Elena's plan had reached its final stage. After the chaotic night at the casino, Moretti had taken refuge at Donati's safe house; a cabin on the outskirts of the city, nestled by the forest, where the wind rustled through the branches. Ethan and Elena had spent the night in a rundown motel on the edge of town. The air in the room was thick with the smell of mold, the polish of cheap furniture, and the dampness of rain leaking through the windows. Maps were spread across the table, marked with a red pen tracing the location of the cabin. Weapons had been checked, magazines loaded, and every detail meticulously reviewed. Ethan stood by the window, watching the raindrops slide down the glass. Killing Moretti would sever the last link in the chain of revenge, but this victory would not bring peace; it promised only an emptiness.
Elena sat at the table, her hands firmly on the map, her eyes visualizing each step of the plan in her mind. "There will be no mistakes this time," she said, her voice cold and clear, as sharp as a surgeon's scalpel. "Moretti will be alone, but alert. He'll be at the safe house, the final refuge my father gave him. You will end him quietly, Ethan. In and out, like a ghost."
She marked the cabin's location on the map, her finger lingering on the paper as if sealing Moretti's fate.
Ethan gave a slight shake of his head, but inside, a storm was brewing. Carver was dead, Moretti would be too, but then what? Elena's ambition to take over Donati's empire made Ethan feel like a pawn. "What happens after it's done?" he asked, his voice low but firm. Looking out the window, the rhythm of the rain reminded him of Rachel's last breath. "Will you take down Donati too? Or is this just part of your game?"
Elena looked at him, a fleeting shadow passing through her green eyes, but it was gone before he could catch it. "Maybe," she said, her voice carrying an uncertainty, but that uncertainty did not comfort Ethan. "But let's finish with Moretti first. Step by step, Ethan. Even if my father stays standing, he'll be weak once his most loyal dogs are gone. Then I'll decide what to do next."
She stood up, folded the map, and approached him. "This revenge is for you; power is for me. We'll both get what we want, won't we?"
Ethan turned to her, their faces close, the dim light of the room dancing in her red hair. Her breath brushed against his skin; the floral scent of her perfume briefly drowned out the gloom of the motel room. "Maybe," Ethan said, his voice hoarse. "But when this is over, I'll have a score to settle with you too."
Her lips curled into a smile, slight but not warm or innocent. "We'll settle the score," she whispered, her voice turning into a soft challenge. She placed her hand on Ethan's chest, her fingers trailing over his jacket's fabric. "But not tonight. Tonight, it's just the two of us, and tomorrow everything ends."
Her eyes locked onto his, challenging him, inviting him.
Ethan hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding. Elena's touch spread like fire in the cold motel room. His anger, exhaustion, and the fire for revenge all blurred together for a moment. Her hand slid from his chest to his neck, her fingers grazing his chin, and Ethan couldn't pull back. Their lips met in a hard, hungry kiss. Elena's hands ripped off his jacket, the fabric hitting the floor with a rustle. Ethan pushed her toward the table, maps scattering across the floor, but neither of them cared. Elena's breathing quickened as Ethan's trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt. Her skin burned against his cold hands, and for a moment, everything else went silent—just their breaths and heartbeats filled the room.
The oppressive air of the room dissipated with their bodies pressed together. Elena's hair fell over Ethan's face, strands mixed with the smell of rain. Her hands wandered over his back, nails leaving light scratches. Ethan's lips moved to her neck, tasting the salty warmth of her skin. This was not surrender; it was another face of war—a blend of anger, passion, and the desire for control. The edge of the table pressed against Ethan's hip, but he didn't feel it. Elena's legs wrapped around his waist, their breaths mixing together, and for a moment, the walls of the motel seemed to disappear. Time ceased to exist; only the present moment mattered—the intertwining of two shadows, a defiance of tomorrow's uncertainty.
Eventually, as their breaths slowed, Elena leaned against Ethan's chest, her skin still warm. "Tomorrow, it will all end," she whispered, her voice soft but firm.
Ethan didn't reply, just looked at her, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. Was this a pause, or a trap? He didn't know, but there was no turning back now.
As night fell, they reached the cabin. Ethan approached quietly while Elena stayed in the car as a lookout. The smell of the forest filled his nose—wet earth, pine needles, and the dampness carried by the wind. The cabin lights were on, a yellow glow spilling from one window. Ethan crouched and peered inside through the bushes. Moretti was there, alone, sitting at a table. He had a whiskey glass in his hand, but his trembling fingers betrayed his fear. His cigar burned on the table, smoke swirling, clouding the room's air. Ethan moved toward the door; the rusty hinges opened quietly, and he slipped inside.
The wooden floor creaked, and Moretti looked up. Ethan's gun was already pointed at him, its barrel steady and cold. "This is it," Ethan said, his voice barely more than a whisper, but it carried a heavy weight. "Carver's gone. Now it's your turn."
Moretti's eyes went wide, and the glass slipped from his hand, spilling whiskey across the table. "Let me go!" he pleaded, his voice shaky and desperate. "I'll do anything, Ethan! Money, power, anything!"
He braced his arms on the table, trying to stand, but Ethan stepped closer, keeping the gun steady.
"For Rachel," Ethan said, his voice cold and sharp like a blade. "And for the others."
He pulled the trigger.
The bullet pierced Moretti's chest, a red stain spreading across his shirt. He gasped and slid off his chair, collapsing to the floor, his eyes vacant as he took his last breath. The cigar fell from the table, sparking on the carpet, but Ethan paid it no mind.
Outside, Elena waited for him, the car door open. "Is it done?" she asked, her voice tinged with relief, though her eyes remained vigilant.
"It's done," Ethan said, lowering his weapon. His breath hung in the air like white mist. "But we're not done."
Elena smiled, her eyes shining in the dark. "Right," she said, her voice soft but menacing. "My father's still standing. And you still owe me. Are you ready, Ethan?"
She walked toward the car, her heels clicking on the gravel.
Ethan watched her, the memory of their moments in the motel room flashing in his mind—the warmth of her skin, the mix of their breaths. But now, the cold night air brought him back to reality. "I'm ready," he said, his voice firm. He climbed into the car, slammed the door shut, and the city lay before them like a battlefield on the horizon. Moretti was dead, but Donati still waited.