Valencia didn’t flinch when the bullet shattered the glass beside her head.
She didn’t scream when her guards dragged her back from the chaos.
And she didn’t beg when the compound crumbled around her like a dying kingdom.
No. She simply smirked.
Because this wasn’t her defeat.
It was the start of her endgame.
—
Back in Marseille, Elira didn’t sleep.
She lay beside Amira’s crib, eyes open, gun on the nightstand, chest rising with a slow fury that hadn’t left her since the island. The scent of salt and smoke still clung to her skin.
The only reason she hadn’t flown straight to Valencia’s throat was the steady rhythm of her daughter’s breath.
And Damien’s voice in her ear.
“We need to be smart,” he said from the doorway. “Not reckless.”
“She took her, Damien.”
“I know. But she’s
