Bleeding Through the Veil of Scars

𝙰 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝙱𝚢 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚖𝚎

The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the sprawling Russian manor. 

Shadows twisted and flickered in the cold night air, dancing with the wind. 

I stood in the darkness, muscles tense, heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and anger. 

My breath clouded in front of me, the cold seeping through my jacket, but I barely felt it. 

I had one thing on my mind—Viktor Petrov.

This was the moment I had waited for. 

Retribution.

Behind me, my loyal Italian men flanked my sides, their silhouettes sharp against the faint light.

Luca stood closest, his eyes scanning the horizon, a silent, steady force. 

I'd known him too long to miss the tension in his stance, the slight twitch of his fingers near his gun. 

We were ready, but something about the night felt off, an itch crawling up my spine.

"Luca, are the men in position?" My voice came out cold, steady, even as the storm brewed inside me.

He nodded, his jaw tight. "They're ready, Serafina. Just waiting on your signal."

I inhaled deeply, forcing the anxiety to the back of my mind. "We move now. We can't afford to wait."

We advanced toward the manor, the crunch of gravel beneath our boots the only sound breaking the eerie silence. 

The sprawling estate loomed ahead like a shadowy fortress, the lights from the windows barely penetrating the thick darkness that surrounded us. 

My senses were on high alert, every step like a countdown to violence.

As we got closer, something shifted in the air.

My instincts screamed. A flicker in the shadows. 

Movement.

"Ambush!" I yelled, just as gunfire erupted from the manor's windows.

Chaos exploded around us, the night torn apart by the violent crack of gunfire and the flash of muzzle bursts. 

I dove behind a low stone wall, my fingers gripping the cool steel of my gun.

"Return fire!" I barked, firing off a few rounds, hearing Luca shouting orders to the men.

Bullets whizzed past me, slamming into the stone, sending shards flying. 

One grazed my arm, the sting sharp but ignorable. 

I could hear the frantic shouts of the men, the thunderous roar of bullets cracking through the night, but I forced myself to stay focused. 

I peeked over the edge, firing at a figure darting between two windows.