Rick's POV

The fucking doors didn't stand a chance.

We stormed in, taking down Rafael's men with brutal precision. Gunfire cracked through the air, screams cut short as bodies dropped. Blood painted the walls, the floor—I didn't give a fuck.

I moved like a fucking storm, tearing through every bastard in my way.

I wasn't careful. I wasn't cautious.

I was ruthless.

Reckless.

Driven by something far beyond vengeance.

Something darker.

Avery.

I could hear her voice in my head. Could see her face, the way she looked at me—the trust in her eyes. She trusted me.

And Rafael had his hands on her.

Not for fucking long.

I snapped a bastard's neck with my bare hands, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud. Another rushed me, gun raised. Too slow.

I fired first—point blank. The bullet tore through his skull, blood splattering as his lifeless body crumpled.

Move. Move. Move.

Bryce and George flanked me, covering my sides. Thomas was right behind, clearing the rest. I didn't wait for them.

Didn't need to.

I heard someone yell—Fred, maybe—but it was distant, like a buzz in my head.

All I saw was red.

A guard lunged at me from the shadows. Knife in hand. Desperate fuck.

I grabbed his wrist, twisted hard—snap.

His scream barely left his throat before my gun was in his mouth.

Boom.

His body slumped against the wall.

Someone whistled behind me. "Jesus fucking Christ, Rick—"

I didn't respond.

Didn't slow down.

The deeper we went, the heavier the air felt.

The closer I got, the worse it became.

My grip on my gun tightened. Almost there.

I reached the last corridor.

More guards.

I raised my gun— click.

Out.

Didn't matter.

The first bastard rushed me—I dodged, elbowed his face, felt his nose break under my blow. He stumbled. I wrenched the gun from his grip and emptied the clip into the others.

A chorus of grunts, bodies hitting the ground.

The last man tried to run.

I grabbed him by the collar, slammed him against the wall.

Cold eyes locked onto his. "Where?"

He trembled. "F-Fuck you—"

Wrong answer.

I drove my knife into his stomach, twisting.

He gasped, choking.

"Where?" I growled, voice calm. Deadly.

His lips parted—blood bubbled up.

"...Up... upstairs..."

I yanked the knife out.

He slumped forward, dead.

I turned to the boys, expression blank.

"Stay here. Clean up."

Fred's brows furrowed. "Rick—"

I gave him a look.

A warning.

Thomas exhaled through his nose, watching me closely. "Be smart, Rick."

I didn't respond.

My gun was ready. My grip was tight.

Fucking hell.

Before I could move, the air shifted. Guns cocked.

We were surrounded.

More of Rafael's men poured in, weapons trained on us. Their smirks said it all—they thought they had us. Thought they'd fucking won.

I rolled my shoulders, exhaling slow. We were already hurt. The blast had fucked us up. Blood soaked into our clothes, skin burning from cuts and bruises.

Didn't fucking matter.

Tonight was do or die.

I glanced at the boys. Met their eyes.

Then I turned to Thomas. Glaring.

They knew.

One nod.

One fucking second.

And we moved.

Gunfire erupted.

I shot first—a bullet straight to the head.

The fight turned brutal fast. They outnumbered us, but we didn't stop. Didn't fucking hesitate.

Bullets whizzed past my head, slicing through the air. I ducked. Pivoted. Fired.

George took cover behind a crate, picking off men one by one. Thomas moved like a shadow—sharp, ruthless. Bryce and Fred? Fucking reckless.

Bodies dropped. Blood splattered.

But the fight wasn't clean. Wasn't easy.

A bullet grazed my shoulder. Another clipped my ribs.

Didn't stop me.

Didn't stop any of us.

Then a sharp crack split the air.

I turned just in time to see Fred drop.

Bullet—right near his heart.

Fuck.

"FRED!"

Bryce's voice was raw. Desperate.

One of Rafael's men lifted his gun, aiming right for Fred's fucking head.

I swung my gun up—too slow.

Bang.

The shot never hit Fred.

Because Bryce took it instead.

Right through his fucking arm.

"FUCK!" Bryce stumbled, gripping his bleeding arm, but his eyes never left Fred.

Didn't care about the pain. Didn't fucking care.

George didn't hesitate—one bullet straight through the bastard's skull.

The man dropped.

But Bryce wasn't looking.

He was already at Fred's side, grabbing him, pulling him into his lap.

"Wake the fuck up, asshole!" Bryce's voice cracked. Not in anger. In pure fucking panic.

He slapped Fred's face. Hard.

Fred didn't move.

Bryce's breath turned ragged. His hands shook.

"Don't you fucking do this, Fred." His voice was hoarse. "You hear me? You don't get to fucking die, you piece of shit!"

Nothing.

Fucking nothing.

Bryce's chest heaved. His fingers curled into Fred's shirt, shaking him. Hard.

"Open your fucking eyes!" His voice was breaking.

Fred didn't.

Bryce lost it.

He slammed his fist into the ground, a guttural scream ripping from his throat. Then he was back at it, slapping Fred's face, gripping his shirt so fucking tight his knuckles turned white.

"You BASTARD! You don't get to fucking leave me like this! Wake the FUCK UP!"

His breathing turned erratic, his face twisted in pure fucking agony.

George crouched beside him, his jaw locked, fists clenched so hard his knuckles went bone white. His eyes stayed on Fred, but I saw it. The fucking devastation creeping in.

"Rick—his heartbeat's slowing down."

Bryce's voice cracked.

My chest turned to ice.

For a second, the world tilted.

Fred.

Fucking Fred.

The same bastard who never shut the fuck up. The same bastard who could throw hands over the stupidest shit and still have your back every damn time.

