The rain came down harder, turning the dockyard into a battlefield of mud and steel.

Gunfire echoed like thunder; the sea churned beneath the pier, black and merciless.

Vera advanced, each step a declaration.

Her boots splashed through puddles streaked with oil and blood. Around her, Bellanti loyalists closed in on Marco’s men, clearing one sector after another. The storm seemed to obey her fury, lightning flashing as if to crown her vengeance.

Marco ducked behind a cargo crate, reloading. ...