I didn’t open it right away.
Didn’t even breathe near it.
I kept it buried, tucked between old clothes because something about it made my skin itch.
But I waited.Because opening it meant facing whatever the fuck was inside, and I wasn’t ready. Not then.
At first, I didn’t know what kind of poison lived on that drive.Didn’t dare to look.Just shoved it to the bottom of my bag, pretending it wasn’t burning through the fabric, pretending it wasn’t ticking with every breath.But months later, alone in some shitty motel, living off vending machine dinners and silence, I finally cracked it open.
And fuck me… The files weren’t just incriminating.They were lethal.
Bank accounts soaked in blood money.
Bribes stacked like bodies.
Kill orders signed off with no hesitation.
It was all there.Enough to collapse the whole kingdom Alessandro De Luca built in blood and bullets.Enough to put a target on my back that would never fade.
I didn’t just find secrets.It was power.Enough to bring down an empire.
And when the time came, I’d be ready to make it bleed.I had my match—my goddamn firestarter.
One strike, and I’d burn it all to the ground.
I transferred every file to a secure drive, buried it behind walls of encryption so thick even the devil himself would struggle to claw through.I told myself I was just being careful.That I’d never need it.
But I’ve learned hope is a fragile lie.So I prepared.Just in case.
When Matteo dropped me off and told me to stay hidden, he shoved a burner phone into my hand.Said if he didn’t return in six hours, it meant his father had killed him.That I was to run.That he loved me with every broken, bloodstained piece of himself.
But you know what… I’m done fucking running.I’m not leaving him to face the wolves alone.Not when I know how sharp my teeth are.
The moment that burner hit my palm, I knew I could crack what I needed, pull the access, unlock the file.My bullet, locked, loaded, and aimed.This time, I shoot first.
By the time I reach the slaughterhouse, my legs are trembling, lungs clawing for air like they’re trying to tear out of my chest.Sweat slicks my back, my shirt glued to me—damp, choking, suffocating.
I ran the whole way.Didn’t think.Didn’t stop.Just kept moving.Like if I slowed down for even a second, the weight of it all would crush me into the ground.
The late afternoon sun hits the rusted roof in hard streaks.Dust hangs thick in the air, curling in the light like ghosts too tired to haunt anymore.My boots crunch over gravel as I press against the warped metal siding, every nerve in my body stretched tight and screaming.
Inside, voices echo.Low and rough, the kind of sound that promises pain.The kind that means blood will follow.I can’t make out the words yet, but I don’t need to.My gut already knows, plus I didn’t come here to listen.
I slip in closer.Quiet and precise.I’m not Emery right now.I’m every sharp edge my father forged without realizing it.Every sleepless night.Every wound I stitched shut with my own hands.I’m the result of his betrayal.The weapon he never saw coming.And make no mistake—I didn’t come here to fucking beg.
I move toward the open doorway.The air slams into me, a fist to the gut.Blood, sweat, rot.It hangs heavy, soaked into the walls, steeped in memory.My lungs twitch, ready to choke, but I don’t let them.I won’t give them the fucking satisfaction.
Then I see him.
Matteo.
On his knees.The king’s son, brought low, a fucking traitor to the throne.And towering over him stands his father, Alessandro.The monster in the crown.A goddamn executioner in silk.He presses the gun to Matteo’s forehead, not hesitating, not blinking.A baptism in lead, blood, and betrayal.
Matteo’s face is bloodied, streaked with defiance.He’s not broken.Not begging.It’s that kind of fuck-you fire that dares you to pull the trigger.Watching him kneel like that… shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes burning with wildfire rage, it splinters something deep in my chest.
I grip the doorframe, the pressure in my hands the only thing anchoring me upright, fingers digging into the splintered wood.Every muscle in me coils, pressure building in my chest, ready to detonate.To run in there.Scream.Tear the fucking world apart.But I don’t.I force it down, bury it deep.Because this isn’t the moment for feeling.It’s the moment for control.
I draw the burner from my pocket, hands shaking like they already know I’m stepping into a blood-soaked final act.One tap.That’s all it takes.One fucking tap, and the empire crumbles.
