“Keep her.” Those were the two words I heard my mafia husband say about another woman on our fifth wedding anniversary,

The air in the deep catacombs smelled of damp stone, ancient decay, and the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood.

Thousands of mummified remains lined the limestone niches of the walls, dressed in rotting 18th-century garments, their skeletal jaws hanging open as if screaming in silent agony. Tactical halogen work lights had been rigged along the vaulted ceilings, casting long, grotesque shadows across the floor.

Elena moved with silent, feline grace, hugging the shadows of the stone pillars. Her thermal optics painted the underground labyrinth in shades of green and ghost-white. Ahead of them, past an iron gate adorned with a wrought-iron crucifix, two guards in black tactical gear were stationed.

With two quiet thwips from Mateo’s suppressed submachine gun, both men collapsed into the dust without a groan. Elena stepped over the bodies, her weapon swept ahead.

Through the arched doorway of the crypt's central rotunda, a voice echoed against the damp stones—a voice so ragged and raw it made Elena’s soul violently clench.

"Kill me... Lucian," the voice rasped, heavy with agony yet soaked in venom. "Because if I break these chains... I will rip your throat out with my bare teeth."

"Still so defiant, brother," Lucian’s smooth, mocking voice replied.

Elena peeked around the stone pillar.

In the center of the rotunda, suspended by thick iron chains bolted into the vaulted ceiling, hung Adrien. His tailored shirt was shredded, soaked in crimson. Deep lacerations crossed his chest and torso, and his face was bruised and bloody, his right eye swollen shut. Yet, his left eye burned like a feral wolf's.

Standing before him, holding an antique silver-plated stiletto, was Lucian.

"You built an empire on my grave, Adrien," Lucian said softly, tracing the blade along Adrien's collarbone, carving a fresh line of red. Adrien didn't scream; he merely gritted his teeth, veins bulging along his neck. "You took my seat on the High Council. You took our father's wealth. And worst of all, you took that little street rat Elena and made her a queen. But tonight, she will bring me your daughter. And once I have your bloodline under my heel, you will watch me dismantle everything you love before you die."

Adrien spit a mouthful of blood into Lucian's face.

"She won't bring her," Adrien whispered, coughing, his voice cracking with dry laughter. "You don't know Elena. She's not coming to negotiate, Lucian... She's coming to execute you."

Behind the pillar, Elena stepped out into the open light, her rifle raised directly at Lucian's skull.