Chapter 100: THE DEVIL’S MERCY.

POV: Serena - Adrian

SERENA POV

The first decrypted file unlocks at 3:17 a.m. Not a dramatic crack of code, not the thunderous revelation you expect when a lifetime of lies finally gives way, just a soft click inside the laptop, the kind you barely hear unless you’re waiting for it with your entire soul.

My breath holds.

The screen fills with pale blue light. Strings of corrupted symbols dissolve into readable text, lines rearranging themselves into something painfully deliberate. The Hale crest blinks in the corner, my birthmark, my burden, my inheritance and for a second, I can’t breathe.

Adrian stands beside me. Close enough that I feel the heat of him, close enough that the weight of his attention presses into my skin. He hasn’t touched me once tonight, and somehow that restraint feels more intimate than any hand he’s ever laid on me.

The first decrypted truth loads.

A file name appears: THE LAZARUS SEQUENCE: HEIR PROTOCOL. My pulse stumbles. Adrian’s voice is a low murmur. “Serena… that’s not Council terminology.”

“No,” I whisper. “It’s older.” Older and mine. I click. The file expands into a series of documents, medical signatures, coded seals and Vatican insignias blurred beneath layers of redacted ink. But the first page is clear. Excruciatingly clear.

SUBJECT: SERENA ADELINA HALE

STATUS: PRIMARY HEIR PROTOCOL INITIATED AT BIRTH

OBJECTIVE: TO AWAKEN THE LINE OF MATTEO HALE THROUGH THE BLOOD OF THE UNION MARRIAGE

My vision tightens. The letters blur, not from confusion, but from the violent clarity that comes when the floor of your life finally caves in.

He engineered me. He engineered all of this and he engineered us.

My father didn’t just survive; he didn’t just manipulate; instead, he built me like a weapon.

Before I can steady myself, a video file loads automatically, an old one, timestamped sixteen years ago. A hazy room appears on the screen, a single cot beneath a fluorescent light and a teenager strapped to an examination table. A girl with my face, my breath and my childhood.

A whisper escapes me before I can stop it. “Turn it off.”

But the video continues. My father’s voice fills the room, “Her instincts are developing ahead of schedule. She will require emotional suppression to prevent disobedience. Prepare the injections.”

I grip the edge of the table until my nails bite wood. Adrian’s jaw hardens, rage slicing through the composure he’s barely holding. “He dosed you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I force out, though my chest shakes. “I’m not that girl anymore.”

“No,” Adrian replies. “You’re not. But I will burn every trace of the man who did this to you.” A quiet settles between us. Heavy. Electric. Not tenderness, not comfort, something darker and something earned.

The second truth begins to decrypt.

This one loads slower, lines of code crawling across the screen like veins tightening under skin. I swallow hard, tasting fear and fury in equal measure.

Adrian doesn’t move. He watches me instead of the screen, as if he already knows whatever appears next will carve itself into me and he intends to witness every second of it.

The file opens:

PROJECT LAZARUS: CONTINGENCY 07, TERMINATION OF ADRIAN DE LUCA UPON FULL ACTIVATION OF HALE HEIR PROTOCOL

The room freezes and my blood goes cold. They expected me to kill him.

Either use him or sacrifice him.

Adrian leans forward, reading the text slowly. Carefully. His face doesn’t change, but something in him goes still, an inner stillness that’s far more dangerous than fury.

“So that was his plan,” he murmurs. “Send me to war with you… then make you finish the job.” My voice is almost impossible to find. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” he says simply.

The way he says it, quiet and certain, without accusation, hurts more than any violence my father ever used. He believes me, despite everything.

The next line decrypts with a soft chime:

IF SUBJECT SERENA HALE FAILS TO ELIMINATE ADRIAN DE LUCA, PROTOCOL B SHALL COMMENCE.

Protocol B. Adrian’s brows draw together. “Serena… scroll.” I do and slowly. The line below appears:

PROTOCOL B: RELEASE THE SNIPER UNIT... “THE DISCIPLES OF MERCY.”

ADRIAN POV

I don’t react at first. Not because the words don’t gut me. They do. But because I’ve learned that when the ground moves beneath your feet, when the world you’ve built shifts into something foreign and lethal, you do not panic.

You anchor, and I anchor on Serena.

