Chapter 18 - The Devil's BloodTears blurred my vision, but my hands remained perfectly steady.
Dante’s eyes gleamed with twisted victory. He knew he had paralyzed me. The love for my brother was the one chain he thought he could use to bind me.
"Put the guns down, Elena," Dante commanded softly, stepping closer. "Kick them over the edge. Now."
I looked at Victor. His dark eyes met mine. In that split second, a silent, entire conversation passed between us. Trust me.
I slowly lowered my weapons. With a flick of my wrists, I tossed both Glocks over the railing. They splashed into the boiling slag far below.
Dante threw his head back and laughed—a sound of pure, arrogant triumph.
"You see, Victor? This is why love is a weakness. It makes you predictable. It makes you weak!"
Dante raised his gun to deliver the fatal shot to Victor.
But he made one critical mistake. He took his eyes off me.
I didn't freeze. I didn't surrender. I surged forward with terrifying speed, dropping to the metal grating and sliding directly between Dante’s legs. As I slid, I ripped a hidden karambit blade from my ankle holster.
With one fluid, violent motion, I slashed upward, severing the heavy power cable of the rusted industrial crane directly above Dante’s head.
The massive steel hook, weighing over two tons, dropped like a guillotine.
Dante looked up just in time to see the shadow falling over him. He screamed, diving backward. The hook smashed into the catwalk with the force of a meteor, obliterating the metal grating beneath him.
Dante plunged through the broken catwalk, barely grabbing a dangling, severed cable with one hand. He swung wildly over the vat of boiling slag, his gun tumbling down into the fiery abyss.
"Victor!" Dante screamed, his fingers slipping on the greasy cable. "Help me! I'm your blood!"
Victor slowly pushed himself off the ground, clutching his bleeding ribs. He walked to the edge of the jagged metal, looking down at his brother dangling over sure death.
"You stopped being my blood the day you targeted my family," Victor said coldly.
He didn't step on Dante’s fingers. He didn't shoot him. He just watched.
Dante’s grip failed. With a final, agonizing scream, the exiled King of the underworld plunged into the boiling slag, disappearing in a burst of horrific smoke and flame.
The devil was dead.
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Victor turned away, collapsing against the railing. I ran to him, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, burying my face in his chest as his heavy heartbeat pounded against mine.
"It's over," I whispered, sobbing into his shirt. "It's finally over."
