Chapter 33

• The safehouse was silent but for the ragged cadence of their breathing.
• Kieran’s blood-smeared hands trembled as she shoved the door shut behind them. Her heart still hadn’t settled from the docks from the screams, the gunfire, the way Isandro’s body had moved with lethal grace to shield her without hesitation.
• She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t feel this…this ache.
• But she did.
• Isandro stood across the room, her suit torn and bloodied, her sharp eyes following Kieran’s every shaky breath. The amber glow from the lone lamp cast flickering shadows over her face, softening the brutal edges but not the hunger in her gaze.
• “You’re hurt,” Isandro murmured, voice low, hoarse.
• “It’s nothing,” Kieran rasped.
• But Isandro was already moving. Crossing the distance between them in deliberate, measured steps, like a predator approaching something precious.
• Her fingers brushed Kieran’s split lip. Gentle. Reverent.
• And Kieran broke.
• “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Don’t look at me like that.”
• “Like what?” Isandro murmured, thumb dragging along her jaw.
• “Like you…” She swallowed hard. “Like you give a damn.”
• A dark smile ghosted over Isandro’s mouth. “I do.”
• Kieran’s breath hitched.
• The tension snapped.
• In a breathless blur, Isandro’s mouth crashed against hers wild, brutal, devastating. Teeth clashed. Hands roamed. Kieran groaned low in her throat as she clutched Isandro’s jacket, dragging her closer, closer still.
• It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tender.
• It was desperate. Violent. Raw.
• Just like them.
• When Isandro spun her, pinning Kieran against the safehouse wall, the sound that tore from Kieran’s lips was half snarl, half moan. Her head fell back as Isandro’s mouth found her throat, teeth scraping against the delicate skin there.
• “Tell me to stop,” Isandro rasped, voice thick with restraint she was rapidly losing.
• Kieran’s fingers dug into her hair. “Don’t you dare.”
• Kieran barely registered the sound of her own breath shuddering out as Isandro’s lips traced the bruises blooming along her neck. The soft scrape of teeth, the subtle suck of skin each sensation sent heat spiraling low and deep.
• It was madness.
• It was ruin.
• And still, she let it happen.
• Isandro’s hands steady despite the lingering tremor of adrenaline slid beneath Kieran’s torn jacket, fingers skimming over bare skin. When they touched the ridge of a healing scar, her touch faltered.
• Kieran tensed.
• Isandro paused, lifting her eyes, dark and heavy-lidded. “These weren’t mine.”
• The words were soft. Dangerous.
• “No,” Kieran whispered, the breathless hitch in her voice betraying her. “They weren’t.”
• But the shadows in Isandro’s expression deepened. Her hands framed Kieran’s ribs, gentle in a way that felt more shattering than any slap of violence.
• “Tell me,” she murmured. “Who did this?”
• Kieran shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about”
• Isandro cut her off with a kiss. Not frantic this time. Not brutal. Slow. Deliberate. A claiming of something neither of them dared name.
• When Kieran moaned into her mouth, she felt it the shift. The surrender.
• And then Isandro’s voice dropped, low and rough: “On your knees.”
• Kieran froze.
• For a beat, she thought she’d imagined it. But the dark glint in Isandro’s eyes left no room for doubt.
• “I said,” Isandro repeated, voice like velvet over steel, “on your knees.”
• Kieran’s breath caught.
• Her heart pounded.
• This was dangerous. This was her. Kieran Blackwell didn’t kneel for anyone not in the underworld, not in the bedroom.
• But Isandro wasn’t anyone.
• Her body moved before her mind caught up. A shiver chased down her spine as she sank, knees hitting the rough wood floor. The tension between them thickened, sharp as broken glass.
• Isandro exhaled slowly, gaze devouring the sight of her. “Good girl.”
• Heat—dark, liquid, uncontrollable flared through Kieran at the words.
• “Look at me,” Isandro ordered softly.
• She obeyed.
• The soft click of a belt unfastening made her mouth go dry. She didn’t tear her eyes away not even when Isandro’s fingers curled into her hair, tipping her head back slightly. The dominance was unmistakable power tempered by restraint, but it wasn’t cruelty.
• It was reverence.
• Control.
• Trust.
