The docks roared alive with war.
Gunfire split the night in violent bursts, sharp and unrelenting. Bullets pinged off steel containers, sparks scattering like fireflies. Men shouted over the chaos, orders and curses swallowed by the thunder of combat. The salt-stung air grew thick with smoke, with the acrid bite of gunpowder, with the copper tang of blood.
Lottie dropped low behind a crate as the first volley tore through the warehouse. Her pulse thundered in her ears, each beat a reminder that she was not hidden, not safe — she was the center of this storm. Splinters rained down as bullets chewed into wood above her head.
Across the chaos, Gabe was a blade in motion. He moved through the shadows with ruthless precision, his pistol steady, his body fluid, every step calculated. He fired with the cold certainty of a man who had lived his life by the barrel of a gun, every shot clean, deliberate, final. Men dropped in his wake, the space around him carved open by sheer will.
But it wasn't enough.
Vitale's soldiers kept coming — more than they'd scouted, more than they'd planned. For every man that fell, two more seemed to emerge from the dark edges of the docks.
And through it all, Vitale watched.
He stood beyond the fray, his tailored coat unmarked by ash or blood, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He looked less like a man in the middle of war and more like a conductor, watching his orchestra tear the night apart with violent symphony. His eyes tracked Lottie, sharp and unblinking, his smile never shifting.
Lottie's hand shook as she gripped her pistol, the cold metal slick in her palm. Marco's voice echoed in her head from earlier drills: steady grip, exhale before you fire, don't think — act.
She rose just enough to see over the crate, sighted one of Vitale's men charging toward Gabe's flank, and pulled the trigger.
The shot cracked, the man fell.
Her breath tore from her chest in a sharp gasp, half-shock, half-adrenaline. No time to think. Another shadow lunged from the right. She swung her arm, fired again. The recoil jolted her, but the bullet found its mark.
She was still trembling when Gabe's voice ripped through the chaos.
"Lottie!"
She turned — too late.
Another man had broken through, towering, his rifle raised. He was close enough that she saw the cold hunger in his eyes, the certainty of his kill.
And then Gabe was there.
He slammed into the man with brutal force, the crack of bone and the sharp clang of metal echoing as the rifle skidded across the dock. Gabe's blade flashed in the dark, cutting clean, merciless. The man collapsed, choking on his last breath.
Gabe's chest heaved, his eyes blazing as he turned on her.
"Stay down!" he roared, his voice raw with fury and fear.
But before she could answer, Vitale's voice sliced through the gunfire, calm, measured, taunting.
"Careful, Cavelli. You'll wear yourself thin saving her every time she stumbles."
Gabe's head snapped toward him. Vitale hadn't moved from his perch at the edge of the chaos, untouched, untouchable, his men forming a shield around him.
Vitale's smile widened as he gestured lazily toward Lottie. "You can't guard both your crown and your queen. Not forever. One will fall."
The words twisted in Lottie's gut like knives, because they weren't aimed only at Gabe. They were meant for her too — to remind her that she was a pawn, a lure, a fracture in Gabe's armor.
But Gabe didn't flinch. He raised his pistol, firing clean at the man standing closest to Vitale. The soldier dropped, blood darkening the dock planks.
"Come closer," Gabe snarled, his voice cutting through the chaos like steel on stone. "And I'll bury you here."
For the first time, Vitale's smile thinned.
He lifted his hand — a signal.
The warehouse exploded.
The blast tore through the far side of the dock, fire blooming in violent orange, metal shrieking as crates collapsed into the water. The shockwave threw Lottie off her feet, her back slamming into the crate behind her. Pain burst through her ribs as the world spun in shards of flame and smoke.
"Lottie!" Gabe's voice ripped through the ringing in her ears.
She blinked through the haze, coughing, vision blurred. Shapes moved in the firelight — shadows, men, chaos. And then she saw him — Gabe, fighting toward her through the inferno, carving down anyone who dared step in his way.
Her chest tightened, breath ragged, as she scrambled onto shaky legs. She tried to steady her pistol, but her arms felt like lead, her hands trembling too hard to aim.
And then Vitale's men were pulling back, retreating toward the far end of the docks, dragging crates and weapons with them. The fire blazed higher, forcing Cavelli's men to break formation, shoving them back toward the center.
"Pull out!" Marco's voice bellowed. "We'll be boxed in!"
But Gabe didn't move. His eyes were locked on Vitale.
The enemy boss lingered at the edge of the inferno, framed by fire and smoke, watching with calm detachment. He gave the faintest nod — not of respect, not of defeat, but of promise.
This wasn't over.
And then he disappeared into the chaos, his men melting into the burning dark.
The gunfire sputtered, then died, leaving only the crackle of flames and the ragged breaths of men who had survived.
Lottie staggered toward Gabe, her chest tight, her throat raw. He caught her before she could fall, his arms iron around her, his body shaking with the force of everything he wouldn't say.
"You're hurt," he rasped, eyes scanning her face, her arms, her ribs.
"I'm fine," she whispered, though her voice trembled, though every bone ached. "I'm fine."
But Gabe didn't believe her. His jaw clenched, his grip tightening as he pulled her closer, his forehead pressing against hers with raw desperation.
"You could've died."
Her breath hitched, her hand fisting in his shirt. "So could you."
For a moment, the fire around them roared, men shouted orders, the world spun in chaos. But in that fragile space between their words, they stood unshakable.
Not enemies. Not prey. Not weakness.
But two people who would burn the world before letting go.