The rain came down in sheets, slicing through the night like knives.
Nathaniel's blacked-out SUV rolled through the back alley of the old meat factory. No headlights. No backup. Just him, Dano, and Alfreda—armed and unafraid.
"Once we breach, you stick to my left," Nathaniel said to Alfreda, checking his ammo.
She loaded her Glock like she'd done it a hundred times. "I stick to the kill shots."
Dano grinned. "God, I missed this energy."
Inside the factory, Lucien's trap was already set.
Cameras. Trip wires. A sniper hidden in the rafters. And Tracy—still alive, barely breathing—tied to a chair beneath the old butcher hooks.
Lucien stood in the center, suit impeccable, blood on his hands.
He wasn't sweating.
He was waiting.
Back outside, Nathaniel signaled silently—Dano to the right, Alfreda to the far end.
The doors burst open.
Gunfire erupted.
Three guards dropped before they even had time to scream.
Alfreda moved like smoke—silent, lethal. One man lunged at her. She ducked, spun, drove her blade into his gut without blinking.
Nathaniel reached the center of the floor.
And finally—Lucien turned.
"Well, well, cousin. You brought the wife. How romantic."
"Where's Tracy?" Nathaniel's voice was calm, but lethal.
Lucien pointed to the back, where Tracy hung by her wrists, blood dripping from her fingertips.
"She's alive… for now."
Alfreda stepped forward, gun aimed. "Let her go."
Lucien laughed. "You think I'd let the girl I branded command me? Cute."
Nathaniel fired a shot.
Lucien dodged.
Chaos exploded.
Dano screamed something from the far end—"THE ROOF!"
But it was too late.
A second sniper fired.
The bullet hit Alfreda in the shoulder.
She dropped.
Nathaniel went wild.
One shot. Two. A third.
The sniper fell from the rafters, dead on impact.
Lucien disappeared in the smoke.
Nathaniel reached Alfreda's side, ripping his shirt to stop the bleeding.
"You stay with me, you hear me?"
Her eyes fluttered. "I'm not dying yet. Not until I kill that bastard myself."
Tracy groaned in the distance. Dano was already untying her.
But the worst part?
On Lucien's abandoned table sat a folder.
Nathaniel opened it.
Alfreda's name.
Medical files.
Photos.
And a birth certificate.
Not hers.
A child's.
Her child.
Born six months after the fire.
Nathaniel's eyes widened.
"Alfreda…" he whispered. "You were pregnant."
Her face went pale. "That's impossible."
"Not if he took the baby."
Everything spun.
Lucien didn't want her dead.
He wanted her to come find the one thing she never knew she lost.