She’s shaking. Barely. Just enough that her breath trembles each time she exhales. Her father crafted an entire life out of her bloodstream and carved a destiny into her bones without her consent and yet she’s here, standing and fighting.

Rewriting fate with blood still drying on her hands. “Adrian…” She swallows. “He ordered my death. He ordered yours. He set us up to destroy each other.”

“He failed,” I answer. But did he? Before I can say anything else, Reza bursts into the room, breath harsh, shirt streaked with dirt and smoke.

“You need to see this,” he says. “Now.”

Gunfire echoes outside. Shouts. The crack of glass breaking. Serena stiffens. “What’s happening?”

Reza’s mouth tightens. “Not the Council. Not Vatican forces. This is internal. Your men, Adrian. They’re turning.” The words hit harder than the decrypted file.

My men, my Disciples and my most loyal... or so I thought. Serena steps closer to me, her shoulder brushing mine, a quiet act of alliance that no one else in the room could possibly understand.

“Show us,” I say. We move through the hall together. The tension yawns around us like a shadow with teeth. When we reach the balcony overlooking the courtyard, the betrayal reveals itself in full.

Half my men have formed a circle below, guns drawn, symbols of the old order painted across their jackets. My symbol, crossed out. Struck through. Rewritten with the Hale insignia overlaying it like a crown.

Serena’s breath catches. “They’re shifting allegiance.”

“To your father,” Reza says. “Matteo promised them resurrection. You promised them a future. They believe the ghost over the living man.”

The Disciples tear down my banners. They burn them. They raise new ones. The Lazarus sigil. My jaw tightens. “Cowards.” But it’s more than cowardice.

It’s prophecy, manipulation, and fear, and it is Serena who says the truth aloud, voice low, voice sharp:

“He’s been turning them for years.” I look at her, really look at her, as flames rise across the courtyard.

“You’re not responsible for your father’s madness,” I tell her. “Maybe not,” she replies, “but I’m responsible for ending it.”

I should deny it. Tell her she owes nothing to the man who carved her life into pieces for his vision.

But the way she stands, fierce, trembling, and determined, makes something inside me shift. She isn’t running from the truth anymore.

She’s walking straight into it.

“Then we end it together,” I say.

She looks up at me, and something unspoken passes between us: an understanding, a vow, a fragile thread of loyalty that neither of us can afford to break.

But before she can answer, the world changes. A crack echoes through the air. Not gunfire from below. Sharper. More controlled. Sniper fire. Reza reacts first. “Get down!” But the shot wasn’t aimed at us. It was a warning. A second shot hits the stone column inches from Serena’s head.

I shove her behind me and look toward the rooftops.

And that’s when I see the figure.

SERENA POV

The sniper stands on the opposite building, perfectly still, as if the chaos in the courtyard is beneath them. Their stance is deliberate, balanced, and almost ritualistic.

They aren’t shooting at random. They are marking a target. Adrian, I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I move to him.

But he steps forward, away from me, scanning the rooftop with the calm precision of a man who has lived too long at the edge of death.

Reza grabs my arm. “Serena, stay down...”

“No.”

I wrench free and push forward until I can see Adrian’s face. His expression is stone. Controlled. A familiarity flashes through me; he’s been hunted before. But this is different. This is personal. “Adrian,” I say quietly, forcing him to look at me. His eyes flick to mine and that’s when everything clicks into place.

The decoded file, Protocol B. THE DISCIPLES OF MERCY. My father didn’t just send soldiers. He sent a marksman trained to kill kings. “Adrian, they’re not aiming for your men,” I say. “They’re aiming for you.” Before he can respond, the sniper lifts the rifle again.

The barrel aligns with Adrian’s chest. My heartbeat slams against my ribs.

This is assassination and this is prophecy. This is the moment my father planned.

“Adrian!” I shout, my voice breaking through the courtyard noise.

He turns toward me, just slightly, just enough that I see confusion flicker across his eyes.

The sniper’s finger squeezes the trigger. The muzzle flashes. The bullet erupts into the night. The world narrows into a single scream inside my chest.

I lunge toward Adrian. He pivots toward me. The bullet slices the air between us, too fast to dodge, too final to stop. Time fractures.

The courtyard explodes in shouts. Reza draws his gun. Adrian’s eyes widen.

Pain, fear, rage and every emotion I swore I’d never feel detonate in my veins as I reach for him, as he reaches back, and as the bullet speeds toward the man I refused to lose and then, impact.