The crack of the gunshot split the night.
Lottie felt the rush of heat as the bullet tore past her cheek, close enough to slice a strand of her hair. It embedded itself in the metal container behind her, sparking against steel. The shock rattled her bones, but she didn't freeze—she dropped lower, her heart hammering in her throat.
"Lottie!" Gabe's roar thundered across the docks, fury and fear braided into one raw sound.
He surged forward through the firefight, bullets screaming around him as if the night itself tried to hold him back. Marco shouted orders, laying down covering fire as Cavelli men pushed Vitale's soldiers into retreat. But Gabe's focus was a singular point in the chaos: the woman in crimson silk, standing like a queen over the battlefield.
Veronica Caruso.
Her eyes gleamed in the dim light, wild and unrepentant. She had always thrived in blood, Gabe remembered—thrived in taking what others loved and twisting it to ash.
"Careful, Cavelli," Veronica taunted, her pistol raised again, the barrel gleaming as it aimed not at him, but at Lottie. "One wrong move, and the Rossi girl decorates the pier."
Lottie's grip on her own gun tightened. The weapon felt foreign, but necessity steadied her hand. She refused to cower. Daniel's voice whispered through her memory—never let them see you break, Lottie.
"You don't scare me," she said, her voice sharp despite the tremor running beneath it.
Veronica's laugh was a dark melody, cutting through the chaos like a blade. "You're already broken, sweetheart. You just haven't realized it yet."
Gabe stepped into the open, his pistol leveled at Veronica's chest. Every man on the docks seemed to pause, the fight momentarily suspended on the razor's edge of this standoff.
"You'll drop the gun," Gabe growled, his voice steady as iron. "Or I'll put you in the ground where you belong."
Veronica tilted her head, the crimson fabric of her dress whispering in the wind. "You wouldn't kill me, Gabriel. Not yet. Not when you still wonder what might've been if you'd chosen differently."
The words struck like poison. Gabe's jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as old memories—flashes of her laughter, her touch, her betrayal—threatened to claw their way back. But he shoved them down, burying them beneath the truth that burned in him now: Lottie.
"There's nothing left to wonder," he said coldly. "You're already dead to me."
The silence that followed was brittle, a moment balanced between ruin and survival.
Then Veronica fired again.
The docks exploded back into chaos. Gabe dove sideways, rolling behind a stack of crates as bullets shredded the air where he had stood. Marco shouted commands, rallying the men as Cavelli firepower surged in retaliation.
Lottie pressed herself against the steel container, her breath ragged, her knuckles white around the pistol. She couldn't afford to hesitate—not now. Not when Veronica's eyes gleamed with such murderous intent.
She broke cover, moving low and fast toward Gabe. Gunfire sparked around her, men falling on both sides, the salt-scented air thick with smoke and blood.
Gabe spotted her, his chest seizing at the sight of her darting through fire. He swore under his breath, unleashing a volley of bullets to clear her path.
"Damn it, Lottie!" he snarled as she slid in beside him, breathless but unbroken. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Not dying," she shot back, her eyes blazing.
Despite the fury in him, a dark, desperate pride cut through his chest. She wasn't just surviving—she was standing beside him, defiant, unyielding.
Across the battlefield, Veronica's laughter rang out again, shrill and mocking. She moved like a phantom, weaving between stacks of crates, her crimson silhouette drawing the eye as though she wanted them to chase her.
Marco's voice cut in over the crackle of gunfire. "She's pulling back toward the pier! She's trying to get to the speedboat."
Gabe's eyes snapped to the waterline. Sure enough, one of Vitale's sleek black boats bobbed against the dock, its engine already humming. Veronica's escape route.
Not tonight.
"Cover us," Gabe barked. Without waiting, he surged to his feet, pulling Lottie with him as they pushed toward the pier. Bullets whined past, but Marco's men laid down suppressive fire, their shots ripping into Vitale soldiers who tried to block the path.
They reached the edge of the pier just as Veronica vaulted over a stack of crates, landing lightly as though the battlefield were her stage. She spun, pistol raised again, her crimson dress swirling around her like spilled blood.
"Still chasing me, Gabriel?" she called, her voice rich with mockery. "Some things never change."
Gabe leveled his weapon at her, his eyes colder than steel. "No. Some things end."
Lottie stepped beside him, her pistol steady in her hand. For the first time, Veronica's smile faltered, just slightly, as her gaze flicked between them.
"Ah," she said slowly, tilting her head. "So it's true. You've finally found someone worth dying for."
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
But Lottie fired first.
The shot rang out, sharp and final. Veronica staggered, crimson blooming across her shoulder as she cried out, her pistol slipping from her hand and skittering across the pier.
The docks fell into stunned silence.
Lottie's breath came fast, her arm trembling as she lowered the gun. Her eyes locked on Veronica, wide but unyielding. She had pulled the trigger. She had struck.
Veronica clutched her wound, her eyes narrowing into slits of pure venom. Even bleeding, she managed a twisted smile. "You think you've won? This is only the beginning."
With a desperate lunge, she threw herself toward the waiting boat. Gabe fired, but the bullet clipped the rail instead of flesh. In seconds, Vitale's men dragged her aboard, and the boat roared to life, tearing away into the darkness.
Gunfire from Cavelli men cut through the night, but the boat vanished into the black horizon, leaving only the echo of its engine and the smear of blood on the dock.
The battle slowed, then stilled. Vitale's remaining soldiers, leaderless and scattered, fell back. Marco rallied the Cavelli men, securing the crates and clearing the bodies.
On the pier, Gabe lowered his gun, his chest heaving, his fury simmering beneath his skin. He turned to Lottie.
She still held the pistol, her hand shaking now that the adrenaline had begun to ebb. Her eyes lifted to his, dark and uncertain.
"I shot her," she whispered, as if saying it aloud made it more real.
"You saved us," Gabe corrected, his voice rough with conviction. He reached out, his hand closing over hers, steadying her trembling grip until the pistol finally dropped into his palm.
His eyes burned into hers, fierce and unrelenting. "You're not weak, Lottie. You never were."
For a long moment, they stood at the edge of the dock, the water lapping against the wood, the scent of smoke and salt heavy in the air. The war wasn't over—Veronica had escaped, and Richard Vitale would retaliate—but for the first time, Lottie felt the shift inside her.
She wasn't just surviving Daniel's death anymore. She was fighting for something beyond grief.
For him. For them.
And as Gabe drew her close, pressing a fierce kiss to her rain-soaked hair, she realized the truth she had been denying since the cemetery.
She belonged here. In the fire. At his side.
Whatever came next, they would face it together.