The wind screamed overhead as the two helicopters sliced through the Roman sky, rotors whirling like blades of war. From their high vantage point, Hayden and Ana watched the storm coming.
"Two helis, confirmed," Dante's voice crackled through the comms. "Thermal's reading at least six men. Armed."
"Rossi's strike team," Hayden muttered.
Ana's hand tightened around the Glock at her hip. "You were right. He came for me."
"No," Hayden corrected, gaze steely. "He came to *die*."
They moved quickly—slipping through the private elevator down into the operations hub. The decoy convoy was already luring Anton's ground team miles outside the city. But these choppers weren't aiming for the convoy. They were aiming for *them*.
"He knew," Ana said as the realization hit her. "He knew the convoy was a distraction."
Hayden's jaw clenched. "Then we stick to plan B."
"And what's plan B?"
"We kill every last one of them."
---
**Penthouse Level – 3 Minutes Later**
The penthouse lights were off, curtains drawn, the illusion of vacancy perfect. But hidden behind reinforced glass and blackout walls, Hayden and Ana stood ready—dressed in tactical black, body armor fitted beneath clothes, weapons in hand.
"Positions," Hayden ordered into the comm.
Dante responded. "Sniper's on the adjacent rooftop. Drones are tracking. They'll breach in two minutes—north terrace."
Ana was breathing fast now, heart thundering in her chest. She wasn't trained for war, but she had fire in her blood and vengeance in her veins. And Hayden—he was her shield, her sword, and her storm.
"Hayden," she whispered, fingers brushing his.
He turned. His eyes softened just a fraction, even as chaos built around them.
"If anything happens—"
"Don't," he cut in. "We don't say goodbye unless we have to."
Their lips met—hard, desperate, a promise and a plea wrapped in fire.
Then—
**CRASH.**
The glass of the north terrace exploded inward as two black-clad soldiers rappelled through, assault rifles up. Hayden opened fire instantly, dropping the first with two clean shots. Ana ducked behind a column, returned fire, her pulse a drumbeat of fear and fury.
More intruders came through the second chopper—four now, moving in a V formation, covering each other. The penthouse became a battlefield. Bullets tore through artwork, shattered furniture, ripped the silence apart.
"Second wave's inside!" Dante shouted. "Three more coming up the emergency stairwell!"
Hayden threw Ana a spare clip, voice like ice. "Hold the west hallway. I've got the stairs."
Ana nodded, adrenaline sharpening her focus. She moved quickly, pressing herself behind the marble column just as another soldier rounded the corner.
He never got a shot off.
She fired once—clean through the throat.
His body dropped like dead weight.
---
**Emergency Stairwell – Seconds Later**
Hayden was a shadow in motion, deadly and cold. His mind was a chessboard, calculating every step before his enemy took it. As the stairwell door burst open, he emptied a magazine into the first two intruders without hesitation. The third tried to retreat, but Hayden caught him with a knife to the ribs—twisting hard.
"You thought I wouldn't be ready?" Hayden growled, watching the man bleed out.
Another explosion rocked the lower level. The fire alarms blared.
"Penthouse east wall's compromised!" Dante shouted.
"Get to Ana!" Hayden barked.
He bolted back toward the west hall, heart pounding. The air smelled like smoke and blood. The sounds of gunfire were deafening—but one scream pierced through the madness.
Ana.
Hayden ran faster.
---
**West Wing – Moments Earlier**
Ana had taken down two men, but the third was different—bigger, faster, more trained. He cornered her near the hallway window, knocking the gun from her hand.
"You're prettier up close," he sneered in Italian, grabbing her throat.
Ana gasped, struggling, her fingernails clawing at his arm. The oxygen in her lungs burned as panic surged.
Then—
A thunderous crack.
The man's head jerked back violently as blood sprayed across the wall. He collapsed in a heap, revealing Hayden behind him, smoking gun in hand.
"Mine," Hayden snarled, pulling Ana into his arms.
She coughed, gasping. "You got here fast."
"I'll always get to you," he said, voice ragged. "Even if I have to walk through fire."
---
**Ten Minutes Later – Silence**
The firefight was over. Bodies littered the penthouse. Smoke drifted in curling tendrils through broken glass and torn furniture.
Dante stepped through the wreckage, dragging a wounded soldier by the collar. "One left breathing."
Hayden stalked forward, blood on his gloves. "Who sent you?"
The man coughed. "Rossi… he said to bring her alive. Said she'd break you."
Hayden's eyes flashed with murderous light.
"I'm not broken," he said. "I'm just getting started."
Then he fired a single shot into the man's head.
Ana didn't flinch.
They both stood amidst the wreckage of their home, surrounded by death and darkness, and all she could feel was his hand in hers.
"You think this was it?" she asked.
"No," Hayden said, eyes still burning. "This was foreplay."
---
**Later That Night – Hidden Panic Room**
They retreated to the underground safe room. Ana sat in the low light, wrapped in a blanket, body still trembling from adrenaline. Hayden moved like a panther—restless, pacing, silent.
"Come here," she said softly.
He paused.
"I mean it. Come here, Hayden."
He did.
She pulled him down beside her, their foreheads touching. "You protected me. Again."
"It's not over," he said. "He'll come harder next time. With more men. More blood."
"Then we make it the last time," she said, taking his face in her hands. "We finish this."
Her lips brushed his—tender, slow, full of heat and sadness.
"You still want revenge?" she whispered.
"No," Hayden breathed. "I want *you*. Revenge is just the price of keeping you safe."
She kissed him again, hands sliding under his shirt. His breath caught as her fingertips found his scars, his heat, his fire.
"Then take what you want," she whispered.
And he did.
There, in the silence between battles, they found a moment of surrender. Their bodies spoke in bruises and worship, roughness and reverence. It was love disguised as violence, comfort disguised as possession. When they finally collapsed together, limbs tangled and hearts pounding, Hayden buried his face in her neck.
"We end this, Ana," he whispered against her skin. "We end it soon."
And she believed him.
Because when the world burned around them, they had only two choices:
Survive.
Or burn together.