Matilda took slow, deliberate steps away from the battlefield, the weight of victory pressing against her shoulders. The scent of gunpowder and blood clung to the air, mixing with the salt from the nearby docks.
Vincent Calderone stood behind her, surveying the c*****e, his expression one of satisfaction. His men were already moving through the aftermath, ensuring there were no survivors on Martina’s side.
It was over.
Matilda had won.
Or so she thought.
She didn’t hear it.
Didn’t see it.
Didn’t expect it.
Bang.
The shot rang out, slicing through the quiet, a single, desperate explosion of sound.
Matilda staggered, her body jerking forward as something hot and sharp tore through the back of her skull.
For a split second, her vision blurred—then everything went black.
She was de
