The hidden passage was narrow, lined with old stone and damp air that smelled of mold and gunpowder. Hayden led the way with a flashlight strapped to his weapon, his grip iron-tight, his shoulders tense. Ana followed closely behind, fingers brushing the back of his jacket for reassurance.
They were beneath the estate now—beneath the empire Enzo Moretti had built on blood.
And the deeper they went, the more it felt like descending into the jaws of something ancient and cruel.
Hayden stopped.
"What is it?" Ana whispered.
He knelt beside a barely visible line in the floor. A pressure plate.
"Booby-trapped. He's funneling us."
Ana stared down at it. "Why? Why trap this passage?"
Hayden looked over his shoulder, eyes colder than the stone around them.
"Because he wants to control how we get to him. He's not running. He's *playing.*"
Ana swallowed hard. "Then let's break the game."
---
Ten minutes later, they had bypassed three more traps—tripwires, motion sensors, even a timed gas release chamber Hayden dismantled with barely a word. His movements were mechanical, efficient. But Ana could see it in the way his jaw ticked.
This was personal.
And he was unraveling, one step at a time.
"Hayden," she said, voice soft, "you need to slow down."
"We don't have time."
"That's exactly why we need to breathe. You're walking into your father's lair like a soldier—but you're *not* just a soldier anymore. Not to me."
He paused.
Turned toward her.
For a moment, the fury in his eyes flickered. "You think I'm losing it."
"I think he *wants* you to."
Hayden exhaled. A heavy, tired sound.
"I watched him let my mother burn," he said. "And now I'm in his house, with you, and every second I don't kill him feels like betrayal."
Ana touched his face.
"Then let me remind you why you're here."
She kissed him—firm and full of fire, not delicate like before. Her lips tasted like defiance, like survival. And Hayden kissed her back with equal desperation, like it was the only thing keeping him sane.
When they broke apart, she whispered, "We walk out of here together. Or not at all."
He nodded once. "Together."
---
The tunnel ended at a steel door embedded in concrete. Hayden inspected the keypad beside it.
Fingerprint scan. Retina recognition. And a passcode.
"Dom," he said into the earpiece. Static. Nothing.
Signal blocked.
"Figures," he muttered.
He stared at the keypad.
"You think he changed the code?"
Ana looked up at him. "Or maybe... he *wants* you to remember it."
Hayden hesitated, then slowly punched in a series of numbers. Birthdate. The same date as his mother's death.
The door clicked open.
Beyond it was a massive underground chamber—walls lined with shelves, artifacts, and old paintings wrapped in plastic. Security monitors glowed from a central panel. A glass floor revealed a wine cellar below, now flooded with water from the storm above.
And at the center of it all… a single chair.
Empty.
Hayden stepped inside. "He's close."
A voice echoed over the intercom system.
"Closer than you think."
Ana spun. Speakers embedded in the ceiling crackled.
"You made it farther than I expected, figlio mio. But then again, rage is a great motivator."
"Show yourself, Enzo!" Hayden shouted, gun raised.
The voice chuckled.
"I'm everywhere in this house. But I suppose you want closure, don't you? Face to face. Father to son."
Screens around the room came to life—images flashing across them.
Ana. Bound and unconscious, from earlier.
Hayden. A boy, no older than ten, standing in front of his mother's casket.
And worse.
Footage of Enzo shooting a man execution-style. Beating someone. Choking a woman in the shadows of a dim hallway.
Ana gasped. "That's—"
"My uncle," Hayden said grimly. "He turned against him."
"He filmed all this?"
"He *keeps* it. Like trophies."
A new video played. This time, of Hayden himself. Surveillance footage of him watching Ana from the street. Footage from London. From the gallery. From their first accidental meeting.
Ana's face paled.
"He was watching you… watch me."
"I know," Hayden whispered. "He wanted to see how far I'd fall."
The room was a trap. Not just physical.
*Emotional.*
---
Suddenly, a door on the far end of the chamber slid open with a mechanical hiss.
Hayden raised his gun and stepped forward, Ana behind him.
They entered a long corridor—mirrored on all sides. Lights flickered overhead, casting distorted reflections of themselves. Ana's reflection bled into Hayden's in the glass, as if their identities were tangled.
A voice echoed again.
"Do you see now, Hayden? You became *me* to avenge her."
"No," Hayden growled.
"You stalked her. Lied to her. Took her. *Made* her yours. Just like I would have."
Hayden stopped walking.
Ana saw his shoulders stiffen.
Enzo's voice was like a scalpel now, cutting deep.
"Tell me, Ana. How does it feel? To be claimed by a man who *only wanted to hurt you*? Who used your body as a battlefield for vengeance?"
Ana stepped beside Hayden. "It feels like being chosen by someone who stopped running from his pain."
Hayden looked at her.
Her voice was steady. "He *loves* me. Even if it broke him to get there."
Silence.
Then—
Applause.
A slow, mocking clap.
And Enzo Moretti stepped out of the final doorway, flanked by two armed guards. Older now, but not frail. Still sharp. Still dangerous.
"I knew it would come to this," he said. "You and me. The woman between us."
Hayden didn't raise his gun.
Not yet.
"Then you know this ends with you dead."
"Perhaps. But let me offer you something first."
He reached into his coat—and withdrew a file. Tossed it onto the floor. It skidded toward Hayden's boots.
"Go on. Take it. You deserve the truth."
Hayden hesitated, then bent and opened the file.
He froze.
Photos. Documents. Letters.
About his *mother.*
Ana leaned in.
And her heart dropped.
The last page was a signed deal. Between her father and Hayden's mother.
A betrayal.
"She traded information," Enzo said. "On me. On my men. Your mother struck a deal with Alexander Nicholas. And when I found out—well, you know what happened next."
Hayden's hand trembled.
"You're lying," he said.
"She got herself killed. *She was the traitor.* Not him."
"No."
"She started the war."
Hayden stumbled back.
Ana reached for him, but he moved away.
The walls felt like they were closing in.
Everything he'd believed—shaken.
"Why show me this now?" he asked, voice raw.
Enzo smiled. "Because now you know… killing me won't fix it."
Ana stepped between them.
"No, Hayden. He's still the monster. She may have made mistakes—but *he* pulled the trigger."
Enzo cocked his head. "So. What now?"
Hayden stared at him.
Breathing hard.
Then raised his gun.
"Now, I end the bloodline."