chapter TEN

Chapter Ten: The Line We Crossed

The sky was bleeding fire by the time we arrived at the warehouse on the far edge of the pier. It was an old shipping terminal turned into a clandestine meeting point, a place whispered about in underground circles as the ground where men disappeared and truths were buried.

Killian stood in front of me, black coat whipping in the wind, his jaw clenched so tightly I could see the tension vibrating through his cheek. Luca stood a few feet away, pacing like a man waiting for something to blow.

And me?

I stood still, hands deep in my coat, fingers tracing the cold steel of my weapon—not because I planned to use it, but because I didn't know who I was if I didn't hold something that could kill.

"We sure about this intel?" I asked, my voice cutting through the stillness.

Killian's eyes flicked to me. "She'll be here. Natasha always comes when she thinks she has the upper hand."

"And if she does?"

"Then we do what we came here to do," he said flatly.

There was something in his tone—something I hadn't heard since the first day I met him. It wasn't just cold. It was final.

He was preparing to end something tonight.

Maybe her.

Maybe us.

---

Natasha arrived twenty minutes later, stepping from a sleek black Benz like she owned the night. Her long leather coat flared behind her, blood-red heels clicking against the concrete floor as two armed men flanked her.

She looked straight at me.

And smiled.

"Ah, the traitor's daughter," she purred. "Still playing dress-up in Daddy's war?"

I stepped forward, slowly.

"Better a traitor's daughter than a snake in stilettos."

Her eyes gleamed, venomous and sharp.

"Careful, girl. Your voice is shaking."

"No," I said. "That's restraint."

Killian's presence beside me was like fire—burning silent and lethal.

Natasha shifted her gaze to him.

"You brought her?" she scoffed. "The one person whose father your family murdered? Bold."

"Necessary," Killian replied.

She laughed.

"Oh Killian, always so serious. You never did know how to play the long game. That was your father's strength."

Killian didn't flinch.

"My father died protecting a system of corruption. I'm here to burn that system to the ground."

"Then why build alliances with the same rats he fed?" she asked, her voice rising.

"Because I plan to kill them after," he said simply.

Natasha's eyes narrowed.

"We could've ruled together," she whispered.

"You tried to kill my men."

"They were weak," she snapped. "You should be thanking me for cleaning your house."

"You tried to kill her," he said, nodding toward me.

Natasha tilted her head, amused.

"Oh, the little assassin turned lover. How sweet. Tell me, Killian, does she moan like she means it, or is she just part of your collection of broken things?"

That did it.

Killian moved in a flash, gun drawn, pointed straight at her forehead.

"Say her name again," he growled.

She smiled. "Touchy."

I stepped in between them, eyes locked on hers.

"I'm not the broken one, Natasha. But you're about to be."

She smirked, then turned to her guards and nodded.

And just like that, guns were drawn.

Chaos erupted.

Shots rang out.

Luca tackled one of her men while I dove behind a pillar, firing back. The echo of bullets cracked through the warehouse like thunder.

Killian moved like a shadow—silent, brutal, effective. One of Natasha's guards went down with a clean headshot.

The other fled.

Natasha ducked behind a crate, then yelled out, "You think this ends here, Killian? You can't kill the ghost of your father's sins!"

Killian didn't respond.

He just moved.

I followed, circling around the crates, heart pounding.

Natasha had always been quick.

But she underestimated one thing—I wasn't here for justice anymore.

I was here for blood.

We caught her at the loading dock, alone, breathing heavily, her heel snapped off from running.

"You won't pull that trigger," she said, aiming her gun at Killian.

I stepped between them again.

"No," I said. "I will."

Her eyes widened for just a second.

And that was all I needed.

I fired.

Once.

She dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Silence returned.

The only sound was the wind and our breathing.

---

Later that night, back at the safe house, I sat in the dark, a blanket over my shoulders and my father's journal in my lap. The last page stared up at me like a quiet ghost.

"There is no honor in survival. Only in what we protect while we still bleed."

I closed the journal slowly, heart aching.

Killian walked in without knocking. Again.

"She's gone," I said.

"I know."

"She would've killed you."

"I know that too."

I looked up at him. "You would've let her."

He didn't answer right away.

Then: "If it meant you finally got your justice? Maybe."

"Justice is just another kind of death," I said.

Killian stepped forward, kneeling in front of me.

"You saved my life tonight."

"No," I whispered. "I traded a piece of my soul for yours."

He reached for my hand.

And for the first time, I let him hold it.

No guns.

No masks.

Just skin on skin.

"What are we now?" I asked.

He looked up, tired and raw.

"Broken," he said. "But still breathing."

And that was the most honest thing either of us had said all night.

---

I didn't sleep.

Not because of guilt—but because I knew something had shifted.

Not between me and Killian. But in the silence that followed violence.

In the calm after a kill.

In the weight of survival.

Morning came like a sigh. Soft. Reluctant.

I stood at the window, staring at the city I once planned to burn.

Then Luca's voice called from the hall.

"Boss—news. Big news."

I turned to Killian. He was already moving.

We met Luca in the war room.

He tossed a flash drive on the table.

"What is it?" Killian asked.

"Encrypted audio feed. One of Natasha's backups. It auto-sent when her heart rate dropped."

He plugged it in.

The file played.

A voice came through.

One I hadn't heard in two years.

But one I knew instantly.

"Amara... I'm sorry I lied. They promised they wouldn't hurt you if I stayed quiet. But Killian... he doesn't know everything. Your father—he made a deal. And I was part of it."

I went cold.

My knees gave out.

Killian caught me before I hit the floor.

"Who was that?" he asked.

I stared at the screen, the audio still playing.

"It was my mother."