The war room felt smaller after Marco's body was removed.
Raven stood near the end of the long table, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The black silk dress still clung to her skin, now damp with sweat from the rising tension. Her pulsxe hadn't slowed since they zipped the bag shut. Every time she blinked, she saw the carved word — TRAITOR — staring back at her.
Vincent remained at the head of the table, one hand resting lightly on the surface. Calm. Unmoved. Like a dead man on his table was just another data point.
The guardians moved with quiet efficiency. Lucian was back at the console, fingers flying across the keys. Dante paced slowly along one side of the table. Sebastian leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching everything with sharp eyes. Matteo stood calculating in silence. Leonid remained near the door like a coiled shadow.
No one spoke for several minutes.
Then Lucian's voice cut through the quiet.
"Movement on the perimeter. Three vehicles. Approaching from the east service road."
Dante stopped pacing. "Ours?"
"No." Lucian's tone sharpened. "They're using our routes. Same access codes. Same transponders."
Raven's stomach dropped.
Vincent didn't react. He simply looked at Lucian. "Details."
"Two SUVs. Black. Armored. One motorcycle escort. They're inside the outer fence already. Security systems aren't flagging them as hostile."
Raven's breath caught. Heat surged through her veins, mixing with cold dread. "That's impossible unless—"
"Unless someone inside gave them the codes," Matteo finished quietly.
The room went still.
Raven felt the shift immediately. Eyes turned toward her. Not accusing. Not yet. But weighing. Measuring.
Her fingers dug into her arms. "You think I did this?"
Vincent's gaze finally moved to her. Dark. Steady. "No."
The single word should have been a relief. It wasn't. Because his tone said he already knew exactly what was happening.
Lucian's fingers moved faster. "They're heading for the south wing. Direct path to the residential corridors."
Dante pushed off the table. "That's where her room is."
Raven's pulse roared in her ears. Sweat broke out fresh along her spine. The silk dress felt suffocating now. She could feel the weight of every gaze on her — suspicion, calculation, readiness.
Vincent straightened. "Lock it down. Non-lethal if possible. I want one alive."
But it was already too late.
The first explosion rocked the mansion.
Not loud. Controlled. Precise. The kind that breached a wall without collapsing the whole structure.
Alarms stayed silent. The attackers were using De Luca protocols — overriding the system from inside.
Raven moved before she thought.
She grabbed the nearest weapon — a sleek black pistol from the table's edge — and checked the chamber in one fluid motion.
Vincent was already moving toward her. "Raven—"
Another blast. Closer this time. The lights flickered.
Then the doors to the war room burst open.
Three men in tactical gear poured in. Their gear was De Luca issue — same plates, same markings, same suppressed rifles. But their movements were wrong. Too aggressive. Too desperate.
One raised his weapon toward her.
Raven fired first.
The shot caught him in the shoulder. He staggered but didn't go down.
Chaos erupted.
Dante slammed into the second attacker like a freight train. Leonid moved like smoke — silent, deadly, knife flashing. Sebastian dropped the third with a precise shot to the leg.
But the first man recovered faster than he should have.
He lunged straight for Raven, ignoring the others.
She sidestepped, but the room was too crowded. His rifle butt caught her in the ribs. Pain exploded through her side. She gasped, vision flashing white.
Vincent was there in an instant.
He grabbed the attacker by the throat and slammed him against the table with terrifying ease. The man's rifle clattered to the floor.
Raven clutched her side, breathing hard. Blood trickled from a split lip where she'd bitten it. Sweat poured down her face. Her dress was torn at the shoulder now, exposing more skin.
The attacker gasped under Vincent's grip, eyes wild behind the balaclava.
Vincent ripped the mask off.
The face underneath was unfamiliar — but the tattoo on his neck wasn't.
A small Caruso crest, half-hidden under fresh ink.
Vincent's voice was ice. "Who sent you?"
The man laughed through the pain. "You did."
Raven's blood ran cold.
The attacker's eyes found hers. "De Luca routes. De Luca weapons. De Luca codes. Looks like the husband wants the wife gone after all."
Vincent's grip tightened. The man choked.
But the seed was planted.
Raven stared at the attacker. Then at Vincent. Her pulse hammered so hard she felt dizzy. Doubt crashed over her like ice water.
Did he know?
Had he allowed this?
Was this the real plan — make her his wife publicly, then eliminate her quietly so Caruso took the blame?
Vincent turned his head toward her. His dark eyes locked onto hers. Calm. Unshakable.
But for the first time, she saw something flicker there.
Not guilt.
Something else.
He released the attacker. Leonid stepped in immediately, zip-tying the man with brutal efficiency.
Raven's ribs throbbed. Her lip stung. Blood and sweat mixed on her skin. The torn dress hung off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her breast. She didn't care.
She stepped closer to Vincent, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body again. Close enough that the others gave them space.
Her voice came out low. Rough. Trembling with barely contained rage and something far more dangerous.
"Did you know about it?"
Vincent didn't look away. Didn't flinch.
"It happened."
Three words.
No denial.
No explanation.
No apology.
Raven's breath shuddered out. Heat flooded her face. Her chest heaved. The doubt burned hotter than the pain in her ribs. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to drive the pistol in her hand into his chest and pull the trigger.
Instead, she stood there, inches from him, bodies almost touching. The air between them crackled — thick with suspicion, fury, and that same dark, aching pull that refused to die.
Vincent's gaze dropped briefly to her torn dress, to the blood on her lip, to the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
Then back to her eyes.
His voice dropped, low and intimate, meant only for her.
"You're still breathing, Raven."
He lifted one hand and brushed his thumb across her split lip. The touch was gentle. Possessive. His finger came away with a smear of blood.
She felt it everywhere — the contact, the heat, the way her body betrayed her by leaning into it despite everything.
Her thighs clenched. Heat pooled low and insistent between her legs. Her nipples tightened painfully against the torn silk.
She hated him.
She wanted him.
The contradiction tore at her.
Vincent leaned in closer, his breath brushing her ear.
"Trust is earned. Not given."
He straightened, hand dropping away.
The room watched them in heavy silence.
The attacker groaned on the floor. The screens still flickered with data. The mansion's systems slowly came back online.
But Raven couldn't look away from Vincent.
The question hung between them, unanswered and heavy:
Could she trust him?
Or had she just married the man who wanted her dead?
The doubt coiled tight in her chest, mixing with the burning heat his touch had left behind.
And for the first time, Raven wasn't sure which one scared her more.