The air in the garden thickened with the smell of ozone and impending violence. Mario stood like a monolith between his daughter and his brother, his hands relaxed at his sides—a deceptive stillness that Desderia knew meant he was seconds away from killing everyone in the room.
"Sabrina, go with your mother. Now," Mario repeated, his voice a low vibration that brooked no argument.
Desderia didn't hesitate. She scooped up the five-year-old, whose green eyes were wide with a confusion that was rapidly turning into the signature Sanchez fearlessness. As they retreated toward the reinforced glass doors of the villa, Desderia looked back. She saw Martin signaling to his guards, and she saw Carter emerging from the treeline, a suppressed rifle already braced against his shoulder.
The "Peace" of the last five years hadn't been peace at all. It had been a cold war, and the first shot had just been fired.
Inside the house, the alarms began to wail—a low, rhythmic thrumming that shook the floorboards.
"Mama, why is the house crying?" Sabrina asked, her voice small but steady.
"It's just a game, baby. A very fast game," Desderia whispered, ducking into the hidden armory behind the library's false wall. She didn't reach for a law book this time. She reached for a compact submachine gun and a tactical vest. She had spent five years learning the "Sanchez way" of survival.
Secilia burst into the room, her face pale. "Martin has half the Commission on his side. They've blocked the main gates. Lorenzo... our father... he's had a stroke. Martin's men are in his room right now 'caring' for him."
Desderia felt a cold spike of horror. "He's killing his own father."
"He's clearing the board," Secilia said, handing Desderia a set of car keys. "There's a tunnel under the wine cellar. It leads to the old quarry. Mario's backup plan isn't the boat anymore—it's the armored transport I hid in the garage."
"Where is Mario?"
"He's holding the garden," Secilia said, her eyes flashing with a dark pride. "He said he'd meet us at the extraction point. But Desderia... there are too many of them."
Outside, the sun was setting, casting long, bloody shadows over the roses. Martin's guards moved in a pincer movement, but they had forgotten one thing: they were fighting the Ghost King.
Mario moved through the foliage like a wraith. He didn't use a gun at first. He used the terrain. A wire trap here, a knife from the shadows there. By the time Martin realized his lead team was silent, Mario was standing ten feet away from him, his charcoal suit splattered with the blood of the men who had tried to take his life.
"You always were a sloppy tactician, Martin," Mario said, stepping into the light of the garden lamps.
"I have the numbers, Pablo!" Martin screamed, pulling his own weapon. "I have the name! The families want a leader, not a ghost who hides behind a woman and a brat!"
"The families want a survivor," Mario countered.
A hail of bullets shattered the stone fountain between them. Carter provided cover fire from the roof, dropping two more of Martin's men. Mario lunged forward, tackling Martin into the mud and thorns.
They fought like animals—no technique, just the raw, ancestral hatred of two brothers who had been destined to destroy each other since the cradle. Mario pinned Martin down, his hands closing around his brother's throat.
"You burned those children," Mario hissed, his thumbs pressing into Martin's windpipe. "You tried to burn me. I'm going to make sure you never breathe the same air as my daughter again."
Martin choked, his face turning a bruised purple, but he managed to fumble for a hidden detonator in his pocket. "If... I... go... she... goes..."
Mario's eyes widened. He looked toward the villa just as the east wing erupted in a ball of orange flame.
"NO!"
Mario threw Martin aside and sprinted toward the burning building. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic rhythm of terror. Not again. Not another fire.
Desderia had felt the explosion rock the foundation. She had been halfway down the cellar stairs with Sabrina and Secilia when the ceiling groaned.
"Go! Move!" Desderia shoved Sabrina into Secilia's arms. "Get her to the quarry. I'm going back for Mario."
"Desderia, you'll die!" Secilia shouted over the roar of the collapsing stone.
"Take care of her, Secilia! If we don't make it... she's the only one left. Keep her away from the Sanchez name!"
Desderia turned back into the smoke. She found Mario in the hallway, his silhouette framed by the encroaching flames. He looked like a man possessed, tearing through debris with his bare hands.
"Mario!" she screamed.
He spun around, relief and agony warring on his face. He caught her in a crushing embrace, the heat of the fire singeing their clothes.
"Sabrina?" he gasped.
"She's with Secilia. They're headed for the tunnel. We have to go, Mario! The whole house is rigged!"
They ran. They didn't look back at the millions of dollars in art, the history, or the blood-stained legacy of the Sanchez family. They reached the cellar just as the second floor collapsed.
They emerged into the cool, damp air of the quarry twenty minutes later. Secilia was there, holding a crying Sabrina next to a black armored SUV.
"We're out," Secilia breathed, her voice shaking. "We're finally out."
Mario looked at his wife and his child. He looked at the glowing embers of the Sanchez empire on the hill. He took the keys from Secilia, but as he reached for the door, he stopped.
A single red dot appeared on the center of his chest. Then another on Desderia's.
From the darkness of the quarry walls, Martin emerged, leaning heavily on a cane, his face a mask of burns and madness. He wasn't alone. He had the remnants of the Red Blood—the ones who were too afraid of him to disobey.
"Did you really think it was that easy?" Martin whispered. "The Ghost doesn't get a happy ending. He gets a grave."
Mario stepped in front of Desderia, his eyes locking onto Martin's. He knew. In that moment, he knew there was only one way to ensure Sabrina survived.
"Secilia," Mario said, his voice eerily calm. "Get in the car. Take the girl. Drive."
"Mario, no—" Desderia started, her voice breaking.
Mario turned to her, a sad, beautiful smile touching his lips. He kissed her—a long, lingering taste of the life they could have had. "I love you, Desderia. I've loved you since the hotel. Protect her."
He pushed Desderia into the passenger seat and slammed the door, locking it from the outside.
"GO!" Mario roared at Secilia.
As the SUV roared to life and sped into the darkness, Mario turned back to his brother. He didn't reach for a gun. He reached for a grenade he had taken from Martin's own armory.
"See you in hell, brother," Mario whispered.
The quarry exploded in a final, blinding flash of white