When Catalina wakes up, she's still alone.

They left the headquarters last night, but have been holed up in the home office since.

She sighs, pushing the covers off and sitting up, her body heavy with fatigue. Her hands drag across her face as she tries to shake the fog from her mind.

Jae and Kael are fighting, Polo is openly defying the Fourth, Merlot is losing it over her son, aiming guns in her panic. Samara is dealing with feelings she doesn't want for Polo, Chuck's injured and can barely hold himself up, and they just killed someone who can confirm Mirkov's suspicions.

She trudges to the bathroom, flipping the light on and wincing at her reflection. Her eyes are shadowed, her skin pale. Her toothpaste is empty, so she reaches for a new one under the sink.

But Catalina's hand stops mid-air as her gaze lands on a box of pads sitting neatly inside the storage compartment.

She freezes.

Her heart picks up speed as she tries to remember when her last period was, sifting through blurry days and stress-packed nights. Her chest tightens. She counts back mentally, but the answer doesn't come.

She looks down at the sink, where her birth control pills sit. The half-empty pack stares back at her accusingly. She picks it up, her fingers trembling, and the realization crashes over her like a wave.

She's missed some.

Her stomach twists painfully as her gaze shifts around the bathroom cabinet. There, tucked in a corner, are the pregnancy tests she keeps for emergencies. It's practical to keep them around—a responsible choice for a couple who isn't celibate. But Kael's rule is clear: he never wants to see her actually use one.

She sits on the edge of the toilet, her breath coming in shallow bursts as she waits. The tiny window on the stick feels like a ticking time bomb. Kael's face floods her thoughts and she is gripped suddenly by crippling anxiety and fear.

And then suddenly, a vision of a little boy with dark hair and deep brown eyes invades her mind. Smiling, laughing, happy, as Kael swings him high in his arms and carries him on his hip as we walk hand in hand back to the house.

And then her vision morphs into that little boy holding a gun. Resolute and sure.

Merciless. Just like his father.

Catalina waits for the results with shaking hands.

Jae and Kael are fighting, Polo is openly defying the Fourth, Merlot is losing it over her son, aiming guns in her panic. Samara is dealing with feelings she doesn't want for Polo, Chuck's injured and can barely hold himself up, and Mirkov is after them.

And she's pregnant.

Catalina vomits.

*

Downstairs, despite the seats being empty, the breakfast table is full. Sue has outdone herself, as always, with platters of eggs, bacon, waffles, fresh fruit, and warm bread. But Catalina can't find her appetite. She sits at the table, staring at the plate in front of her, her stomach churning too hard to even consider a bite.

Kael's footsteps pull her attention. He emerges from the office, his hair slightly disheveled and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He passes a hand over her waist, kissing her head, and then pours himself coffee.

Catalina forces a weak smile. "Hi."

"You're pale," he notes in a tired voice, leaning against the counter. "Did you sleep?"

"I did," she lies quickly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She glances toward the hallway leading to the office. "Did you?"

Her husband doesn't give her an answer as he sips his coffee.

Of course not. "Is everyone still here?"

Kael straightens slightly, studying her. Shit. "Things are fucking messy and I need to fix them. Why?"

Fuck. They really, really, really do not need this baby now.

Not now that Mirkov could be after them.

She shrugs, forcing a casual tone. "Did Chuck manage to get any rest? Is Merlot still..." Her voice trails off, her question unfinished, but Kael doesn't miss the flicker of hesitation in her words.

"Chuck's fine," he answers with a pinch of his brows."Polo's elsewhere."

She furrows her eyebrows. "He's moving Merlot's son?"

"I need Merlot subdued," is his quiet response.

It doesn't make sense. "Won't Mirkov be more suspicious?"

He hums. "Polo is discreet."

"Then why is Polo the one moving Merlot's son?"

Kael looks at her.

Ah. Merlot has Samara here as insurance.

Catalina nods, her gaze dropping to the table. Her hands grip its edge as she tries to gather her courage.

I have to tell him.

I can't.

I have to.

Fuck, it's too early. How are we going to raise a child in this world?

How are we going to raise the Fifth? Or the Sixth?

He doesn't want a child. He never wanted a child.

