Chapter 18: The Hunt in Marseille

The jet sliced through the clouds like a blade.

Aaravi didn’t speak for most of the flight. Her eyes stared out over the ocean, but her mind was locked on Matteo — his voice, his scent, the way he’d held her the night before he disappeared. She hadn't cried. Not yet. Because there was no room for tears when your heart was loaded like a weapon.

Nico sat across from her, silent and grim. His shoulder was bandaged, his eyes bloodshot.

“You’re sure about this?” he finally asked.

Aaravi turned to him slowly. “He went to die alone.”

Nico flinched. “He thinks it’s the only way.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Then we make him believe otherwise.”

The moment they landed, it was war.

---

Marseille was cold and gray, the kind of city where danger slithered in shadows and power wore a suit with blood beneath its cuffs. Helena met them at the docks, dressed in all black, hair slicked back, pistol under her coat.

“They’ve moved him to the Bastion,” she said, sliding a photo across the table at a coastal safehouse. “Underground casino run by the Petrovs. If he’s still breathing, that’s where.”

Aaravi stared at the image. A fortress. Cameras. Men with machine guns.

No mercy.

“How long do we have?” Nico asked.

Helena hesitated. “They’re waiting for the Russian Don. When he arrives at midnight, it’ll be public. They’ll execute Matteo in front of the families.”

Silence.

Aaravi stood, calm as steel.

“Then we go in at eleven.”

---

Getting inside was suicide.

But they weren’t amateurs.

Helena hacked the security feeds. Nico distracted the outer guards. Aaravi, dressed in silver satin and armed with the deadliest smile in the city, walked straight through the front door with a silencer strapped to her thigh and a blade hidden in her braid.

She didn’t blink when she slit the first man’s throat.

Didn’t flinch when blood sprayed her dress.

Didn’t breathe until she reached the lower vaults.

And found Matteo.

Stripped to the waist.

Beaten.

Bleeding.

Chained.

But still alive.

“Matteo,” she whispered.

His head snapped up.

His eyes — bruised and broken — locked with hers.

And everything in him shattered.

“Aaravi?”

She knelt beside him, her hands shaking as she pulled the lockpick from her boot.

“You came,” he rasped.

“Of course I came.”

“I told you not to—”

“Shut up,” she whispered, tears finally breaking loose. “You don’t get to die without me.”

He smiled.

Even then.

Even in chains.

She unlocked the cuffs.

But the moment he stood, the alarm blared.

And the real war began.

---

The hallway lit up with gunfire.

Matteo grabbed a pistol from a downed guard. Aaravi didn’t hesitate — she shot with precision, side by side with the man she loved, her dress soaked in blood, her hair coming undone, but her eyes ablaze.

They fought through corridors.

Through smoke.

Through screams.

Until they reached the upper level.

But there, waiting, stood the Don.

Russian. Old. Laughing.

“You love her?” he asked Matteo in broken English.

Matteo didn’t answer.

He just raised his gun.

“Then die together,” the Don spat, lifting his own.

But Aaravi was faster.

One shot.

Straight through the heart.

The Don dropped like a stone.

And everything… stopped.

---

Outside, the Marseille night smelled like salt and smoke.

Matteo collapsed beside her behind the stone wall of the safehouse, chest heaving.

She cradled his face, her fingers bloody.

“You idiot,” she whispered.

He laughed, hoarse and raw.

“I was trying to protect you.”

“You are me. There is no you without me now.”

He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the blood away.

“You saved me. Again.”

She leaned down, lips barely brushing his.

“We save each other.”

And then she kissed him.

Desperate.

Rough.

Alive.

---

Hours later, in the safehouse bathtub, Matteo sat behind her, arms around her waist, pressing soft kisses to her bare shoulder as the water turned pink with everything they’d been through.

“You know this isn’t over,” he murmured.

She leaned back into him.

“I’m not afraid of the war anymore.”

“Why?”

She turned to him, eyes fierce and full of love.

“Because I already have the king.”

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