“He’s like Talon,”he said with a shrug.“Hard-headed. Got reasons. I’ll let him come to me when he’s ready.”
That right there? That earned him more than just my respect—it earned my trust.
The static hums in my ear again, then voices. Position checks. Finally, green light. We’re on schedule. Everything’s locked and loaded. Then I hear it—the deep, gritty growl of a Harley cutting through the quiet like a war cry.
I smirk. Of course, it’s Brick. Loud as hell and not giving a damn. Man rolls up to a tactical ambush like it’s a Sunday ride.
I shake my head and return my focus to what I’m here for. We’re camped just outside the airport—the private hangar where the Salvatores are scheduled to arrive. Arrogant bastards. They made it easy for us, broadcasting their arrival like they were untouchable. They’ve always been prideful and reckless. That combination makes people sloppy. Pride and sloppiness make people stupid.
And stupid gets you buried.
Don Salvatore lost his mind when he learned Talon survived. Made no secret of his disappointment. The Keepers failed. Valentina’s still breathing. So now, he and his heir have flown in, thinking they’ll finish the job themselves.
Let them try.
They think their name and the need for revenge give them power. But they forget—I wrote the book on vengeance, and my nameispower. They’re not walking out of this city. Their terrorends tonight. For Valentina. For Talon. For every woman who has suffered and all the pain the Salvatores and men like them have inflicted.
“So, how are we doing this?”
Brick’s voice cuts through the room. I turn as he enters, dressed head-to-toe in black. He’s all intensity-no soft edges, no pleasantries. The man has presence, even when he’s silent, especially when he’s quiet. His eyes scan the room, checking everyone, assessing everything. When his gaze locks on mine, I nod once. He returns it, understanding the weight of what we’re about to do. A quiet force of vengeance and control. No theatrics. Just precision. He’s here for blood, but more than that—he’s here for peace. I see it in how his jaw flexes and the tightness around his eyes.
He needs this to be done. We all do.
“They’re landing in less than twenty,” I say, shifting into strategy mode. “Two cars, one SUV. The driver is ex-military, likely armed. Don and his heir are in the second vehicle. The third car will be their backup—they’ll hold unless they hear gunfire.”
Brick nods. “Positions?”
“Bellamy’s team will handle the escort detail. Olivia’s got eyes in the tower. Sebastian’s on-ground surveillance. Kai and Fi are sweeping the perimeter now.” I pause. “I’ll take the shot.”
Brick raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”
I smile, but it’s not kind. “I’m sure. I got this.”
He studies me. There’s something in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, maybe even admiration.
Brick steps forward, voice low and steady. “You want to end this, Gabriella. I’m with you. I’m not here to second-guess you. Just tell me what you need.”
I nod a few times as I stare into his eyes and see the truth in them. The room around us is buzzing—comms, foot traffic, tension—but for a second, it’s just me and him. Me, the woman who’s kept secrets. Him, the man who’s walking through the fallout of secrets kept from him. What I need is for this to end. For the past to stop dictating every damn decision I make.
“I need this to be over,” I whisper. “I need to stop looking over my shoulder. I need my kids to know what peace feels like.”
Brick nods slowly. “Then let’s take it.”
The Airstrip Hours later
We move like shadows—silent, efficient, lethal. No wasted motion. No room for mistakes. Bellamy’s voice cuts in over the comms, low and clipped:“Wheels down in five.”Time folds in on itself as the energy shifts. No more waiting. No more prep. Now it’s action. Outside the hangar, I move with purpose. My boots barely whisper across the gravel as I head toward the access ladder. Brick follows. Heavy footsteps, but steady. He’s a blunt weapon, that man—force over finesse—but right now, he’s following my lead, eyes sharp.
I don’t look at him, but I feel his gaze. There’s something behind it. Not just focus—something heavier. Surprise maybe. Or shock. Maybe both. I don’t ask. Don’t have time to dig into emotions when blood’s about to hit pavement.
The roof is hot under my palms as I scale up, steel warm from soaking in the day’s heat. The night air is thick, humid, clinging to my skin like sweat that hasn’t even started yet. Up here, the city hushes, and time slows.
I drop to the rooftop, low and tight, my body one with the steel and concrete. Brick settles beside me—less smooth, but competent. He may not be sniper-trained, but he’s been in enough fights to know how to stay still when it matters.
“We clear,” I whisper into the mic. Bellamy clicks back twice. That’s the code––all green.
I lay flat and slide my rifle into place, adjusting the bipod legs with precision. No rattling. No clinks. This weapon’s part of me now—custom, tuned, deadly. My fingers move by memory. One check on the chamber. One on the sight. I settle in, the scope tight against my eye. My breathing evens out, steady as a surgeon. The world narrows into the black circle in front of me.
Then I see it.
