I stood at the edge of the service lot, ten dead bodies spread across three locations like some kind of fucked up breadcrumb trail Luca had left for me to follow.


    And the worst part?


    The three in the boot.


    High-profile heirs. Dynasty blood. Their family rings still on their fingers, as if Luca had wanted me to know exactly who they were when he drove the car straight into our private ess bay like a goddamn trophy delivery.


    Four more stacked in the back corridor of the lot itself. Sloppy work.


    Thest three had been at the emergency t above Pce Noir.


    And those… those were the worst.


    Because Luca hadn’t just killed them.


    He’d destroyed them.


    Bones snapped in ways that didn’t make sense. Teeth embedded in the drywall. The third… I closed my eyes. Didn’t matter. They were all dead.


    Ten bodies.


    Three different families.<fnbec2> The source of th?s content is f?ndnovel</fnbec2>


    All dynasty, all unapproved and all fucking burned into our doorstep.


    I exhaled through my nose, slow and tight. Blood soaked the carpet. One of them had tried to crawl, judging by the drag marks.


    Luca had watched the man bled out.


    I turned to the cleanup crew as they arrived, six trusted men, all high-clearance, no dynasty ties. Good. That was the point.


    “We strip the t. Every trace. Tiles, camera logs. All of it. Car gets torched. You have twenty minutes. Move.”


    They nodded and scattered. But even with that handled, I wasn’t stupid. The families would know.


    By sunrise, every bloodline with a connection to the heirs would be looking for them. Dynastyw didn’t give a fuck about motive, trauma, spirals.


    And ten dead heirs?


    That wasn’t a spiral.


    That was war.


    I pulled out my phone. No notifications. Just the empty ck screen. The one I kept checking for no reason except. He should’ve called. He always called if he wanted blood. We always cleaned it together.


    But tonight… he’d gone silent.


    Driven body after body across Viin, like some fucking reaper out of dynasty hell.


    I’d seen his face on the floor of the penthouse. I’d seen the kind of ruin in his eyes that no crow heir training prepared you for. Our blood was built to carry anger. Mastering it was our life lesson.


    He’d snapped.


    And I hadn’t stopped him. I should’ve stopped him. I always fucking stopped him and he stopped me. One kept the other away from the edge.


    “Fuck,” I turned from the car, pacing back toward the security exit. This was bad. Even for our standards.


    I called Rome.


    “Yeah?”


    “I need you at the Storage Docks in ten. Cleanup. Quiet.”


    He didn’t ask the details.


    “Right. Sending ghost vans,”


    The line went dead. And I was left alone in the lot again.


    With ten dynasty corpses. A blood trail too loud to bury. And a brother who’d handed me a massacre in the shape of loyalty.


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