.
Still, Isabella pressed, dragging her men deeper into the fire. They screamed as bullets tore them apart, but she didn't slow.
"Fall back!" Sebastian cried desperately. "Boss, we're losing too many!"
"Forward!" she snapped, eyes locked on Dominic. Her voice was poison. "He dies tonight!"
Dominic bared his teeth, every muscle taut. "Not by your hands."
Their clash was raw—his controlled precision against her furious strikes. And around them, her army crumbled. Men screamed, fell, bled out in the dirt.
And somewhere in the smoke, her brother watched.
He moved silently, cutting down one of their own soldiers from behind, then another. No hesitation. No remorse. His blade slid into ribs, necks, lungs, leaving bodies crumpled where they stood.
His eyes were empty. His face unreadable. To him, they weren't brothers-in-arms. They were weights to be shed. Pawns to thin the herd.
He didn't call out. Didn't warn Isabella. Didn't step in when she overextended against Dominic. He just kept killing in silence, feeding her downfall from the shadows.
Her blade swung, steel clashing against the barrel of his pistol. Sparks flew as she drove forward, her movements wild, powered by fury. Dominic blocked, shoved, fired at close range. She twisted, the bullet grazing her shoulder, but she didn't flinch.
"You call this control?" she snarled, swinging again. "You've always been soft."
His teeth ground together. "And you've always been poison."
The blade nearly kissed his throat when Elena slammed into her.
Isabella hit the ground hard, but she rolled, coming up fast. Elena didn't hesitate. She holstered her gun and went for her bare hands, stepping into Isabella's fury.
The men around them stopped firing for a heartbeat—watching two killers circle, fists clenched.
"You've been running in shadows," Elena said, voice sharp as broken glass. "But you bleed like the rest of them."
"Try me, bitch." Isabella's grin was blood-stained, feral.
They collided.
Isabella fought like a storm—wild, teeth bared, blows fueled by rage. Elena was precise, every strike calculated. A fist to the jaw, a knee into ribs, a brutal elbow across Isabella's face. Isabella staggered but came back snarling, raking nails across Elena's arm before driving a punch into her gut.
Dominic shouted through the chaos, "Elena, don't play with her—"
"Shut up, Dominic!" Elena spat, ducking under a blade swipe and slamming Isabella into the ground. "She's mine!"
The fight was brutal, raw. Isabella landed a wild kick to Elena's side. Elena answered with a sharp strike to the throat, choking her opponent. Blood sprayed when Elena's final jab cut deep across Isabella's cheek with her combat knife.
Isabella reeled, half-blind, blood streaming down her face.
Dominic leveled his pistol, aiming straight at her head.
"End of the line."
But before he could pull the trigger, a gunshot cracked from the shadows.
Elena gasped, stumbling as blood blossomed across her side. One of Trevor's men had stepped from cover, his pistol smoking.
"Elena!" Dominic roared, shoving her down and returning fire.
The distraction was enough. Isabella, bleeding and staggering, was dragged back by her surviving men.
"Fall back!" one screamed. "Boss, we can't hold!"
She spat blood into the dirt, snarling even as her body buckled. Her voice tore from her throat, hoarse but venomous: "Retreat. NOW!"
Both armies bled heavy that night. Bodies littered the ground, screams echoing in the smoke. Dominic's men held the ruins, but at a cost too steep to celebrate.
Mark hadn't made it.
Dominic found him slumped against a burning crate, blood pooling beneath him, eyes already glassing over.
"Mark…" Dominic dropped beside him, his hand pressing hard on the wound, but it was useless.
Mark coughed, lips trembling. "Don't… let it end here, Boss." His chest rattled. "Finish it…"
And then his eyes went still.
Dominic's throat closed, fury and grief twisting his insides raw. He pressed his forehead against his fallen soldier's for a brief moment, before rising, his hands shaking around his gun.
"Every drop of blood tonight is on her," he growled, his voice shaking with rage. "On Isabella."
Elena staggered to her feet, clutching her side, pale but standing. "She'll bleed for this."
Dominic's jaw clenched, fire blazing in his eyes. "No. She won't just bleed." His voice was steel. "She'll break."
"Prepare them," Dominic ordered quietly, but his tone carried across the ruined ground. "Every fallen man gets a proper burial. They died with honor, and they'll be remembered that way."
As his men moved with silent obedience, Dominic's gaze shifted to Elena.
She lay on a stretcher, pale, blood-soaked but alive. The wound had taken its toll; every rise and fall of her chest was a victory in itself. A medic pressed bandages against the wound, barking for more light, more hands.
Dominic's voice softened, low but unyielding."Get her to the hospital. Now. She's not dying here."
Her lips moved, but no words came—just the faint ghost of defiance, as if she refused to go down quietly.