This is my fault. How could I have missed this—

Kael's eyes narrow slightly, sensing the tension radiating off her. "Catalina," he says, his voice firmer and more impatient now. "What is it?"

Her throat feels dry, and her heart pounds so loudly she's sure he can hear it. She hesitates, her mind scrambling for anything else to ask, anything to stall the inevitable. But his gaze sharpens, as if daring her to lie to him again.

There's no point. They will figure this out together.

"I..." Catalina swallows hard, forcing herself to look at him. "I think...I think I'm pregnant."

Kael freezes, the coffee cup halfway to his lips. Slowly, he sets it down, his hand tightening around the handle until his knuckles turn white.

"What?" His voice is quiet, controlled, but there's a crack in it that makes her heart want to burst out of her ribcage.

"I missed my pills," she says, barely above a whisper. "With everything going on, I just—"

"You missed them." The words drop like a stone. His tone is calm, deadly quiet.

"Kael, I—"

"You missed them," he snaps, his voice rising now, sharp with anger. "Catalina...you missed your goddamn pills?"

Kael says this like an accusation, his tone angry and loaded with disbelief. Like she did it on purpose. Like she planned this—like she was reckless enough, thoughtless enough, to let this happen deliberately.

The words hit her like a slap, but it's the look in his eyes that stings even more. He looks at her like the ground is crumbling beneath him, like his entire world is crashing down and he doesn't know how to stop it. His jaw is tight, his shoulders rigid, and there's something almost wild in his expression—fear buried deep beneath the anger.

Catalina opens her mouth to defend herself, to say something, anything, but her voice catches in her throat. Because what can she say to someone whose face screams betrayal and panic? To someone who looks at her like this is the end of everything?

"It wasn't intentional," she manages, her voice barely above a whisper. "Kael, I didn't—"

But he doesn't let her finish. He paces now, running a hand through his hair, his movements jerky and frustrated. "You didn't what? You didn't think? You didn't realize?" His voice rises with every word, his frustration spilling out, unstoppable. "This isn't some fucking minor oversight, Catalina! This isn't something you just fucking forget!"

Catalina shuts her eyes, the tears running down her face as one of her hands instinctively goes to her belly.

This makes Kael even more furious. His eyes burn into hers. "Do you have any idea what this means? What this could mean for us? While I'm still dealing with fucking Mirkov?"

"I didn't mean for this to happen." Catalina's own voice is shaking but rising to meet his. "Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted to—"

"To what?" he cuts her off, his voice like a whip. "You think I can protect a child in this world? You think I can keep him safe from this?"

And then there it is—the panic, the fear beneath his anger. "Kael, I know you're scared. I am, too. That just means I know you're going to be a good fath—"

"Do you think I'm ready for this?" he cuts in, each of his words like a punch to the gut. "Me? The Fourth? You think I'm ready to fucking share you? You think I'm capable of being a fucking father? You think I want to be one? You think I want to bring a child into this fucking world?"

Catalina's chest tightens at the sheer weight of his words. It's not just anger—it's terror. The thought of a child, of becoming a father, unravels him in a way she's never seen before. And as much as his words hurt, as much as they make her heart ache, she can't help but feel the cracks forming in his composure, the fear and guilt seeping through.

Because Kael doesn't just fear becoming a father—he fears becoming his father.

"You're not your father, Kael," Catalina murmurs, standing now.

"Don't," he warns, spinning to face her, his eyes blazing. "Who's next after the fucking Fourth? Let's say I make Jae the Fifth. Who's next after that? That fucking thing in your belly?"

He has every right to be angry, but Catalina can't help but shut her eyes at the sting. Her voice wavers, but she doesn't back down. "Kael, you're not the Third."

He laughs bitterly, the sound cutting through the air. "Catalina, this empire? This throne? It's built on blood and fear, just like his was. A child can't survive here."

Her chest tightens so painfully it's hard to breathe. Her tears cloud her vision. "What about us, Kael? Are we supposed to survive in this without trying to have something good?"

Her husband's eyes are unyielding. "Good?" he whispers. He exhales sharply, his voice dropping into something lower, but no less furious. "You think this life allows for good? You think my reign allows for fucking good? You think I can be a father? That I should be?"

