The night air hung heavy with tension, thick as smoke and nearly suffocating. Elena stood at the edge of the Voss estate's rooftop, the city skyline glittering beneath her like a thousand fractured promises. The distant hum of sirens blended with the pulse in her ears, but all she could feel was the gravity of what was coming. She hadn't come this far just to crumble. Tonight was not about survival. It was about war.
Behind her, Damien's voice cut through the night like a low thunder. "He's moving tonight. Milo confirmed it. Lucien's men are gathering at the old cathedral."
Elena turned slowly, her eyes shadowed but steady. Dressed in black leather and a bulletproof vest, she looked nothing like the woman who once cowered in the shadows of the Voss legacy. "Then we move first."
Damien stepped closer, brushing a hand down her cheek, the touch lingering like a silent promise. "Are you sure about this? We can disappear. I have the jet ready. We don't have to prove anything."
Elena shook her head. "It's not about proving. It's about ending this. He took too much from both of us. If we run, he wins. I won't let that happen."
Damien searched her gaze for hesitation but found only steel. His jaw tightened. "Then we do it together."
---
The old cathedral was bathed in shadows, its stained glass shattered and pews long abandoned. It had once been a place of faith—now, it was a battlefield. Inside, Lucien Voss waited, the flickering candlelight casting demonic shapes across his sharp features.
He was dressed like royalty at a funeral: black-on-black suit, red silk tie, a cruel smirk painted on his face. Around him, armed men lurked in the corners, waiting for the signal to strike.
"She'll come," Lucien murmured, pacing in front of the cracked altar. "She has too much heart not to."
"And Damien?" asked a guard.
Lucien's smile widened. "Oh, he'll be right behind her. The hero. The fool."
He turned his head, watching the candle flicker. "Tonight, we end the Voss legacy my way. No more compromises."
---
Elena entered through the east corridor with Milo and two trusted allies from the inside. Damien flanked the west, moving like a shadow with military precision. It was coordinated, surgical.
They had no illusions. The odds were steep. But so was the price of silence.
A guard lunged at Elena as they neared the altar hall. She ducked, rolled, and fired. The shot echoed through the cathedral as the man dropped. Gunfire exploded behind her as Milo covered the flank.
"Go!" Milo shouted. "He's in the altar chamber!"
Elena sprinted through the side door, breath burning in her chest, her vision narrowing to a single, deadly target. She burst into the chamber—and found Lucien waiting.
He applauded slowly. "Bravo, Elena. Still playing the hero?"
"Better than playing the devil," she shot back.
He stepped down the altar steps, unarmed but oozing confidence. "You think this ends with a bullet? You think you've won just by surviving?"
"I haven't survived," she said coldly. "I've evolved."
Lucien lunged.
They collided, crashing into the pews. Elena fought with a brutality born of pain, fury, and purpose. He was stronger, but she was faster—smarter. She used the environment, ducked and twisted, landed blows that made him stumble.
But then he pulled a hidden knife.
Damien's voice tore through the chaos. "ELENA!"
Too late. The knife slashed across her side.
She gasped, stumbling, blood seeping through her vest. Lucien laughed, wild-eyed.
But Damien was already there, tackling him off her. The two brothers fell in a heap, fists flying, years of hatred igniting into an inferno.
"YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!" Damien roared.
"You were never meant to have it all!" Lucien spat. "She was mine to destroy!"
That broke something in Damien. He drove his fist into Lucien's face, once, twice—until blood sprayed. But Lucien twisted, pulling the knife again.
Elena, gasping through pain, aimed her pistol with trembling hands. "Don't you dare…"
Lucien turned toward her just as she pulled the trigger.
One shot. Between the eyes.
Lucien collapsed without a sound.
Silence followed. Then Damien crawled to her, hands shaking, eyes wild. "Are you—"
She nodded weakly. "I've had worse."
Sirens wailed outside. Milo's voice called through the halls. Reinforcements had arrived. It was over.
---
Three days later.
The Voss estate felt different. Lighter. Like it had exhaled.
Elena stood on the balcony, her side still bandaged, watching the sunrise break over the city.
Damien joined her quietly, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "They ruled it as self-defense. No charges."
She leaned into him. "I didn't do it for justice."
"I know." He kissed the top of her head. "You did it to take your life back."
She nodded.
They stood in silence as the golden light spilled over everything they had fought for.
"I'm not going to ask you to stay," Damien murmured. "I'll follow wherever you go."
Elena turned in his arms, cupping his jaw. "I'm not leaving. Not anymore. But we start fresh. No lies. No ghosts. Just us."
He nodded slowly. "Then I'm yours. No masks. No power plays. Just love."
She smiled, bruised but glowing. "We'll build something beautiful. Out of all the ashes."
Damien kissed her.
And for the first t
ime in a very long time, it wasn't war.
It was peace.