Blood dripped from Alfreda's shoulder as she tore the bullet from her skin with a hiss of rage.
She sat on the metal table in the safehouse kitchen, refusing Nathaniel's help. The knife trembled in her hand—but not from weakness. From fury.
"That boy looked me in the eyes," she said, "and chose Lucien."
"He was scared—"
"He was brainwashed." She tossed the bloody shard of metal into the sink. "But I don't blame him. I blame the men who stole his truth."
Nathaniel lit a cigarette. "Lucien wasn't working alone."
Alfreda's head snapped up.
"What?"
He stepped closer. "Lucien's just a puppet. A power-drunk one, but still. The real king's been watching us since the beginning. He goes by one name on the street."
A beat.
Then Nathaniel said it.
"The Widowmaker."
Legend said he killed his own brother for talking too loud.
That he slit a judge's throat during mass.
That he sold love like bullets and buried betrayal in cash.
Alfreda had heard the name in whispers… now it breathed down her neck.
Meanwhile…
Back at the compound, the boy was crying.
Lucien lay bandaged and half-conscious in the infirmary, moaning with rage and shame. His empire, once untouchable, now cracked.
The boy wandered the halls, drawn by something deeper than logic. He slipped into Lucien's private office and tugged open a drawer he'd never dared touch before.
Inside:
A bloodied photo of Alfreda A birth certificate, altered And a letter.
Unopened.
Stained with old tears.
From Nathaniel Valez.
He unfolded it.
"If you're reading this, you're old enough to ask questions.
You were born in fire.
Stolen by lies.
But your mother never gave up on you—and neither did I."
The boy's hands trembled.
Lucien gasped awake. The phone was still clutched in his hand.
The voice on the other end was cold. Precise. Female.
"You've failed, Lucien. The Widowmaker does not reward failure."
"I can fix it. Give me time."
"You had years."
The call ended.
He screamed, throwing the phone across the room. It shattered like his throne.
He didn't notice the boy standing in the doorway—letter in hand, eyes wide.
"Who wrote this?" the boy asked.
Lucien's face froze.
No answer.
Just silence.
Hours later…
A black sedan pulled up outside the safehouse.
No driver.
No sound.
Just a black envelope on the windshield.
Alfreda opened it.
Inside: a single white card.
Blood-red ink.
Your bloodline dies next.
—W
Dano stared at her. "Is that what I think it is?"
Nathaniel growled, "That's a war letter."
Alfreda didn't blink.
She walked to the fireplace, threw the card in, and watched it burn.
"No more hiding," she said. "They declared war?"
She turned, eyes glowing like hellfire.
"Then let's show them what happens when you cross a woman with nothing left to lose."