She doesn't answer, because she doesn't know. The weight of his fear and her own presses between them, suffocating.

Kael looks away, his jaw tight. "I'll figure this out," he mutters, more to himself than her, like this is a mess he has to clean up alone.

Catalina's heart cracks at the words, but she doesn't say anything more.

*

At the hospital, Catalina is distracted. She sits at her desk in the lounge, a patient chart open in front of her, though her eyes don't focus on the words. Her mind is elsewhere, caught in the whirlwind of fear, anxiety...and Kael's reaction to the pregnancy.

She replays the conversation in her mind a hundred times since that morning. The cold anger in his voice, the fear masked by fury, the way his hands trembled as he clenched his fists—it's all burned into her memory. He said he would figure it out, but his words don't bring comfort.

What exactly does 'I'll figure this out' mean? Would he ask her to abandon it? Would he want no part in raising his...their child?

Catalina exhales deeply, her hand instinctively brushing over her abdomen. She hasn't even confirmed the pregnancy yet, but she feels it. A new presence, small and fragile, growing inside her. She never thought she'd be this terrified and uncertain if this moment came at all, but here she is.

This is what she gets for being married to the Fourth.

Soren's voice snaps her back to the present. "Bad day for Hades? What, not enough people to kill today?"

She sighs and watches him sit on the bed, shaking off the stress from his shoulders. He likely came from surgery. "I don't have the energy to deal with you today, Dr. Quinn."

The pediatric surgeon stares at her. "You found out."

Internally, Catalina winces. "No, I haven't had the chance to. Things are...messy."

She's not exactly lying, but she's not telling the whole truth either.

This is the doctor who made Merlot's—Selene's—new face. Any information she gives him can put him in danger.

Soren searches her expression, but doesn't get a chance to say anything else because Catalina's phone buzzes, pulling her attention. It's a message from Kael.

Fields is taking you to Club One after your shift. I'm dealing with shit here and need you to sign the adoption papers.

Catalina stares at the screen. Adoption papers.

He's making Jae official heir.

This wasn't in the plan. She never thought she'd be dealing with a baby, let alone a child that might bear the weight of Kael's legacy—the very thing he always feared—but Jae. He's making Jae the official heir now. The Fifth. This isn't supposed to be the solution. He himself has said Jae isn't ready, that he doesn't want the child to succeed his reign yet, but now...now he's making her sign the papers, to make sure this child—the one she's carrying—isn't the Fifth. A child with a target on their back before they even know how to walk.

And yet here she is. Pregnant. And he's already thinking of ways to make Jae the heir. Catalina bites her lip. It's a logical move, to try to keep this baby safe, but the irony isn't lost on her—Kael is only delaying it—the child would always have to face the violence and pressure of the empire. Especially since he is the legitimate heir.

Kael wants control. He needs control. This is how he operates, how he thrives. And losing that...because of this baby...

Catalina rubs her temples, her head aching. She can't—she has to—focus. Without another word to Soren, she leaves the lounge and heads to her operation.

Fortunately, the steady rhythm of the monitors help clear her mind, at least for a little while. She doesn't allow herself to think of Kael, of the baby, or of the looming decisions they'll have to make. All that matters now is saving the life in front of her. It's what she does best.

By the time her shift ends, it's clear that her colleagues have noticed something is off. Her absent-mindedness is too palpable to ignore. Dani gives her a skeptical look during their short exchange, but Catalina brushes it off, offering an exhausted smile. "Just tired," she murmurs, too mentally and physically exhausted to explain further. Teddy doesn't ask, though her concern lingers in her eyes. Even Soren, who she meets in the locker room again while she's changing, doesn't push her.

Frankie called right after her operation, but she wasn't able to answer. She sends her a message she'll call her back when she has the time.

Catalina exits the hospital quietly, the cool night air hitting her skin as she steps out of the building. Fields's drive to the club is much too short, and when he pulls up, it's quieter than usual. The dim lights of the entrance flicker as she steps inside, greeted by a few scattered figures in the distance. The low hum of conversation is barely audible over the faint music playing in the background. The usual energy of the club is muted tonight, and the few faces she does recognize are too distracted to pay much attention to her.

