POV Mara
The Mare Nero facility squatted across the street like a wound that wouldn't heal, and my body recognized it before my mind could catalog the specifics—the way my ribs tightened, pulse quickening with muscle memory of pain earned and delivered in those rooms.
"What's the plan?" I asked, my voice steady despite the chaos in my chest. "We walk in and cut through anyone between us and Nico?"
"Yes," Adrian said, the word falling flat and final.
That single syllable carried no fear, no future—just the specific emptiness of someone who'd already accepted their ending. The realization scraped through me, sharp and unwanted. I wanted both—the violence waiting inside and whatever came after.
For a heartbeat, jealousy burned bitter in my throat. If he died tonight, Hannah would get him in whatever afterlife waited, and I'd get nothing but the wreckage.
His fingers found my cheek, the touch so unexpected I forgot to breathe. "What's going through your head?"
The gentleness of it, the way his thumb traced my cheekbone like he was memorizing the geography of me, made something crack open in my chest.
"I want you to want to live when this is over," I said, the truth spilling out before pride could strangle it. "No lies before we gamble everything, Adrian. I need you to want more than just Nico's blood. I need you to want what comes after."
He pulled a sharp breath, his hand dropping from my face. "You swore you were done with me days ago."
The laugh that escaped me tasted like copper and irony. "I lied. And you were foolish to believe it."
I reached for the door handle, needing distance before I said something even more catastrophic, but his hand caught my wrist, dragged me across the console.
His mouth found mine with the desperation of someone drowning, and I let myself drown with him—tongues tangling, teeth catching lips, the kiss reckless and burning and everything I'd been denying myself since that first collision at the gallery.
When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard, and his eyes held something that might have been hope.
"Next time," he said, voice rough with want, "when we survive this, you're the one who kisses me first. If you meant what you just said."
"Deal," I breathed, already mourning the loss of his mouth.
We exited the car into air that tasted like rain and revenge. At the door, I pulled my hood up, angled my face away while Adrian knocked with the casual confidence of someone who belonged.
The guard's face split into recognition. "Ricci! Haven't seen you down here in months."
"Looking for Nico," Adrian said, and I heard the smile in his voice, that easy charm that made people trust him even when they shouldn't. "He around?"
"Gym," the guard said, waving us through with barely a glance at my shadowed face. "No-rules fights today. You know how he loves testing his boys to death before the bullets can."
"That I do," Adrian agreed, already moving past.
The hallway stretched before us, reeking of disinfectant trying to mask old leather and older blood. Memory knifed through me—my own wins on that ring, the taste of victory soured by Toma's spit-slicked taunt afterward.
"Should've been turning tricks instead of ruining my pretty face," he'd said, blood streaming from his nose. "Should've been servicing me after the bell like a good girl instead of pretending you're a man."
I'd broken three more of his ribs for that comment, but the words had burrowed deep anyway, festering in places I couldn't reach.
At the gym doors, we unholstered in the shadow of the frame. Adrian's eyes found mine, and I saw my own hunger reflected there—not for each other this time, but for the violence about to bloom.
"Ready?" he asked, though we both knew the answer.
"More than ever."
He palmed the bar. The doors swung wide.
Inside, the room pulsed with violent life—ropes creaking under weight, bodies slick with sweat and blood, Mare Nero killers gathered to watch their own tear each other apart for Nico's amusement.
The walls were soundproofed—I remembered that detail with grim satisfaction. No one outside would hear what happened next.
The first person to see me was Toma.
His eyes widened in recognition just as my finger found the trigger. The bullet took him in the forehead—center mass, clean and final. Deservedly so. Very much so.
His body dropped like a marionette with cut strings, and for one perfect moment, I felt nothing but pure, crystalline satisfaction.
The shot shattered their blood-drunk focus. Bodies scattered, diving for cover that didn't exist.
But there was nowhere to hide from us, from this reckoning we'd brought to their door.
Nico's wild laughter rang out across the chaos, cutting through panicked shouts and the scramble of feet on concrete. I found him immediately—standing at the far edge of the ring like he'd been waiting for exactly this moment.
I pulled my hood back, letting him see my face, wanting him to know exactly who'd come for him.
My gun tracked to his center mass, finger already tightening, but he dodged left with the fluid grace of someone who'd been expecting bullets his whole life.
"Now, now," he called out, that same smirk I'd always wanted to carve off his face. "Let's talk, Mara. We have so much to discuss."