The sound of sirens howled faintly in the distance—too far to be a real threat, but close enough to remind Matilda that time was slipping away. Smoke and gunpowder lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic scent of blood.
Lorenzo’s body lay still at her feet, his smirk frozen in death.
Matilda inhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a fraction of a second. Not in grief. Not in sorrow. But in fury.
When she opened them, her expression was carved from stone.
“Find them,” she ordered, her voice low and sharp.
Her remaining men moved instantly, scattering into the night like wolves on a scent.
She turned, pulling her knife from its sheath. The blade still glistened with Silas’s blood from their fight. Not deep enough. Not fatal enough.
But that would change.
Martina and Silas thought they had won t……
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