Chapter 5 JULIETTE'S POV

I didn't feel the bullet until I hit the stairs.

One second I was running.

The next-my knees buckled, and the world tilted sideways.

"Juliette!"

Nico's voice sliced through the ringing in my ears-sharp. Raw.

I clenched my teeth. "I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"It just grazed me."

Matteo skidded into view, blood streaked across his jacket. "They're coming through the south entrance. We've got sixty seconds, tops."

"Get her up," Nico barked.

I swatted his hand away. "I can walk."

"You're not proving anything."

"I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm trying to survive."

He yanked me up anyway. Not gentle. Not soft. Just firm enough to keep me moving.

I stumbled. His hand hovered on my back, steadying me.

"You good?"

"I will be when we're out of this hellhole."

We ran.

Down the corridor. Into a tunnel I never knew existed. Lights buzzed overhead, blinking like dying stars. The walls felt tight. Like the air itself was clenching its fists.

Matteo punched in a code on a metal door.

"This leads to the garage."

"Tell me you've got a car."

He didn't miss a beat. "I've got three."

Nico threw open the door.

Gunfire echoed behind us, closer now. Too close.

"Back right-bulletproof," Matteo shouted.

We sprinted.

I turned as I slid into the backseat. "What happens if they catch us?"

Matteo's answer was ice cold. "Don't let them."

Nico slammed the door shut just as bullets pinged off the concrete.

"Drive," he ordered.

The tires screeched as Matteo floored it out of the garage.

Nico turned to me. "Let me see your arm."

"I said I'm fine."

"You're bleeding through your jacket."

"Not the worst thing that's happened to me today."

He didn't wait. Pulled my sleeve up. The graze was deep-clean, but angry.

"You'll need stitches."

I gave a dry laugh. "Add it to the list."

His gaze lingered. "You should've stayed upstairs."

"And you should've told me someone put a price on my head."

"I found out five minutes before you did."

"Then stop acting like I'm the only one screwing up."

"You stole from me."

"You lied to me."

No denial. No defense.

Matteo cut in. "We're clear. For now. But we need to switch vehicles."

"No," Nico said. "Take us to the Bellmore safehouse."

"You sure it's clean?"

"No one's been there in six years."

I raised an eyebrow. "You have a backup house?"

"I have ten."

"Of course you do."

He looked at me. Dead serious. "You're not safe anywhere else."

"You think I'm safe with you?"

"Yes."

I let out a bitter breath. "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."

"You were the one bleeding out ten minutes ago."

"And you're the one who dragged me into this war."

"You made yourself the target the second you touched those files."

"I did it to protect my brother."

"Well, now you'll need to protect yourself too."

I turned away, pressing a hand to my side. My arm throbbed. My ribs ached.

But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part... was the look on Nico's face.

He was scared.

Not of bullets.

Not of Russians.

Of me.

Of what I might do next.

The house in Bellmore was a far cry from the Devereux estate. No marble. No security. Just stone, dust, and shadows.

"Inside," Nico said. "Move."

I didn't hesitate.

Matteo stayed outside-silent, scanning.

Nico locked the door behind us.

I tossed my jacket onto a chair. The sleeve was soaked in blood.

"Got a first-aid kit in this panic bunker?"

He returned with a tin box and dropped it in my lap.

"You trust me to stitch you up?" he asked.

"I trust myself more." I opened the kit. "Unless you got your medical degree between interrogation sessions."

He didn't answer.

I cleaned the wound. The alcohol stung like hell.

"You're tougher than you look," he said.

I looked up. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Take it however you want."

I threaded the needle and stitched in silence, each jab a reminder-I was still alive.

When I was done, I looked at him. "Now you."

He raised a brow. "I'm not hurt."

"No. But you're not fine either."

He sat across from me, hands steepled. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

His eyes dropped to the floor.

"I didn't plan for this."

"Which part?"

"You. Us. This whole damn mess."

I leaned forward. "You traded my life like stock options."

"I thought you'd be easier to forget."

"And?"

His eyes lifted.

"You weren't."

I stood.

"You don't get to say that. Not after the threats. The manipulation."

"I know."

"You think that makes it okay?"

"No."

"Then why say it?"

He breathed deep. "Because I don't know how to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Wanting you."

The words fell like a gunshot.

He stood, slow and tense.

I stepped back. "You want me? You trap me. Threaten me. Use me."

"You think I wanted to fall for someone I had to marry just to keep the peace?"

"You didn't fall. You took over."

His voice dropped to a razor's edge.

"You think I don't lie awake every night, rewinding all the times I could've walked away?"

"You should've walked."

"I couldn't."

"You still can."

"I don't want to."

The silence between us buzzed.

I turned away, heart thudding.

He stepped behind me.

Close.

"You don't know what it does to me," he murmured, "knowing I could've had you... if I hadn't ruined everything."

I faced him.

"You didn't ruin it. You shattered it."

He nodded. "Then I'll spend the rest of my life picking up the pieces."

A knock rattled the door.

I flinched.

Nico pulled his gun.

Another knock. Harder.

"Matteo?" he called out.

Nothing.

He moved fast-gun up.

"Stay back," he ordered.

I didn't listen.

He flung the door open.

No one there.

Just an envelope.

He grabbed it. Opened it.

And froze.

I stepped closer. "What is it?"

He handed it to me.

A single photograph.

My brother.

Bound. Bruised. Bloodied.

Red ink smeared across his chest like war paint:

You should have chosen a side.

Now we choose for you.

Below that-one more thing:

A countdown.

Twelve hours.

And the clock had already started ticking.