The city didn't sleep.
Not when blood stained the streets and the past clawed its way out of the grave.
Michael paced the private med suite on the thirty-third floor of Graze Tower. Hazel lay on the surgical bed, a blood-soaked bandage wrapped tight around her side. Monitors beeped steadily, though each one seemed too loud, too slow, like time itself mocked him.
Connor stood nearby, arms crossed. "Doc says she'll make it."
Michael shot him a glare. "Not good enough."
Connor sighed. "You can't lock her up, boss."
"I can damn well try."
Connor smirked despite himself. "Hazel would gut you in your sleep."
Michael's lip twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile. "Yeah… she would."
A soft groan from the bed.
Michael was at her side in an instant. Hazel cracked one eye open, smirking weakly. "Miss me?"
"You're an idiot," he breathed, brushing hair from her face.
"You married me."
Michael laughed — raw, broken, beautiful.
She reached for his hand. "Did we get him?"
Michael's face darkened. "He ran."
Hazel scowled. "Next time."
Michael lowered his head, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. "There won't be a next time. I'm putting an end to this, Hazel. Roman dies."
She tightened her fingers around his. "Then I'm standing with you."
He hesitated. "I can't… I can't lose you."
Hazel's voice was soft, but steady. "You won't."
And right then, Michael Graze — the coldest, sharpest, most ruthless man in the city — broke his own rules.
He kissed her like a man drowning.
Not hurried. Not desperate. Just a promise. A vow forged in blood and fire.
"I love you," he whispered against her lips.
Hazel's breath hitched.
Then she grinned. "Took you long enough, Graze."
**
Elsewhere — Roman's Lair
Roman Crowe sat in a dim room, blood dripping from his shoulder, fury gleaming in his eyes.
A woman stepped from the shadows, face hidden beneath a veil.
"They're stronger than you said," Roman snarled.
The woman's voice was silk and venom. "I underestimated the girl."
"She fights like a Crowe."
The woman's lips curved. "Because she is one."
Roman froze. "What?"
"She's not just Benjamin Crane's daughter, Roman. She's yours."
The world tilted.
"That's impossible."
"Benjamin raised her to keep you from claiming the Graze empire. That's why you've always felt her blood in your bones. That's why you can't kill her."
Roman's hand trembled. "No… no, that's not…"
"It is."
She stepped forward, placing a crimson-stained letter in his palm.
Benjamin's confession.
Roman read the words — and the past came crashing down.
"Then she'll take everything I built."
"She already has," the woman murmured. "Unless you end her."
Roman's eyes blazed. "Then I'll burn the city down to do it."
**
Back at Graze Tower
Hazel stood at the window of their bedroom, one hand on her bandaged side, the other cradling a glass of whiskey.
Michael wrapped his arms around her from behind, chin on her shoulder.
"Plans are in motion," he murmured.
Hazel sighed. "I should be out there."
"You nearly died."
"I've done worse."
He smirked. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Hazel turned in his arms, studying his face. "We end this tomorrow."
Michael's expression turned lethal. "We will."
She hesitated, then added softly, "And… I meant it. Earlier."
His brow arched. "Meant what?"
"I love you too, idiot."
A slow, crooked grin spread across his face. "Say it again."
She rose on her toes, brushing her lips against his ear. "I. Love. You."
He groaned, pressing her back against the window.
The city sparkled behind them. Blood was still on the streets. War still simmered in the alleys.
But in that moment, Hazel and Michael owned it all.
And tomorrow…
They'd burn down anyone who tried to take it....