Chapter Eight — No More Mercy

Cherry

The first body changes you.

The second buries who you used to be.

Two days after the alley, we were at war.

I was no longer his assistant.

I was his partner.

His soldiers called me La Muerte Negra—Black Death—because of my blackberry hair and the way Rafael never left my side anymore.

But they didn't know I still cried in the shower when no one could hear.

That my hands still shook when I loaded bullets.

That I still saw the eyes of the man I killed every time I blinked.

War doesn't wait for grief.

Especially not when Rafael's enemies decided to send a message—by setting fire to the orphanage his mother built.

We were too late.

The children were safe, thank God, but the building was ash.

Rafael stared at the ruins like it was the last piece of his soul burning.

"He did this," he muttered.

"Luca?"

He nodded. His jaw was stone.

Then he turned to me and said, very quietly,

"I need you to stay back tonight."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to do something you shouldn't see."

I stepped in front of him, heart pounding.

"You made me a promise. You made me like you. Don't push me away now."

He looked at me like I was his beginning and end.

"This world will eat you alive, Cherry."

"Then let me be the one doing the eating."

He blinked.

Then pulled me into a kiss so rough, so wild, it felt like we were saying goodbye.

Later that night – at Luca's hideout

We stormed it.

Smoke. Screams. Gunfire.

I stayed close to Rafael, my gun tight in my grip.

But the moment I turned a corner, I found him—Marco—Luca's second-in-command. The man who burned the orphanage.

And the moment he saw me, he laughed.

"Ah, Rafael's little bitch with the pretty hair. I should've burned you with the rest of the building."

My vision blurred.

Not with tears.

But with rage.

"Say that again," I hissed, raising the gun.

He smirked.

"You gonna shoot me, sweetheart? You barely looked human the first time you pulled the trigger."

He took a step forward.

"Tell me—does Rafael whisper sweet things to you after he kills people, or before?"

Bang.

I didn't wait.

The bullet went clean through his chest.

He dropped, gurgling on his own blood.

I stood over him and whispered,

"He doesn't have to whisper anything. Because I'd still kill for him without a word."

When Rafael found me, I was standing over the body, eyes hollow.

He stared at me. At what I'd done.

And then… he knelt beside the corpse, looked at me like I was the queen of his ruin, and said,

"I should be terrified of what you're becoming."

"Are you?" I asked.

He took my face in his hands and kissed me like a man who knew it would destroy us both.

"No. I'm in awe."

Rafael (later that night)

We made love in the back of the car.

Not because it was the right time.

But because war makes you desperate for the parts of life that still feel alive.

She scratched my back. Bit my shoulder. Whispered my name like a prayer and a curse.

Afterward, she rested her head against my chest and said,

"What happens if we win?"

I didn't have the heart to tell her—

There's no winning in a world like this. Only surviving.

But I wrapped my arms around her and whispered anyway,

"If we win… we disappear. Somewhere warm. With no guns. Just you. Just me."

"Promise?" she asked.

"Swear on my life."

And that night, I held her tighter than ever.

Because part of me already knew—

I was going to lose her.