The sea surrounding Corsica was deceptively calm.
Dark waves lapped gently against the hull of the sleek black speedboat cutting through the water like a blade. Vivienne stood at the bow, wind threading through her dark hair as her eyes narrowed toward the looming cliffs ahead.
There, carved into the face of the rock like a wound, was their destination:
La Gueule Noire—The Black Maw.
It was less fortress, more forgotten god's temple. Jagged towers jutted from the cliffside, windows like slits, walls steeped in centuries of shadow. Rumor said it had been built on the ruins of a monastery, then repurposed by warlords, then lost to the state—until Valentin claimed it.
A place with no name on any map. A sanctuary for the damned.
And the perfect place to disappear.
Damien joined her at the bow, his expression unreadable.
"You don't have to go in alone," he said.
"I'm not," she replied.
"You're still not sure you trust me."
"I'm sure I trust your aim," she said coolly. "That's enough for now."
---
They docked beneath the cliff at a narrow inlet where jagged rocks formed a natural breakwater. A hidden elevator embedded in the stone took them up through a long, echoing shaft. They emerged into shadow and silence.
The interior was vast—dark walls lined with ancient tapestries and security sensors, halls echoing with the hum of power. Everything smelled faintly of salt and blood.
Julien's contact had confirmed Valentin was inside. But so were twenty-seven guards, surveillance drones, and a failsafe system set to collapse the lower level if breached.
Vivienne had no intention of walking out quietly.
---
The plan was simple.
Divide.
Distract.
Destroy.
Damien moved through the west wing, disabling power nodes and cutting surveillance one room at a time. He was swift, brutal, a shadow with a silencer.
Vivienne, meanwhile, slipped into the library—a chamber of black stone and glass where Valentin's secrets were kept. Files. Photos. Maps. A whole empire recorded and sorted in cold precision.
And there, on the central table, was a silver briefcase.
She opened it slowly.
Inside were contracts. Not just for arms or politics. But for lives.
Assassination orders. Market rates for "acquisitions." Orphanage networks used as fronts for human trafficking. Names crossed out in red.
At the bottom: a folder marked D'Aragon.
She opened it.
Her father's signature stared back at her—years old and still trembling on the page. Agreements signed in desperation. Terms scrawled in the margins. Her name listed among the "leverage points."
Vivienne's breath caught.
He had sold her name for protection.
And still died in a warehouse, shot like a dog.
---
"You found it," said a voice behind her.
She turned slowly.
Valentin stood at the doorway, dressed in black, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back. He looked unchanged—serpent eyes, calm smile.
"I wondered how long it would take you," he said.
She stepped in front of the case. "You always did like to keep your trophies organized."
"They're not trophies, my dear. They're truths. Unpleasant, but necessary."
Vivienne raised her gun.
He didn't flinch.
"Go ahead," he said. "Kill me. You'll still be what I made you."
She fired.
Once.
Not at him—at the case. The bullet tore through the folder, shredding the pages into chaos.
"I am not yours," she said.
Alarms blared.
Damien's voice came through her earpiece. "Guards incoming. Five minutes to exfil."
Valentin's calm cracked. "You think destroying paper changes anything?"
"No," she said. "But burning empires always starts with the first page."
---
They ran.
Through halls swallowed by red light, dodging bursts of gunfire and collapsing ceilings. Smoke poured from ventilation shafts. Explosions rocked the lower wings.
By the time they reached the elevator shaft, the fortress was crumbling.
Vivienne looked back once.
And smiled.
---
They escaped by sea, the night swallowing them as La Gueule Noire burned behind them—stone and flame collapsing into the dark.
Vivienne sat silently in the back of the boat, her heart pounding.
Beside her, Damien held a bloodied shoulder, but smiled.
"You think he made it out?"
She shook her head. "Not this time."
But deep down, she wasn't sure.
Because monsters like Valentin had a way of surviving the fire.
But now, she had something more powerful than revenge.
She had truth.
And it would bleed.