Chapter 7

Six black armored SUVs rolled out of the Colombo Estate one by one, crunching over the gravel path by the iron gate and merging into Harmony City's late-night traffic.

Lucas sat in the back of the second vehicle, Oliver to his left, and someone lying against the window on his right.

Sophia.

Two maids had wrapped her in a blanket and carried her into the car. Her golden hair spilled out over the edge of the blanket, swaying gently with every bump in the road.

Oliver had insisted on bringing Sophia along. His reason was simple — he wasn't comfortable leaving her alone at the estate, not so soon after the Evil Spirits had vacated her body.

Lucas leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed. The aftereffects of voluntarily releasing his Pan bloodline were still running through him — a fine, persistent ache deep in his bones, and a dull pain in his chest with every breath.

"Twenty minutes to the Moretti Estate," the bodyguard in the front passenger seat reported, turning his head.

Oliver didn't respond. He pulled out his phone, scrolled through a few messages, then shoved it back in his pocket.

The car fell quiet.

Then, from his right, came the faintest murmur.

Lucas opened his eyes and turned his head.

Sophia's eyelashes were trembling.

Not in that eerie, snapping-open way from when the Evil Spirits had possessed her — this was how a normal person wakes from deep sleep. Her eyelids fluttered several times before slowly parting just a sliver.

"Sophia!" Oliver lunged forward, practically throwing himself in front of her.

Sophia's eyes had returned to their natural color — a pale, clear gray, clean and bright, without a trace of dark mist. She blinked slowly, taking in the interior of the car, until her gaze settled on Oliver's face.

"Dad?"

Her voice came out barely a rasp, her vocal cords struggling after three months of disuse.

Oliver's throat moved sharply. He reached out and touched her forehead, then her cheek. The moment his palm made contact, all five fingers were shaking.

"It's me," he said, keeping his voice low. "You're awake. That's all that matters."

Sophia blinked again. Her eyes drifted past Oliver's shoulder to the unfamiliar man beside him.

Lucas was leaning against the car door, arms crossed, looking like he had absolutely nothing to do with this father-daughter reunion.

"Who is he?" Sophia asked quietly.

Oliver straightened up and glanced at Lucas.

"The person who saved your life."

Sophia looked at Lucas again, taking him in properly this time.

He was wearing a rumpled old jacket, his hair was a mess, and his face still carried the pallor from the fight not long ago. He looked completely out of place next to the bodyguards in their tailored suits.

She opened her mouth, trying to say thank you, but her throat was too dry to form the words.

Lucas glanced over at her, reached into his backpack, and pulled out his own water bottle. He unscrewed the cap and held it out.

"Drink first. Don't try to talk yet."

Sophia hesitated, then took it and sipped slowly. The warm water slid down her throat — the first time in three months she'd actually tasted what drinking felt like. Her nose stung, and her eyes went red.

She handed the bottle back. For just a moment, her fingers brushed his knuckles. She pulled her hand back slightly, the tips of her ears flushing pink.

"Thank you," she said. The words came out whole this time.

Lucas took the bottle back, screwed on the cap, and didn't look at her again.

His mind was already somewhere else — the Moretti family. Victor had given his grandfather a fake address, sent him out to the suburbs, and the next day the man was dead. How much more was still buried under all of this?

The convoy turned onto the highway. The roar of the engines filled the car.

At that moment, at the Moretti Estate.

Crystal chandeliers flooded the main hall with light. Three wine glasses sat on the dining table beside an open bottle of Dom Pérignon, bubbles still climbing the sides of the glasses.

Victor sat at the head of the table with one leg crossed over the other, took a long sip, and let out a slow breath.

"Finally done with it."

Isabella sat across from him, her wine-red nails tapping lightly against her glass, smiling with quiet satisfaction.

"Lucas died exactly as he should have — he served his purpose. If he'd kept living, he would've been nothing but trouble."

Marco was sprawled on the sofa scrolling through his phone. He looked up at that and grinned. "So Lucas is a corpse by now?"

"Most likely." Victor took another sip. "The Colombo family is nothing if not thorough. And being used as a sacrifice for Oliver's daughter? The odds of walking away from that are basically zero."

Isabella stood up, walked over to Victor, and looped her arm through his. "Alright. That chapter's closed. From now on we live our lives in peace. We never have to mention that freak again."

Victor patted her hand, and for the first time in days, a genuine smile crossed his face.

"Come on. Let's toast. To our family, back together."

Three glasses met with a clean, bright ring.

The champagne had barely gone down when a massive explosion erupted outside.

BOOM.

The entire foundation of the villa shuddered. Victor's glass flew from his hand and shattered on the floor, champagne soaking through his trousers.

Isabella screamed and threw herself behind Victor. Marco shot up from the sofa, his phone clattering to the ground.

"What the hell was that!" Victor shouted toward the door.

The butler came stumbling in, his face completely drained of color.

"Sir! The estate gates — they've been blown off!"

Before he could say another word, a wave of dark figures poured in through the entryway. All black suits. All automatic rifles. Infrared sights carved dozens of red lines through the darkness, sweeping across every person in the hall.

Two Moretti bodyguards reached for their weapons. Both took rounds to the knees before they could raise them, their screams hitting the marble floor along with their bodies.

The butler was seized by the throat by a massive man and lifted clean off the ground, legs kicking helplessly in the air.

The three Morettis pressed back against the dining table. Isabella's screaming tore through the hall. Marco crouched on the floor with his hands over his head, shaking so hard his teeth rattled, a dark stain spreading across the front of his trousers.

The gunfire stopped.

Footsteps parted the crowd, opening a path down the middle.

Victor peered out from behind the table — and his pupils blew wide.

Lucas stood in the center of the hall, hands in his pockets, backed by dozens of armed Colombo men.

He was alive.

Not just alive — standing there completely fine, not a hair out of place.

"That's — that's impossible!" Victor's voice cracked like a snapped wire. He stumbled backward two steps and knocked over the chair behind him. "You should be dead!"

Lucas tilted his head slightly and looked at the man crumpling on the floor in front of him. He didn't rush to speak.

Oliver stepped out from behind him.

His dress shoes crunched over the broken glass on the floor. He took in the spilled champagne, the shattered crystal, and the bottle on the table still fizzing quietly.

"What are we celebrating?"

Victor's lips trembled for a full three seconds before he managed to speak. "Mr. Colombo—"

Oliver ignored him. He turned, raised one hand, and pointed at Lucas.

"Let me introduce someone."

The entire villa went silent. Dozens of red laser sights drifted slowly across the faces of the Moretti family.

Oliver's finger pointed steadily at Lucas, and he said, with complete seriousness:

"This gentleman is an honored guest of the Colombo family."