Catalina heads straight for the office, her heart beating a little faster with each step. She can feel the tension hanging in the air, thickening as she approaches the door. Kael's presence is unmistakable, even before she steps inside—the cold, sharp edge to his energy that crackles in the room. She takes a breath, trying to steady herself, as she opens the door.

Kael is standing by the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. His jaw is clenched, his gaze cold, and there's no mistaking the anger in his posture. Jae is on the couch, his face a tight mask of frustration and betrayal.

She's only signing his papers because she's pregnant, after all. Not because he's deemed ready by the Fourth himself.

Kael doesn't speak immediately, but the tension in the room is palpable. Jae hands her a file—no words, no explanation. Just a stack of papers. Her stomach twists even further as she takes them. The silence feels suffocating, the weight of the adoption papers pressing down on her chest like a physical force. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, Kael's voice cuts through the stillness, low and seething with fury.

"Sign," he demands, his voice barely above a whisper, but it crackles with so much anger it feels like the air itself is charged. His eyes lock onto hers, burning with a fury that's hard to ignore.

Catalina's fingers grip the edge of the table as if it might steady her against the wave of emotions threatening to consume her. She's angry, too—angry because he won't even listen to her, angry because he's so blinded by his own rage. "I'm not just signing this," she snaps back, her voice steady. "You can't just shove this at me like it's the solution. You're so angry about this you won't even hear me out."

Kael's jaw tightens. "I don't need to hear you out, Catalina," he snaps, stepping closer. "This isn't about you or me, it's about what this means. About the hell this is going to cause—" He stops, rubbing the space between his eyebrows, and says, "This is already too much to deal with. I don't want to hear anything else. This is the temporary solution. Sign."

Catalina stands her ground. Her voice rises, not out of defiance, but because her heart feels like it's about to break. "You think this is easy for me?" she demands. "You think I wanted this? You think I wanted any of this to happen? I didn't choose this, Kael! You're not the only one who's scared! I'm terrified, too!" She points to her stomach, her words stinging like fire. "And you're not the only one who has to deal with this!"

Kael's face twists with frustration, his anger reaching a boiling point as he takes a final step toward her, his words seething. "You have no choice, Catalina," he spits, his voice thick with rage. "You're fucking pregnant! Just fucking sign them!"

The words hang between them in the silence.

Jae shifts uneasily. His jaw clenches, and though he doesn't say anything, his anger and frustration is as visible as Kael's.

No one wants this baby.

No one wants this except for her.

Yes, the world is violent and unforgiving, shaped by the ruthless empire they control, and the path ahead for their child is filled with danger. It's a world where loyalty is as fleeting as a whispered promise, and safety comes at the expense of others' lives. The child will be born into the darkness that swirls around the San Helena mafia, where blood is the price of power and the rules are written in fear. Where Kael's reign is built on the bones of those who dared to challenge him, where trust is earned through bloodshed and survival is a game played with the stakes higher than life itself. The child will be born into that chaos, into a world where every move could mean the difference between life and death, where allies are as dangerous as enemies, and where the weight of a crown presses down harder than any blade. But even so, Catalina holds onto the belief that this child—her child—will not be consumed by it.

Because still—this is a baby with Kael. Her husband.

The thought makes her heartstrings twist painfully in her chest. She looks at Kael, at the man standing before her, so full of rage and fear, and something in her heart softens. Despite the chaos, despite the violence that will follow this baby into life, Catalina knows something deep within her: Kael will protect this child. He might be scared, he might not know how to be the father he fears he's becoming, but he is not, and will never be, the Third.

Her love for Kael runs deeper than the bloodshed that surrounds them. She knows him. She knows the strength of his loyalty, the depth of his fear, and most of all, the raw power he holds inside to protect the ones he loves. He's capable of so much more than the monster his father was. She refuses to believe Kael will ever turn into the man who crushed everything in his path to maintain control.

Kael is not his father. This child, this baby, will have Kael's protection, his care, his devotion, his love. She knows this with every fiber of her being. Even in a world where cruelty reigns, where power and survival are everything, Catalina is certain: this child will never be alone, and they will never suffer the way Kael did under his father's rule.