Bryce's hands were shaking. His whole body trembled. His arm was bleeding, his face was contorted in something between rage and agony.

But his voice—his voice.

Pure fucking devastation.

"Rick," he choked out, "make him fucking open his eyes."

I didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Because for the first time—Bryce sounded fucking broken.

George shot me a look.

Tense. Waiting.

I exhaled. Steady. Cold.

"Stay here. Calm him down."

George's jaw tightened. His nostrils flared. But he nodded.

I pushed to my feet, turning sharply.

"Get him to a fucking hospital. Now." My voice was ice. Commanding. Absolute.

Bryce wasn't hearing it.

He wasn't even looking.

He kept shaking Fred. Kept cursing him. Kept fucking begging.

But Fred didn't move.

Didn't fucking move.

I turned to Thomas.

He was already watching me.

I gave him a single, sharp signal.

Follow me.

And without another word, we moved.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Avery's POV)

The taste of blood coated my tongue. My body ached, my skin burned from where Rafael had hit me, but I refused to sit there like a fucking damsel waiting for a hero.

I wasn't going to wait.

I wasn't going to be helpless.

My breath was ragged, sharp, but my mind was clear. Rafael stood close—too fucking close. His mistake.

I moved fast.

My elbow slammed into his stomach.

Hard.

He let out a sharp grunt, stumbling back. His eyes widened in shock, but I didn't give him a second to recover.

I kicked him right where the sun doesn't fucking shine.

"You little—FUCK!"

His body snapped forward, his hands instinctively going to his crotch as a choked noise left his throat.

Good.

I didn't stop.

With all the force I had left, I kneed him right in the fucking face.

His head snapped back.

And I ran.

My heart pounded as I bolted for the door, ignoring the searing pain in my ribs.

Almost there.

Almost—

A hand wrapped around my wrist.

No. No. NO.

Before I could react, Rafael yanked me back, his grip brutal. A slap cracked across my face.

HARD and AGAIN.

My head whipped to the side, pain exploding along my cheek. My legs gave out, and I hit the floor with a painful thud.

Fuck.

I tasted more blood.

My body screamed, but I forced myself to move, sliding back on the floor, my pulse hammering.

Rafael took slow, deliberate steps toward me.

I kept moving back, my breaths shallow, my ribs aching with each inhale.

His eyes darkened as he loomed over me.

Then—his hand snapped forward, gripping my hair.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my scalp screaming in pain as he yanked my head back, forcing me to look at him.

His face was twisted in rage, his nostrils flaring. "You little bitch," he spat, his breath hot against my skin. "You actually thought you could get away from me?"

I gritted my teeth, my hand trembling as I clutched my stomach.

Protecting. Instinctively.

His eyes flicked down.

To my hand.

Then back up to my face.

And suddenly—his lips curled into an evil fucking smirk.

"No fucking way."

His laugh was sharp, cruel, cutting through the silence like a blade.

A chill ran down my spine.

No. No. Don't react. Don't give him anything.

But my grip on my stomach tightened.

His smirk widened. "Oh, Gianna." He clicked his tongue, tilting his head. "Is it possible? Could it be that my assumption is right?"

I glared at him, forcing my expression to stay blank.

I would not give him the fucking satisfaction.

But he just laughed again.

"What do we call it?" He leaned in closer, his voice mockingly soft. "A mother's instinct?"

I swallowed hard, my jaw locking.

He fucking knew.

I moved.

Tried to rip myself away, tried to run—

But his grip on my hair tightened, yanking me back.

"Not so fast, sweetheart."

Pain shot through my scalp as he dragged me across the floor.

I cried out, my hands flying to his wrist, clawing at his skin, kicking, thrashing. "Let me GO, you fucking piece of SHIT!"

He didn't.

He dragged me right to the middle of the room.

I gasped in pain, my entire body screaming as I hit the cold, hard floor.

"FUCK YOU, RAFAEL!" My voice was hoarse, raw. "LET ME GO!"

I struggled. Fought.

But he didn't move.

Didn't say a damn word.

Just stood over me.

His chest rose and fell steadily. His lips curled into something sick, twisted.

And then—

He lifted his leg.

Aimed right at my stomach.

No.

I sucked in a sharp, panicked breath, my hands clenching into fists.

I couldn't move.

Couldn't fucking do anything.

Then—

BANG.

A gunshot.

A snarl of pain.

Rafael stumbled back, gripping his leg.

Blood.

His fucking blood.

I turned my head.

And my entire body froze.

Rick.

Standing at the entrance, gun raised, face unreadable.

Thomas.

Beside him, his jaw clenched, his stance rigid.

Rafael grunted, his leg buckling slightly as he hissed through his teeth.

I didn't wait.

Didn't hesitate.

I moved.

Launched myself toward Rick.

But I didn't get far.

Pain exploded through my hand.

I let out a strangled cry, my entire body jerking as Rafael's boot pressed down on my fingers.

Hard.

I screamed, thrashing, clawing at the floor. "RICK!"

I tried to move, tried to yank my hand free, but the pressure increased.

Tears burned my eyes.

"RICK—"

A sharp, cold laugh rang through the air.

I barely had time to process before Rafael's voice cut in.

"Welcome, Carlo."

I stiffened.

His foot didn't move, but his body shifted just enough for me to see his face.

See the pure fucking amusement in his dark, soulless eyes.

And then he grinned.

"Paolo."

I sucked in a breath.

Rafael's gun raised.

His fucking gun.

Pointed right at me.

His smirk deepened.

"Finally. After twenty years."

His voice was almost mocking.

"We meet."