Three Days Later – Milan, Italy
The private jet touched down in Milan under the veil of night. No paparazzi. No press. Just sleek shadows and cold strategy.
Evangeline stepped onto the tarmac in a fitted black trench coat, her expression unreadable. The events in Paris hadn't faded from her memory—not the gunshots, not the bodies, and definitely not the way Killian had turned lethal in seconds.
She hadn't spoken much since.
But inside, she was a storm.
Damian had to pay.
She tightened her grip on the small leather bag slung over her shoulder. Her heels clicked steadily across the tarmac as she followed Killian and Laurent into a waiting armored car.
No more questions.
No more hesitation.
It was time for answers.
"You sure this is where he is?" she asked once they were on the road.
Killian glanced at her, then nodded. "He arrived in Milan last night. He's staying at one of the properties under a shell company he's used before. We traced it."
Laurent added from the front seat, "He's got guards, but nothing we can't handle."
Evangeline stared out the window, jaw tight. "Good. I don't want him to see us coming."
Killian gave her a sidelong glance. "You're sure about this?"
She met his eyes. "He sent people to kill me. I'm not hiding anymore."
Killian nodded once. "Then we end it."
---
They arrived just before midnight.
The estate was on the outskirts of the city, a sprawling modern villa perched against a dark hillside. Glass and stone, sharp angles and sleek lines.
A house built by a man who valued power and presentation.
Evangeline stared at the building through binoculars from the tree line. "How do we get in?"
Killian smiled faintly. "We knock."
Laurent and two of Killian's men moved around the perimeter while he and Evangeline approached from the front, cloaked in the shadows of olive trees.
By the time they reached the door, two guards were already unconscious—thanks to Laurent.
Killian reached for the handle—
But Evangeline beat him to it.
She pushed the door open herself.
The interior was silent. Cold.
Modern artwork. Marble floors. The kind of place that screamed money and ego.
And then—
A voice echoed from the top of the staircase.
"Well, well. I was wondering when you'd show up."
Damian Sinclair stood there, dressed in black, a drink in his hand and a smug smirk on his face.
Evangeline's stomach coiled.
He looked almost the same—handsome, charming, polished.
But now she saw him clearly.
A predator.
"You tried to have me killed," she said calmly.
Damian laughed, stepping down the stairs slowly. "You're being dramatic, Eva. I gave you a chance to walk away."
"And when I didn't, you sent men with guns?"
He raised his glass in a mock toast. "Just a little incentive."
Killian moved beside her, quiet and unreadable. His energy was pure danger.
"Cut the theatrics," Killian said. "We know you're not working alone. Who's backing you?"
Damian's smile faltered just slightly. "You think I'd give you that information?"
"You will," Killian said. "Or we tear down everything you've built. Brick by brick."
For the first time, Damian's façade cracked. "You think you know the game, Killian, but you're still playing checkers. I'm playing chess—with kings."
Evangeline stepped forward. "Who is it, Damian?"
He looked at her. Really looked. And something flickered behind his eyes.
Pity?
Regret?
Then—he sighed and set his glass down on a table. "You want the truth?"
"Yes."
Damian walked over to a sleek leather chair and sat down, legs crossed. "There's a syndicate. Not just in business—global power. Old money. Bloodlines that go back centuries. They manipulate governments, economies… and people like you."
Evangeline's heart pounded.
Killian's face darkened. "What do they want?"
Damian met his eyes. "You."
Silence.
"What?" Evangeline whispered.
Damian leaned forward, eyes fixed on Killian. "You were one of them, once. Your father was, anyway. They gave you the inheritance. The blood. And then you walked away."
Killian went still.
Evangeline's mouth went dry. "What the hell is he talking about?"
Damian didn't take his eyes off Killian. "Tell her. Tell her who you really are."
Killian's jaw tightened. "That has nothing to do with you."
Damian laughed bitterly. "Everything has to do with me. You think I wanted this? I didn't. I was recruited because you left a hole. You were supposed to lead. Instead, you ran off and played billionaire."
Evangeline stepped between them. "Enough. Tell me the truth."
Killian's expression was thunderous.
But he finally spoke.
"My father was part of a very old family. Not just rich—powerful. He was a key figure in an elite syndicate that controls most of the financial underworld." He glanced at Damian. "When he died, they came for me. Wanted me to take his place."
"And you said no," she said quietly.
Killian nodded. "I wanted to build something real. Not blood money. Not war."
Damian scoffed. "And now they want him back. They're pulling the strings. I'm just the messenger."
"Bullshit," Killian snapped. "You've always been power-hungry."
"Because I had nothing!" Damian stood abruptly. "I wasn't born with your name, your blood, or your access. I clawed my way up. And they offered me something I never had—a legacy."
Evangeline stared at him. "So you betrayed me. Lied to me. For that?"
Damian looked at her—finally, genuinely. "You were the only real thing I ever had. But in their world, love is a weakness."
A long pause settled between them.
Then Killian spoke coldly. "You're done, Sinclair. Walk away now, or you'll disappear."
But Damian… smiled.
"I'm already dead to them," he said. "But you? You just painted a target on your back. And hers."
He looked at Evangeline again.
"They're coming for you both."