"Kael, I—"

The door bursts open suddenly and Samara steps in, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. Her smile is wide, her eyes shining as they land on Catalina. "You're pregnant?!" she squeals.

Catalina winces when Kael's entire body goes rigid at the mention of it, his eyes darkening.

"Get out," Kael growls.

"Oh, dear, don't be upset," Samara sings, her voice almost dripping with amusement. "This is wonderful news, isn't it?" She steps closer to Catalina, her grin widening as she reaches out to caress her belly. "We finally have the Fifth!"

The room feels like it's teetering on the edge of collapse. Kael's fury is palpable, a storm that charges the air with its intensity. Jae's silence does nothing to ease the tension—if anything, Samara's words just made him angrier.

Merlot steps inside, her face a mask of agitation. Her movements are frantic. "Where the hell is Polo? He should be back from Montford by now."

Kael rubs his temple and crosses his arms, the movement deliberate and intimidating. "Shut up and get the fuck out."

"Maybe he's buying my gift after his mission," Samara teases with a wink, then she gasps. "Oh my God. Where's the whiskey? We should celebrate!"

Kael's phone rings and everyone freezes. He takes out his phone, his gaze darkening as he stares at the screen for a beat too long.

Merlot steps forward, her voice low but urgent. "Polo?"

Kael doesn't respond. His eyes find Catalina's.

She holds his gaze. Then, in a voice clipped and cold, he answers the call. "Mirkov."

Catalina chokes on her gasp.

The name alone paralyzes everyone in the room. Even Samara's amused smile drops.

Why is...why is Cirillo calling Kael?

Cirillo's voice filters through the phone, smooth, calculated, and dripping with malice. "Fourth. How have you been?"

Kael's expression remains impassive, his stance commanding, as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders yet doesn't dare to crush him. His voice is calm, almost disarmingly so, carrying the authority of a man who expects obedience and fear. "Busy, Cirillo. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

There's a chilling smile in Cirillo's tone, one that seeps into the room like a slow poison. Samara presses herself against the wall, her usual bravado crumbling in the face of the name now spoken aloud. "I would assume so—empire, wife, reign. Quite a list to juggle. How is dear Catalina? Well adjusted now, I presume."

Ever so slightly, Kael's teeth clenches, the muscles in his neck taut as steel, his gaze steady and unwavering. "As regal and as beautiful as ever," he replies smoothly, his tone laced with subtle dominance.

Cirillo hums, the sound as sinister as his words. "Mm, that's good to hear. I was going to call your right to schedule an appointment, but it seems he's...otherwise occupied."

Beside Kael, Merlot's face has paled, and even Samara looks like she's holding her breath, her usual sharp tongue silenced by the weight of Cirillo's words.

"Appointment?" Kael repeats, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "And here I thought you were busy losing ground in Montford. Or has your business been so badly mismanaged that you've come to me for lessons?"

Cirillo chuckles, a low and cold sound that feels like the scrape of a knife against bone. "Unfortunately, I seem to have lost...another asset. You know how it is. The cost of doing business, I suppose."

Irina.

Fuck. He knows.

Kael doesn't flinch. Doesn't move. "I wouldn't know. I don't lose assets, Cirillo. But if you need advice, I might have a few tips for you."

The room is deathly silent. Catalina feels her pulse quicken, but Kael's unflappable demeanor is a lifeline. Solid. Calm.

Cirillo's voice sharpens, the pretense of politeness slipping away. "No matter. I'm not in Montford, Fourth, my brother can handle my business there. I'm here. In Pont-Ciel."

The revelation is like a punch to the gut. Kael's eyes narrow to slits, his body radiating cold fury, though his composure remains intact. His next words are deliberate, each one cutting like a blade. "In my city, Cirillo? Without an invitation? I expected better manners, even from you."

Cirillo's tone shifts, growing harder. "I'm here to make a deal, Fourth. A good businessman like you understands the importance of negotiation, doesn't he?"

Kael's lips curl into a faint, humorless smile, his confidence unwavering. "Negotiation is only an option for those who bring something of value to the table. If you're here to bargain, I hope you've come prepared. Otherwise, Pont-Ciel might be your final destination."