• “Kieran…” Isandro’s voice dropped even lower. “If you want me to stop say it.”
• Kieran’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “I’ll break your goddamn fingers if you do.”
• A sharp breath. A curse. And then Isandro was guiding her, mouth meeting skin, breath meeting heat, as the night descended into something primal something forbidden.
• They didn’t speak.
• They didn’t have to.
• Every breath, every moan, every bitten lip and trembling sigh told the story for them.
• And when it was over when Kieran collapsed against her, boneless and shaking, lips bruised, heart raw Isandro gathered her close. No mockery. No power games.
• Just arms. Just warmth.
• Kieran pressed her forehead against Isandro’s neck, closing her eyes as she whispered, barely audible:
• “…I’m still going to kill you one day.”
• Isandro chuckled softly, her lips brushing Kieran’s hair. “Get in line.”
• The afterglow was strange.
• Unfamiliar.
• Kieran wasn’t used to warmth. Not like this. Not with someone she was supposed to hate.
• Her breathing slowed, her body still humming with the echoes of what they’d just done, but her mind a battlefield of sharp edges and old wounds refused to quiet. She felt the steady rise and fall of Isandro’s chest beneath her cheek, the soft graze of fingertips tracing idle patterns along her spine.
• It was terrifying how easily she could have stayed there. Just for a moment longer.
• But they didn’t have moments. Not in this world.
• “Stop thinking so loud,” Isandro murmured, voice husky but soft.
• Kieran huffed, lips brushing the curve of Isandro’s throat. “Didn’t realize I was making noise.”
• “You weren’t.” A pause. “But you always do this. Shut down when it matters.”
• That made her tense.
• She pulled back just enough to meet Isandro’s gaze. Those dark eyes held no mockery. No cruelty. Just brutal honesty. And something far more dangerous: tenderness.
• “Don’t,” Kieran said, her voice low. “Don’t pretend this changes anything.”
• Isandro arched a brow. “You think I’m pretending?”
• Her thumb brushed the curve of Kieran’s cheekbone, the touch so careful it made her ache. Kieran’s throat tightened.
• “You think I don’t know what this is?” Isandro continued, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I know it doesn’t erase blood. Or war. Or what we’ve both done. But…” She exhaled, her eyes flicking away for half a second before settling back. “It doesn’t have to be nothing either.”
• Kieran’s mouth was dry. She wanted to argue needed to. But the words wouldn’t come.
• Because part of her some small, hidden, broken part wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be more than blood in her hands. More than scars. More than hatred.
• But the world wasn’t built for people like them. Not for heirs to rival kingdoms carved in crime and betrayal.
• The sharp trill of her burner phone shattered the fragile silence.
• Both women stiffened.
• Kieran cursed under her breath and reached for the device, her heart already flipping back into survival mode.
• The message was short. Cold.
• Warehouse breached. Third District. Casualties. Immediate call back.
• Her stomach dropped.
• “Trouble,” she muttered.
• Isandro’s expression darkened. “Whose?”
• Kieran’s jaw clenched. “Mine. Or…could be ours.”
• They locked eyes.
• And just like that, the spell broke. Whatever fragile thing had wrapped itself around them in those stolen minutes shattered under the weight of reality.
• Isandro stood first, her expression unreadable as she straightened her clothes. Kieran did the same, slipping her weapons back into place. The air between them pulsed with unspoken words things too dangerous to say out loud.
• At the door, Isandro paused, hand on the frame.
• “We’ll settle this later,” she murmured.
• Kieran swallowed hard. “You mean the war?”
• A flicker of a smirk ghosted over Isandro’s lips. “That too.”
• And then they were gone back into the night, back into the war, back into the only world they’d ever known.
• The cold night air hit them hard as they stepped out of the penthouse, the heat of their earlier encounter replaced by the bitter sting of reality.
• Kieran’s breath was tight in her lungs as she and Isandro climbed into the waiting black SUV. Neither spoke on the way there were no words for what was coming.
• When they reached the Third District, the sharp scent of gunpowder and smoke clung to the air like a death sentence. The warehouse a crucial drop point for shipments and cash was ablaze, windows shattered, steel doors blown open.
