Fire on the Docks, Shadows at the Safehouse
The night was black, the docks swallowed in mist. Cargo containers stood like looming giants, hiding shadows that moved with lethal intent. Lucian stood at the front, a phantom in the darkness, his men waiting for his signal.
"This isn't just about sending a message," he growled, chambering his gun. "This is war. And I don't lose wars."
Marco gave a sharp nod, and within seconds, chaos erupted. Gunfire shattered the silence, bullets ricocheting off steel containers. The Valdez cartel had been expecting resistance, but not Lucian's fury. He moved with deadly precision, cutting through enemies like a storm of steel and fire.
Grenades boomed, the docks lit with fire as men fell screaming into the water. Lucian's wrath was absolute. Every bullet he fired was fueled by the memory of Elena's trembling hands, Isabella's scream in the burning mansion.
Meanwhile, miles away at the safehouse, Elena held Isabella close in the darkened room. The child slept fitfully, jerking awake with whimpers each time the nightmares returned. Elena smoothed her hair, whispering soft words she barely believed herself.
Her own fear was a constant pulse in her chest, but beneath it was something else—something even more dangerous. Longing. The image of Lucian's eyes when he had confessed she was in his blood haunted her. It wasn't just attraction anymore. It was deeper, heavier… and impossible.
Suddenly, a faint noise came from the hallway. Elena froze. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
She rose quietly, reaching for the pistol Lucian had left her. Her heart pounded as she positioned herself between the door and Isabella's sleeping form.
The knob turned.
"Elena," a hushed voice whispered from the other side.
It wasn't Lucian.
Her blood ran cold.
Back at the docks, the battle reached its climax. Lucian stood over the burning wreckage of a Valdez truck, his chest heaving, his men bloodied but victorious. The enemy had been crushed tonight, but Lucian knew it was only the beginning. The cartel would strike back. Harder.
Still, as he wiped the blood from his face, one thought consumed him. Elena.
He needed to get back to her. To make sure she and Isabella were safe. To say the words he had been fighting to keep buried.
But at the safehouse, danger was already knocking on her door.