CHAPTER 19 – Rafe
The night air is thick with the weight of impending war.
I stand outside the safehouse, my hands tight around the grip of my gun, watching as my men make their final preparations.
The tension is palpable.
The scent of oil and gunpowder clings to the air, mixing with the sweat of men who know they may not live to see the morning.
Ezra stands to my right, his sharp eyes scanning the weapons laid out on the table before us—assault rifles, grenades, extra clips of ammunition.
"Everything’s in place," he murmurs, adjusting the strap of his bulletproof vest.
Ezra pulls out a knife, flipping it between his fingers like it’s second nature. Silvio checks the sniper rifle, his eyes scanning the map we laid out an hour ago.
Dario secures the explosives, giving me a nod. “We go in fast. No hesitation.”
Ghost stands in the corner, his expression unreadable. He’s still a wildcard, but I need him.
I glance at each of them. These are the men I trust.
They aren’t just soldiers. They are survivors.
“We only have one shot at this,” I say, my voice low and sharp. “Diego is expecting nothing. That’s our edge.”
Ezra cracks his neck, smirking. “About damn time we took the bastard down.”
The plan is set. The war starts now.
I nod, exhaling through my nose.
There’s no turning back now.
Diego’s compound is heavily fortified, but we have the element of surprise—he thinks I’m dead.
That gives me an opening.
A small one.
But it’s enough.
I roll my shoulders, forcing every ounce of doubt from my mind.
I grip the gun tighter. "Move out."
The convoy of cars peels onto the road. The war has begun.
Diego’s estate looms ahead—a fortress of steel gates, reinforced walls, and men who would die for him.
The guards are posted at every entrance, their weapons glinting under the floodlights.
But they aren’t expecting us.
And that will be their first mistake.
Ezra, Silvio, Dario, and Ghost move into position.
I lift my radio, my voice steady. "Hit the front, hard. We’ll breach the back."
Dario grins, already setting the charges.
Seconds later—
The night explodes.
The gates don’t just break—they fucking disintegrate.
Fire erupts, engulfing the entrance in a thick, blinding inferno.
Screams tear through the night.
Diego’s men react too slowly, caught off guard, scrambling for their weapons.
I don’t give them a chance.
I fire.
One. Two. Three men drop.
Blood splatters the walls, painting them in death.
Dario tosses another charge—BOOM.
The explosion rocks the estate, sending debris raining down.
Ghost moves like a phantom, taking out guards with precision, silent and deadly.
Silvio finds high ground, his sniper rifle picking off stragglers one by one.
Ezra is a shadow beside me, his blade slicing through throats like they’re nothing more than paper.
Bodies fall.
The scent of blood, smoke, and burning flesh thickens the air.
We move forward.
Room by room. Kill by kill.
Diego’s men don’t stand a fucking chance.
But I don’t care about them.
I care about one thing.
Emilia.
And I won’t stop until I have her.
We push forward, clearing hallways one by one, my men moving like shadows through the compound.
Diego’s men are disorganized, caught off guard, scrambling to fight back.
But we are faster.
Deadlier.
We cut through them, leaving bodies in our wake.
And then—
I hear it.
A scream.
Hers.
Time stops.
Everything else fades.
The gunfire. The shouting. The smell of death clinging to the walls.
All I hear is her.
My feet move before my brain catches up.
I sprint down the corridor, my breath ragged, my heart hammering so hard it drowns out everything else.
If Diego touches her—if he hurts her—
I won’t just kill him.
I will destroy every single fucking thing he ever built.
I break into a run.
I reach the underground holding cells, my breath sharp, my hands coiled around my gun.
And then I see him.
Diego.
Standing over Emilia, a gun pressed to her temple.
She’s on her knees, her hands bound, her face bruised, her breathing ragged.
Our eyes meet.
Something flashes in hers—hope. Fear. Relief.
I raise my gun, my voice cold. "Let her go."
Diego smirks. "Didn’t think I’d see you again, hermano."
Diego tilts his head, his fingers curling tighter in Emilia’s hair.
She winces, her body trembling, her breath coming in shallow pants.
Rage claws at my throat, but I don’t react.
Not yet.
Diego watches me, eyes gleaming with something dark, something hungry.
“This is familiar, isn’t it?” he muses. “You. Me. A gun between us.”
He laughs, dragging the barrel of his gun down Emilia’s cheek.
“She’s quite the little fighter,” he continues, voice silk-smooth. “Tried to stab me. Almost succeeded.”
Emilia’s gaze meets mine. Defiant. Fierce. Unbroken.
Good girl.
I grip my gun tighter. “Let. Her. Go.”
Diego grins. “Why? So you can ride in like the hero? Save the damsel? That’s not how this works, hermano.”
His grip tightens. Emilia gasps.
My finger twitches on the trigger.
“Or maybe…” Diego smirks. “You’re in love with her?”
Silence.
Emilia’s eyes widen.