• Men were already on the ground, some bloodied, some motionless. Her crew was securing the perimeter, weapons drawn, eyes sharp. But the damage was done.
• Kieran’s stomach knotted. This wasn’t random.
• “Whoever did this knew exactly where to hit,” she muttered, jaw tight as she surveyed the chaos.
• Isandro stood beside her, her features cold, unreadable. “You think it’s Carmine?”
• Kieran shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t be this sloppy.”
• Something darker twisted in her gut. Carmine her father might have been ruthless, but he didn’t strike this way. This was someone who wanted to send a message. Someone who wanted her rattled.
• One of her soldiers approached, blood staining his sleeve. “Boss,” he rasped. “They took the ledger.”
• Kieran’s heart dropped. “What ledger?”
• “The shipment manifest. The one detailing all the arms runs for the next two months.”
• For a split second, she couldn’t breathe.
• If that information got out to the feds, to Carmine, or to any of the rival families it would collapse her entire operation overnight.
• “Who did this?” she demanded, her voice steel.
• The man shook his head. “We didn’t see faces. Just masks. Military precision. In and out in five minutes.”
• Isandro’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound like street-level.”
• Kieran’s mind was already spinning. Pieces clicking into place she didn’t like.
• Her eyes snapped to Isandro. “We need to move.”
• “Where?”
• “To the docks,” Kieran said grimly. “If they’ve got the manifest, they’ll hit the shipments next. Tonight.”
• For a moment, Isandro hesitated. Then she gave a short nod.
• “Then let’s end this.”
• The docks loomed in the distance, bathed in moonlight and shadows. Silent. Too silent.
• Kieran’s boots crunched over gravel as she moved, Isandro at her side, both women armed to the teeth. The tension between them was electric not the tension of seduction now, but something older, sharper.
• Trust forged in fire. Or at least, temporary necessity.
• They found the first body slumped against a shipping container of one of Kieran’s men, throat slit clean.
• Her blood went ice-cold.
• “We’re too late,” Isandro muttered, scanning the shadows.
• “No,” Kieran growled. “Not yet.”
• A flicker of movement there, near the waterline. Four men, black-clad, carrying crates toward a speedboat.
• Kieran didn’t hesitate.
• Gun drawn, she stepped into the open. “Drop it,” she barked.
• The men froze.
• And then the shooting started.
• It was brutal.
• Gunfire echoed off steel, the sharp crack of bullets splitting the night. Kieran dropped to one knee behind a crate, returning fire with deadly precision. Beside her, Isandro moved like a phantom graceful, lethal, every shot landing true.
• Two men down.
• A third dropped his weapon, hands raised.
• “Talk,” Kieran barked, shoving the barrel of her gun against his skull. “Who sent you?”
• The man’s eyes were wild with fear. “I...I don’t know names. Just orders. We were paid. To steal. To burn.”
• “By who?” she snarled.
• He hesitated.
• Isandro didn’t.
• She pressed her knife lightly to his throat. “Answer her. Or I’ll peel you open like an orange.”
• The man whimpered. “Black Crest,” he choked out. “I swear. That’s all I know.”
• Kieran’s breath caught.
• Black Crest.
• A syndicate long believed dead. Wiped out a decade ago. Ruthless, bloodthirsty, with no allegiance to any family.
• “They’re ghosts,” Isandro said flatly.
• “Apparently not,” Kieran rasped.
• Her heart pounded.
• This wasn’t about drugs. Or weapons. Or power.
• This was about dismantling everything. Taking out the old blood one empire at a time.
• And she and Isandro? They were next.
• By dawn, the docks were secured. The stolen shipments reclaimed. But the damage was far from over.
• Kieran stood on the pier, watching the bloodstained water lap against the rocks. Isandro joined her, silent for a long moment before speaking.
• “This war…it’s bigger than us,” she said quietly.
• Kieran’s throat tightened. “Yeah.”
• She glanced at Isandro at the bruises on her knuckles, the smear of blood across her jaw. Somehow, in the chaos, she’d become the only person Kieran trusted to watch her back.
• It should have terrified her.
• Instead…it made her feel alive.
• Without thinking, Kieran reached out, her fingers brushing Isandro’s. The touch was fleeting. Barely there.
• But it was real.
• And for now…that was enough.