The defeated revenge

A wild eruption of red—rage, blood, fury—blinds Ishmael's vision.

Neva breathes heavily, blood dribbling from her neck down to the pastel blue gown fading into grey, streaking scarlet speckles across the fabric.

Maria's knuckles whiten around the dagger, the blade trembling inches from Neva's exposed throat.

"Let. Her. Go."

His voice ricochets through the silent mansion—deep, menacing.

Ishmael shakes, fury boiling in his chest, thick and uncontained.

The deranged woman stays behind Neva's frame, shielding herself with her body.

He doesn't move. Not a finger. One wrong shift and Maria might follow through.

Maria laughs. Cruel and sharp, her voice bounces off the walls, twisting the stillness with her wicked pleasure.

Neva cries out, the dagger cutting slow—agonizing—as it sinks through skin, sinew, and muscle.

"You'll regret messing with my family," Ishmael warns, his face darkening, eyes burning. He cannot lose her again.

Everything was perfect.

When he finally had her... fate turns on him with brutal cruelty.

He let his guard down. He's paying for it now.

"Family?" Maria scoffs.

"You're so fake." She throws her head back and cackles like he's told a joke.

Neva trembles. Her life hangs by a thread.

She's a young caterpillar on a blade—every move a sharp cut, every choice a path to blood and grave.

Maria hissed Neva's truth—that she lives in delusion.

That everything she's known is a lie.

And Ishmael isn't who he claims to be.

Neva looks at him, uncertainty swimming in her blurred eyes.

Is he only pretending?

Ishmael grits his teeth. His jaw clenches, veins pushing through skin. He's chained in fury, helpless and burning inside.

Maria bites down on her lip, catching her breath. Then she leans closer to Neva, making her flinch. Her head rests on Neva's shoulder.

"God, Raka. The only thing more pathetic than you is this fantasy family you play dress-up with." She laughs.

Her gaze lands on Ishmael, soaking in the storm in his eyes.

"Jack Ashcroft. My husband. You betrayed him—killed him. And I lost our child."

Her voice breaks. Tears swell. One hand trembles toward her stomach, now flat and hollow.

Ishmael's expression darkens.

Revenge.

"Power. Wealth. Fame. Name anything, and you'll have it. Just—don't hurt Neva."

Maria glares. "You treat lives like pawns."

She turns to Neva, a smirk curling her lips.

"Poor girl has no idea. Maybe she'll be glad it ends here."

She nudges Neva with her shoulder, taunting.

Then her dead stare pins Ishmael. "You're finished, Raka. Beg me—and live long enough to regret it."

"Shut the fuck up!" Ishmael raises his gun.

Maria clicks her tongue. "Fool."

She shifts, just enough. The moment her attention wavers, Ishmael seizes it—pulling the trigger.

But before he can release fire—Maria moves fast—her gun now aimed at Neva.

The cold muzzle bites her temple. Neva's breath seizes—her heartbeat a war drum in her ears.

Maria's breath drags hot against her ear. "Watch me take her soul like the Grim Reaper."

Neva's eyes shut tight. Her pulse pounds. The world narrows into this moment.

This is it, she thinks.

"Ahrg—!" Maria chokes. The dagger slips from her hand. Her scream breaks through the silence.

A second shot—louder, sharper.

Her wrist explodes. Blood and bone burst through her skin. Flesh tears. A splatter of hot red hits Neva's cheek.

She gasps, shocked.

Ishmael bolts up the stairs. Zev emerges from the shadows of the second floor, gun smoking.

Raka's men rush in through the main doors, swarming the mansion.

Moments ago, Zev had been about to press the door bell and return Ishmael's jacket when his watch signaled danger.

He heard enough. Saw enough.

He gathered the forces, moved fast, and took the high ground.

Maria writhes on the floor. Her palm and wrist are gone. Blood oozes. A second bullet buried in her neck—right where she meant to stab Neva.

Maria's gaze finds Neva—trembling, safe in Ishmael's arms. Alive. Untouched. Loved.

She doesn't deserve this.

She wanted justice. She wanted Jack. She wanted the world to bleed as she had.

Why does Raka get everything?

A wife. Children. A future.

All born from sins.

Blood pools beneath her.

Her limbs go heavy. Her heart breaks harder than her bones. She regrets it now. She wanted Raka to suffer, to lose love before his eyes. Like she did.

The troops form a circle around her. Guns raised. No escape.

Zev kicks the gun away and squats beside her, his weapon trained on her forehead.

Maria closes her eyes.

In her mind, she plays a film.

There, she sees Jack.

Standing in a field of flowers. Smiling. The sky is blue, his hair tousled, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand.

She weeps, running into his arms.

The shot is silent. One clean bullet. Her body goes still.

Zev lowers his weapon. The smoke clears. His silence is the benediction of death.

"Call Dr. Gray. And the maids—now." Ishmael's voice cuts through.

Zev turns to see him cradling Neva in his arms, her body stiff, face pale.

"Yes," he says, watching as Ishmael carries her down the hall, disappearing into their room.