Catalina watches him, a mix of fear and admiration swirling in her chest. This is Kael—the ruler of San Helena, a man whose authority is absolute. Even Cirillo, who has wanted him dead for years, can't help but respect him. It's in the way Cirillo's voice, though filled with malice, carries a begrudging acknowledgment of Kael's power.

The Mirkov leader's laugh is forced now, a crack in his otherwise impenetrable façade. "I'll send you the details, Fourth. You'll want to hear my terms."

Kael's voice hardens, each word carrying the weight of a command. "You're in my territory, Cirillo. You follow my rules. Send your terms, but don't mistake my patience for leniency. Enjoy my city, you might leave with your epitaph written."

Without waiting for a response, Kael ends the call, the sharp click echoing in the room like a gunshot. The silence that follows is deafening.

Then he tucks the phone back into his pocket, his movements precise and measured.

For a heartbeat, there's nothing else but the sound of Kael's harsh breath. Then he turns around, his eyes locked on Samara.

"You said Mirkov was in Montford," he says, his voice quiet and lethal. "What is he doing in my city."

Samara's eyes widen, her jaw dropping. "I said Mirkov was in Montford. Information said Mirkov, I assumed it was Cirillo—not fucking Stefano Mirkov! He probably has Polo!"

Stefano, his brother, was the one on the way to Montford.

Kael's expression hardens further. Then, suddenly, he goes still, his head tilting as if listening to something only he can hear.

And then: "Get down!"

He lunges toward Catalina, his body colliding with hers just as the first explosion tears through the room. The force sends them sprawling, and the deafening roar is followed by a rain of shattered glass and the sharp bark of gunfire. Smoke billows in thick, choking clouds, turning the room into a haze of chaos.

Kael doesn't hesitate. He gets back up and pushes Catalina behind him, shielding her with his body as the first masked assassins burst through the doors. His gun is already in hand, firing with ruthless precision. The sound of each shot is deafening, but Kael doesn't falter, moving with a predator's grace and speed. His movements are sharp and lethal, every bullet finding its mark.

Catalina scrambles to her feet, her heart pounding as she clings to the wall. Kael steps forward, his figure cutting through the smoke like a vengeful shadow. One assassin charges, weapon raised, but Kael is faster. He ducks the swing and drives his elbow into the man's throat, finishing him with a clean shot to the chest.

More attackers pour into the room. Kael doesn't move, doesn't flinch, doesn't stop shielding her body—he takes them down one by one with calculated shots, never letting anyone come close enough to touch her, each movement as deliberate as the last. Blood sprays across the walls, the sharp metallic scent mingling with the acid smoke.

Merlot and Jae—Cerberus—charge in from the side, their weapons continuously firing as they cut through the chaos with practiced ease. Samara is more frantic, her shots less precise but no less deadly.

Another assassin lunges at him, blade flashing in the smoke-filled air. Kael sidesteps smoothly, grabbing the attacker's wrist and snapping it with brutal efficiency. The blade clatters to the ground, and the assassin collapses in a lifeless heap as Kael's gun fires.

In the chaos and violence, Catalina stands frozen behind him, her body trembling, tears streaming unchecked down her face. She presses herself against the cold, unyielding wall, her shaking hands clenched so tightly her knuckles ache. The acrid smoke stings her eyes and fills her lungs, but none of it compares to the fear coursing through her veins—not just fear of the assassins, but of the man in front of her.

Kael is unrelenting, a predator in his element. Every movement he makes is deliberate, efficient, and terrifyingly precise. The attackers' numbers dwindle, their confidence shattered under his merciless assault. Each shot he fires reverberates in her chest like a thunderclap, and every body that hits the ground is a stark reminder of the power he wields.

This is Kael. Not just the man she loves, but the Fourth. She's heard the stories of his cold precision and unyielding dominance. But hearing those is nothing compared to seeing it unfold in front of her.

Her heart pounds, each beat hammering against her ribcage like a desperate plea to run. Yet she stays rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away. Even in her terror, even as sobs choke her throat, a part of her can't help but feel awe. Awe at his control, his precision, his ability to dominate the battlefield with such unshakable confidence. But that awe is mingled with a new, sharp understanding: this is the part of Kael he's kept from her, the side he never wanted her to see.

