AXEL’S POV:
The battle was supposed to be over.
For seven days, we had fought through hell, clearing every one of Bruno’s strongholds and cutting through his defences like a relentless storm. We were exhausted—our clothes tattered, covered in soot, sweat, and the blood of men who hadn’t been fast enough to survive. Our bodies ached from sleepless nights and countless injuries, but there was relief in knowing it was done. Bruno was dead. His empire was dust.
Or so we thought.
Our sole means of escape, our ticket home, was now nothing more than twisted wreckage.
I had no time for arguments. The ambush was perfectly timed. Whoever was left in Bruno’s command wasn’t just throwing bodies at us; they were executing a planned counterattack, waiting for the moment we dropped our guard.
