The moment Dante stepped into the shattered observatory, time seemed to freeze. Emma's heart pounded so hard it drowned out the wind rattling the broken glass above them. His gun was steady, his eyes locked on Alexander.
"Step away from the girl," Dante commanded.
Alexander didn't flinch. "She's not yours to command."
"I'm not property," Emma snapped, stepping between them.
Dante's cold gaze didn't waver. "That flash drive holds everything. The truth about the Blackwood family. Your father's sins. Your sins."
"Which is why you want it," Alexander said, lowering his weapon but not putting it down. "To use it. Not to expose it."
"I want justice," Dante growled.
Emma held up the drive. "This isn't justice. It's war fuel. And I won't let any of you use it."
Isabella moaned again, her strength failing. Emma knelt beside her, pressing a cloth to the fresh wound.
"We don't have time for a standoff," she said. "She needs medical attention."
Dante stepped closer. "Hand me the drive, and I'll let you walk away."
Alexander barked a bitter laugh. "You won't. She's a witness. You'll silence her the first chance you get."
Dante's jaw tightened.
Emma looked between the two men—the ruthless heir of a blood-stained empire and the vengeful brother seeking to burn it down. Both claimed righteousness. Both were drowning in secrets.
She pocketed the flash drive. "No."
Dante raised his gun. "You think I won't shoot you?"
A gunshot cracked.
But it wasn't Dante.
It was Isabella.
Bleeding and barely conscious, she'd grabbed Emma's pistol and fired—striking Dante in the shoulder.
He dropped his weapon, cursing, staggering back.
Alexander lunged, slamming Dante against the wall, pinning him.
Emma grabbed the guns, tossing them away. "Enough! No more blood!"
Sirens wailed in the distance—Alexander's private security, or worse.
Dante snarled. "You think this ends here?"
"No," Emma said. "It ends when the truth is out."
She looked to Alexander. "You want to prove you're different? Let it all come out. Face it."
His silence stretched too long.
And then he nodded.
But the door behind them exploded inward—
And a new enemy walked in.
---
The room filled with thick smoke and the stench of scorched metal. A figure stepped out of the haze—tall, broad-shouldered, clad in combat black with a silver insignia glinting on his chest.
Emma recognized him immediately.
Vincent Hale.
One of Alexander's father's old enforcers, long thought dead or vanished after the Blackwood purge.
He raised his automatic weapon, eyes cold and devoid of mercy. "Everyone down. Hands where I can see them."
Alexander's face turned to stone. "You're supposed to be dead."
Vincent chuckled. "You should've made sure."
Emma pulled Isabella closer, shielding her.
Dante growled, still clutching his bleeding shoulder. "Hale, what are you doing here?"
Vincent leveled his weapon. "Cleaning house."
He turned his weapon on Alexander. "You inherited everything. The company. The network. The secrets. But not the strength to do what's necessary. That's why your father called me back."
Alexander's eyes narrowed. "He's dead."
Vincent smirked. "You think that matters? His legacy lives. Through me."
A scream echoed from outside, followed by the sound of gunfire.
Vincent's mercs were moving in.
Emma's heart raced. "We have to get out of here."
"No one's leaving," Vincent said, cocking his rifle. "Not until I get that drive."
Emma looked at Alexander. "Can you stall him?"
He gave the barest nod. "Buy time. I'll handle this."
Emma moved quickly, pulling Isabella with her through a broken panel in the observatory wall. They emerged into a thicket of vines, the gunfire behind them fading as they stumbled deeper into the woods.
Emma's mind raced.
She had the truth. The drive. And now, enemies on every side.
But she wasn't the same woman who had walked into that marriage contract weeks ago. She wasn't afraid anymore.
She would burn their empires to the ground.
If it meant saving the people who still mattered.
---
Back inside, Alexander faced Vincent alone.
Gun raised. Jaw clenched.
And old ghosts rising.
"I should've killed you when I had the chance," Vincent sneered.
"You were always too eager for blood. That's why my father locked you away," Alexander replied.
Vincent grinned, stepping closer. "Your father admired strength. You're a pale imitation of him."
Alexander moved fast. A single shot rang out, grazing Vincent's shoulder.
Vincent retaliated, slamming into Alexander with brute force, both men crashing through the shattered wall and tumbling into the rubble outside.
Emma, hearing the noise, paused in the trees. She looked back just in time to see Alexander and Vincent grappling, fists flying.
She froze. Torn.
Run and protect the truth—or return to save the man she couldn't stop loving.
Beside her, Isabella stirred, coughing weakly. "Go. He'll die without you."
Emma clenched her jaw. "So might we."
But she didn't run.
She turned.
And charged back into the fire.