Beneath that terror and awe, her tears blur her vision as she watches him dispatch another attacker with brutal efficiency with a shot from under his chin.

This is who he is. The man who commands armies, who bends others to his will, who inspires fear with just his name. She finally understands why people follow him, why they fear him—and why, in the face of overwhelming odds, he never flinches.

For the first time, she wonders if she should fear him, too.

Finally, the gunfire ceases. The last attacker falls, their body hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

Kael stands amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving, his gun still raised and ready. Smoke swirls around him, framing his silhouette like a specter of death. Blood drips from his hands, a stark contrast to the cold, detached expression on his face.

Catalina stares at him, her heart pounding so violently she's sure it's trying to break free from her chest.

And then, slowly, Kael turns. His movements are unhurried, almost methodical. When his eyes lock onto hers, the breath catches in her throat.

The look on his face is devastating.

His features are sharp, unyielding, carved with an expression so cold and merciless it sends a chill down her spine. His jaw is set, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. But it's his eyes that freeze her in place—icy and calculating, devoid of warmth. Death.

Not just the death he's dealt to the men now lying lifeless around them, but the promise of it.

Kael doesn't just look dangerous—he is danger, a man who has embraced the darkness of his world and wields it with terrifying precision. For a moment, she wonders if this is what his enemies see in their final moments: the cold, unflinching stare of a man who holds their lives in his hands and feels no need to show mercy.

And yet, he's looking at her. And she can see Kael, the man shields her from the world's darkness but carries it within himself. The man who just tore through a room of assassins without a second thought to protect her. The man who now stands before her, blood on his hands, a reminder that in his world, survival is bought with the souls of the dead.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, his voice cold and rough and quiet.

He knows she's not, but he still needs to ask. She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. "No."

Kael's gaze lingers on her for a moment, then, for a split second, to her belly, before he looks away. His grip on his weapon doesn't loosen as he scans the room one final time.

"Jae," he says, his tone deadly calm, "sweep the place clean. Grab our men and check our routes."

Jae nods, snapping into action, stepping over the dead bodies with practiced and detached ease.

"He has my son," Merlot says.

"I have to go to Montford," Samara whispers.

"He has my son!" Merlot growls, her voice cracking.

Kael turns to her, his gaze sharp and unyielding. He says nothing at first, and the silence stretches, tense and heavy.

Samara steps forward, her face pale, her movements frantic. "Stefano could have ambushed Polo in Montford. I have to—"

"You'll do nothing until I say so," Kael finally says. His voice cuts the air, ice-cold and absolute. He steps closer, towering over both women. "Unless you want to be dead."

Samara's breathing hitches, her resolve faltering. "But Polo—"

Kael looks at her.

She closes her mouth.

Kael stays silent for a few minutes, thinking. No one dares speak.

Then: "The boy is already secured."

Where," Merlot bites.

"Navarre," is his clipped response. "Polo's in Ilwich already. He's taking over the city. We've been studying it, infiltrating it, ever since the explosion at Montford. If Mirkov manages to escape Pont-Ciel, I want him to find nothing waiting for him. I want him to see his city fallen under my rule—and to know there's no escape from me."

Samara's eyes widen. Kael isn't just playing the game—he's already steps ahead when Polo messed up with Irina Ilyin.

Merlot stares at Kael. "And my son is safe and away from Stefano Mirkov."

"We misled him to Montford. Mirkov was going to scour it the moment the whore was killed," Kael says. "He's not finding shit, but his move was smart—ordering Stefano to go."

"So Polo's fine," Samara breathes. "Then what's the plan?"

Kael exhales, his mind already working at a furious pace. Kael exhales, his mind working at a furious pace. "Samara, you're with me. I need your eyes and ears and clusters of information. I need to know what the fucker is doing in my city, how he got in, his escape plan, and what he's doing to my territories."

She nods once. "Understood."

"Merlot, you're with my men. Full force. I need Pont-Ciel locked down."

Merlot hesitates only a second, then nods stiffly.

Kael turns to Jae just as he returns from his sweep of the club, nodding sharply to confirm the area is safe to move. "Weapons base first," Kael snaps. "Gear up. Then we move."

*

#ReignTheFourthWP