Diego’s smirk deepens. “Oh, Rafe. That’s the problem with men like us. We aren’t meant to love.”
My breath is steady. Controlled.
But inside?
I’m already planning the most painful way to kill him.
Diego exhales dramatically. “Shame. I was thinking about keeping her.”
Something in me snaps.
“Over my dead body.”
Diego laughs.
“That was the plan.”
In a swift move, Diego points the gun at me and pulls the trigger.
I dodge.
The bullet slices past my ear, so close I feel the heat of it burn my skin. I don’t hesitate—I fire back, but Diego is already moving, ducking behind a pillar.
We don’t need words.
This was always going to end like this.
Diego steps into the open, tossing his gun aside.
A smirk curves his bloody lips. “Come on then, hermano. Let’s finish this the right way.”
Hand to hand. No weapons. No excuses. Just us.
Just death.
I rush him first, throwing a punch aimed at his jaw. He deflects, twisting his body, countering with a brutal elbow to my ribs.
Pain bursts through my side, but I don’t stop.
I swing again, my knuckles connecting with his cheekbone. Diego grunts, stumbling back a step—but then he lunges.
He rams his knee into my stomach.
The impact steals my breath, but I don’t go down.
We grapple, fists flying, the sound of bone meeting flesh filling the room like a brutal symphony.
Diego is good. Too good.
Every strike I land, he counters. Every move I make, he anticipates.
I trained with him for years.
He knows my weaknesses.
But I know his too.
I fake left, twisting sharply, bringing my elbow down toward his temple.
He ducks at the last second, his foot slamming into the back of my knee. I drop.
Before I can react, his fist crashes into my jaw, snapping my head back.
The taste of copper floods my mouth.
Fuck.
Another hit—this time to my ribs.
Pain cracks through me like lightning.
Diego pounces, slamming me onto the cold floor, his knee pressing into my chest, his hands around my throat.
I choke, clawing at his grip, but he’s strong. Too strong.
His smirk is feral, his teeth bloodstained. “I should’ve done this right the first time,” he hisses. “I should’ve made sure you stayed dead.”
The edges of my vision blur.
He’s crushing my windpipe, my lungs screaming for air.
Emilia screams.
It’s a desperate, broken sound.
And then—
A knife.
Flash of silver.
Pain slices through the air.
But it’s not mine.
It’s hers.
I barely register the moment Diego plunges the blade into her stomach.
I hear her gasp.
I see the way her body goes still.
And something inside me snaps.
I don’t feel the pain in my body anymore.
I don’t feel anything except pure, unfiltered rage.
My muscles coil, my vision going red.
Diego doesn’t even see it coming.
I explode upward, slamming my forehead into his nose.
CRACK.
He staggers, blood spurting from his shattered face.
I move before he can recover, grabbing the knife from Emilia’s stomach and twisting—slicing deep into his side.
Diego howls.
But I don’t stop.
I can’t.
I drive him back, my fists flying, my knuckles splitting open against his face.
One punch.
Another.
And another.
He stumbles, his body barely holding itself together.
I grab his shirt, shoving him against the wall, and slam my fist into his gut—again, and again, and again.
I don’t stop.
Not even when his eyes go wild.
Not even when his body starts to slump.
Not even when his breath stutters and his mouth fills with blood.
I want him to feel this.
I want him to feel every single ounce of pain he’s ever caused.
Every betrayal. Every kill. Every fucking wound.
I grab his hair, yanking his face toward mine.
His once-sharp eyes are glassy, his lips twitching in something close to shock.
"You should’ve made sure I stayed dead," I whisper, my voice nothing but a growl.
ThenI snap his neck.
CRACK.
His body drops.
Limp.
Lifeless.
It’s over.
But I don’t even get to feel it.
Because Emilia collapses.
I catch her before she hits the ground.
Blood.
So much blood.
"Stay with me," I breathe, my heart pounding.
She blinks up at me, eyes hazy.
"Rafe," she whispers.
I exhale sharply, my throat tightening.
"You're okay," I murmur. "You're going to be okay."
No, no, no, no.
I press harder against the wound. She’s bleeding too fast.
Too much.
Her skin is pale, her lashes fluttering.
“Stay with me,” I beg, my voice hoarse, desperate.
She tries to speak, but I see it—the way the light is slipping from her eyes.
Fuck.
“Don’t talk,” I say, my voice cracking. “Just hold on.”
But her eyes are already closing.
Panic grips me, harder than any bullet wound ever has.
I can’t lose her.
Not her.
I press harder, my hands soaked in her blood.
Ezra rushes in, his expression grim. “We have to move.”
I barely hear him.
All I see is her.
Dying.
Fading.
I can’t fucking breathe.
“Rafe,” Ezra snaps, shaking me. “We have to go! Now!”
I swallow the panic, the fear, the pain—shove it down.
Then, I lift her into my arms, holding her close to my chest.
And I run.