49

49


The world narrowed into flashes of light and shadow. Every breath was smoke, gunpowder, plaster dust. The marble walls of the Demarco estate, once pristine, now spat chips of stone as bullets chewed them apart.

Another shadow lunged through the kitchen door. I swung up my pistol, but Lucian’s shot cracked first, the man’s head jerking back before he even squeezed the trigger. Blood sprayed across the white tile.

“Move!” Lucian snarled. His hand brushed my arm again, firm and urgent, and we surged out of the kitchen.

The hallway was chaos. Rivera gunmen spilled through the front entrance like a flood of black masks, rifles raised. The ornate double doors shuddered against their boots, then buckled inward, wood splintering as they forced themselves inside.

A scream cut through the noise.

Maria.

I snapped my head left. At the far end of the hall, the head maid appeared, her shawl half-slipped from her shoulders, her nightdress flapping as she herded two trembling girls toward the servant’s stairwell. The younger one stumbled, nearly falling, and Maria all but dragged her upright.

“Go! Go!” I shouted, firing down the corridor to give them cover. The Riveras ducked back as bullets chewed into the wall beside them.

Maria’s eyes met mine for the briefest moment—wide, terrifiedl. Then she shoved the girls through the stairwell door and slammed it shut behind her, vanishing into the safety of the lower passage.

Relief cut through meAt least some would live.

But the rest of us—no such mercy.

The hall erupted again as masked men stormed forward. I ducked, pressed against the wall, and fired blind around the corner. The recoil slammed my shoulder. One scream told me I’d hit.

Lucian didn’t waste rounds. Every shot from him was cold and deliberate, always a kill. His movements were a storm contained in human form—very lethal.

We fell back step by step, the corridor funneling the enemy toward us. Our shoulders brushed with every pivot, every retreat. Back-to-back, side-to-side. The rhythm wasn’t planned, but it was instinct.

I shifted left, he covered right. I dropped to reload, he surged forward. It was as if some cruel god had cut us from the same cloth of violence.

Then, from the shadows—

“Boss!”

Vito.

He came like a bull, his massive frame plowing into the Riveras with raw fury. A scream tore free as his knife ripped across a throat. Another man fell as Vito slammed him into the wall with bone-crushing force.

Davide followed, calm where Vito was chaos. He carried the shotgun like it was an extension of himself. One blast shook the corridor, tearing a man near in half.

Another shot shattered the marble banister, sending two attackers tumbling to the floor below.

The battle slowed. For the first time since the breach, I could breathe.

“Hold the line!” Davide barked,

And then—her voice echoed.

“Boss!”

My heart stopped.

Marisol.

She should’ve been in bed. Still recovering. Still too weak. But there she was, pale as bone, her nightdress stained with old bruises, a pistol clutched in both trembling hands. Her body swayed with exhaustion, but her eyes—her eyes were fire.

“No!” I shouted. But it was too late.

She fired. The recoil almost tore the gun from her hands, but her bullet struck true. A Rivera who had been flanking Davide dropped, the blood painting the floor.

And beside her—Leo.

He staggered, one arm wrapped in heavy bandages, blood dark against the cloth. But his weapon was very effective. His every move was angled toward Marisol, protecting her with his body even as his own faltered. They fought as one, wounded and raw, but unbreakable.

Something tore inside me. Pride. Terror. Rage. My people, dragging themselves from their sickbeds to fight for me. To die beside me, if it came to that.

The Riveras roared again, charging.

We answered.

The estate became a battlefield.

We fought room by room, step by step, the ornate halls swallowed by fire and blood. My pistol barked until the slide locked empty, and I slammed in another magazine with shaking hands.

A masked man lunged, blade flashing. I rammed my knee up into his gut, twisted, jammed the barrel beneath his jaw, and fired. Hot spray of blood burst across my cheek.

Lucian tore forward, very merciless. His every shot was clean, his every strike was fatal. He moved with a speed that bordered on inhuman, covering me without thought.

Vito was brutal , tearing through men with knife and fist, almost like a beast in human skin. Davide was calm every shotgun blast was measured, despite the chaos.

And Marisol—God, Marisol. She was struggling with each pull of the trigger, but she didn’t stop. Her voice cracked with every scream, but she stood her ground. Leo was her shield, his body angled in front of hers, every shot he took a declaration that she would not fall while he still stood.

The house groaned under the war. Chandeliers shattered, raining glass like stars. The grand stairwell became a river of blood. Bullet holes chewed the walls, splintering portraits of Lucian ancestors until their painted eyes were nothing but shredded canvas.

We pushed, inch by inch, until the last gunfire faded.

And then—silence.

It was over.

The marble floors ran was filled with blood.bodies sprawled across the halls like broken dolls. My arms trembled as I lowered my pistol, my chest heaving with every ragged breath.

Maria emerged again from the servant’s stairwell, her face was pale. Behind her, the hundreds servants were alive but shaken. They had lived. Barely.

Vito dragged a corpse aside, his knife clattering to the floor. Davide reloaded on instinct, though no more shadows came.

Marisol knelt by Leo, wiping blood from his temple with shaking hands. Her eyes were wet, but her jaw was set. She had survived, though she looked broken by it.

And Lucian—

He stood in the ruin, his shirt soaked with blood not his own, chest rising steady, his eyes finding mine through the haze.

And in that moment, I knew. Somewhere in the fight, I had trusted him completely. Every step, every shot, every pivot—we had moved as one. His life in my hands, mine in his. Bound like we’d been born for it.

And that truth terrified me more than the Riveras ever could.

By dawn, the first light bled through shattered windows. The Demarco estate—our fortress—was broken.

Lucian’s voice was low “They’re getting bold. Too bold. They knew the paths. The walls. This wasn’t just an attack.”

I swallowed hard, tasting iron and ash. My pistol slipped from my hand, clattering to the flot

“They got in because someone let them,” I whispered.

Lucian crouched, picked up my pistol, and set it back into my trembling hand before standing tall again. His voice sharpened.

“Vito, Davide—find the leak. I don’t care if it’s a soldier, a maid, or the damn gardener. Tear this place apart if you have to. No one leaves until we know who opened that door.”

The men straightened instantly. Boots echoed against the floor as they moved out.

Lucian turned to me then. “We can’t stay here. The walls are cracked, the ground’s poisoned. They’ll be back.” His hand brushed against mine briefly—We move everyone to the second house at Via Montelupo. It’s tighter, more secluded. Easier to defend.”

He glanced toward the destroyed wi
ndows, where dawn spilled pale light over bloodstains
“This place is no longer a Tigress,It’s a grave waiting to happen.”