Angel's sin

Chapter 10

Lilith~

The air outside felt different—thicker, heavier—like it could barely contain the rage burning inside me. Every breath I took seared my lungs, and every heartbeat thudded painfully in my chest. I was trying to stay calm, to hold it together for Amelia's sake, but every second that passed made it harder.

The door opened behind me, and I didn't need to look to know it was Adelia, Amara, and Emory. They knew better than to say anything to me right now. The world outside was a blur, but all I could see was Rafael's face, that smug, sick smile he probably wore every time he touched her. Every time he raped her. They knew I was walking into the fire, and they didn't try to stop me. 

They wanted the same thing I did—revenge. Blood. Revenge for the pain our family had endured. But they also knew Amelia needed someone with her, someone to keep her safe while I did what needed to be done.

"Watch her," I said without turning around, my voice rough with emotion. "Don't leave her alone for even a second. I can't—" I swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought. The idea of something happening to Amelia while I was gone... it would break me. "Just... don't let her out of your sight."

"We've got her," Adelia said softly, but her voice was strong, as solid as she always was. "You focus on what you need to do."

I nodded, straightening up and forcing myself to walk away from the bed, even though it felt like leaving a piece of myself behind. As I passed them, I gave them a brief, hard look. "If anything happens to her, I'll burn the world to the ground. You understand?"

Amara's eyes flashed with a dark, fierce determination that mirrored my own. "We're not going to let anything happen to her. But you need to do the same. Come back to us, Lilith. Alive."

"I'm not planning on dying yet," I said, though the words felt hollow. I wasn't scared of death. I never had been. But that didn't mean I was going to let anyone take me down easily. Not before I took what I was owed.

I was sitting in my car, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles had turned white.  

I slammed my fist into the dashboard, a savage growl ripping from my throat. I didn't care about the blood now dripping from my knuckles. It was nothing compared to the fury raging in my veins.

"He's dead," I muttered, though it came out more like a snarl. "He's fucking dead."

The words barely registered. In my mind, I was already there—standing over Rafael's lifeless body, my blade buried in his chest, his blood spilling out in thick, dark pools. But that wouldn't be enough. No. For what he did to Amelia, for every bruise he left on her skin, for every scream he forced out of her, he deserved something far worse than a quick death. He deserved to suffer.

The car was filled with a tense silence as I drove. A storm was brewing inside me—the barely-contained violence that was threatening to break loose at any moment. It was like a dam about to burst, and when it did, God help whoever stood in my way.  

The car ride felt like an eternity. Every passing moment, every mile that distanced me from Amelia, only fueled the fire inside me. I wasn't heading for Rafael. Not yet. Not before I tore apart the ones who had helped him—the ones who had been complicit in his rise to power, in the murder of my parents, in the destruction of everything I had ever loved.

There was a family, a rival mafia, who had aligned themselves with my uncle. The Martinez. They were nothing but vultures, scavengers who had picked apart what was left of my family's empire after Rafael and my uncle destroyed it. They'd helped orchestrate the plan that got my parents killed, and they were just as guilty as Rafael himself.

They had to die. Every last one of them.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my fingers aching from the pressure, but I didn't care. I was running on adrenaline, on fury, and nothing else mattered. This wasn't just about revenge anymore. This was about sending a message. To Rafael. To my uncle. To anyone who thought they could touch what was mine and get away with it.

As I pulled up to the Martinez estate, I stepped out of the car, the cool night air hitting my face, but it did nothing to cool the fire inside me. The Martinez estate was sprawling, luxurious, and hidden behind tall gates and well-armed guards. It didn't matter. They were nothing but obstacles, and I was here to destroy everything they had built.

No hesitation. No second thoughts. I was past that. This was war; I crave blood and ashes now.

The first guard didn't even see me coming. My blade sliced through the air, cutting across his throat before he could so much as utter a sound. He gurgled, his eyes wide in shock as he collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from the wound like a river. I stepped over his body, unbothered, my sights already set on the next target.

Lilith moved with the grace of a dancer, her knife finding its mark in a man's chest, quick and precise. Each kill more was more brutal than the last, her fists crushing skulls, her rage pouring out with every swing. She was silent and methodical, using everything at her disposal, her gun a natural extension of her hand as she picked off anyone who dared step in her path.

She was a storm—a whirlwind of death and destruction, tearing through the estate like a force of nature. The guards tried to fight back, but they were outmatched, outgunned, and out of time. This was my night. This was the start of MY revenge.

I found him in the main hall—Miguel Martinez, the head of the family, the man who had stood by my uncle's side as they plotted my parents' murder. He was old now, gray and wrinkled, but I didn't care. Age didn't absolve him of his sins.

His eyes widened in fear as I approached, my knife still dripping with the blood of his men. "Lilith," he gasped, stumbling back. "Please, we can—"

I didn't let him finish. My blade flashed in the dim light, and the next sound he made was a wet, choking gurgle as my knife buried itself in his gut. I twisted it, savoring the look of pain and horror in his eyes.

"Begging won't save you," I hissed, my voice low and venomous. "You should have thought of that before you sided with Victor. Before you helped him murder my parents. Before you stood by while he destroyed everything. "

He gasped, blood bubbling up from his mouth as he tried to speak, but I didn't care to hear his words. I pulled the knife out and plunged it into his chest, feeling the satisfying give of flesh and bone beneath my hand. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, and I stood over him, breathing hard, my heart pounding in my chest.

Behind me, I could hear the remaining guards filled that hall take their last breaths. The smell of blood and death hung heavy in the air, a grim testament to what I had done.

"It's not over," I said, my voice hard and cold. "Not until Victor and my uncle are dead." 

I had crossed a line tonight, one I could never come back from. The underworld would do well to remember not to cross me and why I was Satan incarnate.  All I cared about was seeing Victor and my Rafael on their knees, bleeding out, begging for mercy they'd never receive.

Hours later, the estate was a smoking ruin, bodies scattered like debris. We stood in the aftermath, the four of us, bloodied and bruised but victorious. The Martinez were no more. One less ally for Victor, one less obstacle in my path.

I stared at the horizon, my jaw clenched tight, my hands still stained with blood. My rage hadn't subsided—it had only grown, burning hotter with every life I took. I thought of Amelia, lying in that hospital bed, broken and scarred. I thought of my parents, their bodies cold in their graves.

And I made a silent vow to them, to all of them.

I would not stop. Not until Victor, Rafael, and anyone who had dared to stand with them were dead.

And I knew, deep in my soul, that nothing would stop me.