Smoke still hung in the air — faint, acrid, and stinging. The ground was littered with shell casings, splintered crates, and the echo of chaos that had just barely ended.
The fight was over, but no one could call it victory.
Marcus De Luca stood amid the wreckage, coat torn, knuckles bloodied. Sofia had been found and brought to safety by James and the crew — shaken but breathing. Olivia stood off to the side, gun still holstered, eyes burning with defiance. Cole, half-conscious, sat on a broken crate muttering complaints.
And Marcus… Marcus was a storm contained by muscle and willpower alone.
He slammed his hand against a nearby car hood, metal denting beneath the impact. "We had him! We had Lucifer right there, and he—" his voice broke slightly, "he took Vincent!"
The name came out like a wound reopening.
