The fire raged long after Adrian left the warehouse. Black smoke curled into the night sky, choking the stars, blanketing the city in a warning that war had officially begun. The southern docks Cassiel’s calculated invasion point were no longer just compromised. They were scorched. Reduced to cinders and broken crates of contraband soaked in gasoline.
It wasn’t just retaliation.
It was Adrian Costa reclaiming control.
And Cassiel Dain would get the message.
---
Cassiel stood at the edge of her penthouse balcony, wrapped in a silk robe the color of dried blood, watching the flames rise in the distance. Her manicured fingers curled around the glass of Bordeaux, but she hadn’t taken a sip. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, remained fixed on the plumes of smoke unraveling above the skyline
