Sera's POV
Killian's fist stops half an inch from my face.
I don't move. Don't flinch. Don't breathe.
"You're supposed to block," he says, pulling back. "Not freeze like prey."
We're in his private gym at six in the morning. The sun isn't even up yet, but Killian dragged me here an hour ago, saying if the Five Families are coming for me, I need to learn to fight back.
"I can't," I say for the tenth time. "I'm not strong enough."
"You're strong enough." He moves into position again. "You just don't believe it yet."
He throws another punch—slower this time, giving me a chance. I try to block like he showed me, but my arms feel weak and useless. His fist connects with my shoulder. Not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to knock me back a step.
"Again," Killian orders.
"This is pointless," I mutter. "You're twice my size. I'll never be able to fight someone like you."
"Good," he says. "Because you're not supposed to fight fair. You're supposed to fight smart."
Before I can ask what he means, he grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around so my back is against his chest. One arm wraps around my throat—not choking, just holding.
"What would you do right now?" he asks in my ear. "If I was really attacking you?"
Panic rises in my chest. This position—someone bigger and stronger restraining me from behind—it's every nightmare I've had for three years. Every time Trevor cornered me. Every time Killian himself shoved me into lockers.
"Let go," I say, but my voice shakes.
"No. Fight back, Sera. Do something."
"I can't—"
"YES YOU CAN!" His voice is hard now. Demanding. "Stop thinking like a victim and FIGHT!"
Something inside me snaps.
I stomp down hard on his foot, drive my elbow back into his ribs, and when his grip loosens in surprise, I drop my weight and slip down out of his arms. Just like I did on the roof during our first lesson.
I'm free.
I spin around, breathing hard, hands shaking with adrenaline.
Killian grins—a real smile that transforms his usually angry face. "There she is."
"I... I did it?"
"You did it." He nods with pride. "Again."
We practice for another hour. He teaches me where to hit to cause the most pain—throat, eyes, knees, groin. Places where size doesn't matter if you're fast and mean enough.
"You'll never be stronger than most attackers," he explains while showing me how to use someone's weight against them. "But you can be meaner. More willing to hurt them than they expect. That's your advantage."
"Being mean?"
"Being ruthless." He demonstrates a move where I use my thumb to press into someone's eye socket. "Most people hesitate before really hurting someone. You can't hesitate. Not anymore."
I practice the move on a training dummy. It feels wrong—violent and cruel—but Killian's right. If someone from the Five Families comes for me, they won't hesitate.
Neither can I.
"Why are you helping me?" I ask during a water break. "If your father gets arrested because of the evidence, your whole life changes. You could lose everything."
Killian takes a long drink before answering. "My father beats me," he says flatly. "Has since I was six. Every time I wasn't perfect, every time I showed weakness, every time I reminded him of his own failures—he'd use his fists to 'teach me lessons.'"
My chest tightens. "Killian—"
"I learned to channel the pain into controlled violence," he continues. "Boxing. Fighting. Hurting people who couldn't really hurt me back." His green eyes meet mine. "People like you."
The honesty cuts deeper than any punch.
"I saw myself in you," he admits. "Someone beaten down over and over, trying so hard to be small and invisible so the attacks would stop. I hated the reminder of what I used to be. What I still am, underneath all this muscle and anger."
"You're not weak," I say quietly.
"Neither are you." He stands and holds out his hand. "But we both need to stop letting our abusers define us. So come on. Let's make you dangerous."
We go again. This time when Killian grabs me, I don't freeze. I fight—messy and desperate and effective. I break his hold three times in a row.
"Good!" He's breathing hard now, actually working to restrain me. "But you're still holding back. You're afraid of hurting me."
"Because you're helping me!"
"So what?" He moves faster this time, backing me against the wall. "In a real fight, you can't care. You hurt them first, hurt them worse, or you die. Understand?"
Before I can answer, his hands close around my throat. Not squeezing, but the threat is clear.
My vision tunnels. Trevor did this once at a party. Pressed me against a wall just like this. Said horrible things while I couldn't breathe.
"Fight me, Sera," Killian demands. "Don't freeze. FIGHT!"
But I can't move. Can't think. I'm back at that party, helpless and terrified.
"SERA!"
Killian's voice breaks through the panic. His hands drop immediately. "Hey, hey, breathe. You're okay."
I slide down the wall, gasping. "I'm sorry. I just—I couldn't—"
"I pushed too hard." He kneels in front of me, guilt written across his face. "I'm sorry. I was trying to break through your fear, but I triggered you instead."
"It's not your fault." I wipe angry tears away. "I'm just too weak. Too broken."
"No." Killian grabs my face, forcing me to look at him. "You survived three years of hell. You survived a suicide attempt. You watched your father get arrested yesterday. You're still standing, still fighting. That's not weak. That's the strongest thing I've ever seen."
His thumbs brush away my tears. We're so close I can see the scars hidden under his tattoos. Evidence of his father's abuse that he covers up but can't erase.
"We're both broken," he whispers. "But broken things can still cut."
The air between us feels electric. Dangerous.
His phone buzzes, shattering the moment. He pulls back and checks the screen. His face goes pale.
"What?" I ask.
"The Five Families just made their first move." He shows me his phone.
It's a news article from twenty minutes ago: "BLACKTHORN ELITE ACADEMY STUDENT FOUND UNCONSCIOUS. SUSPECTED POISONING."
My blood runs cold. "Who?"
"Luna Martinez," Killian reads. "Your friend. She's in the hospital. They're saying someone slipped something in her coffee this morning."
No. No, Luna is the only real friend I have. The only person who's been kind to me without wanting something in return.
"Is she—"
"She's alive," Killian says quickly. "But unconscious. They don't know what she was given yet."
My hands shake with rage. "They poisoned her to get to me."
"Yes." Killian's voice is hard. "They're showing you they can hurt anyone you care about. It's a warning."
"Then they just made a huge mistake." I stand up, ignoring the trembling in my legs. "Because now I'm not scared anymore. I'm angry."
"Good." Killian stands too. "Angry is useful. But we need to be smart. The other families are watching, waiting to see how you respond."
"Let them watch." I grab my jacket. "I'm going to the hospital. To see Luna."
"Not alone you're not." Killian moves to block the door. "It could be a trap. They poison your friend, you rush to the hospital, and they grab you there."
He's right. I know he's right. But I can't just leave Luna alone.
"Then come with me," I say. "Bring the others. We go together."
Killian considers this, then nods. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text. "Dante's gathering everyone. We leave in ten minutes."
Those ten minutes feel like hours. I pace the gym, rage and fear warring inside me. Luna didn't ask for any of this. She's innocent. But she got hurt because of me.
Everyone I care about becomes a target.
When Dante, Ezra, and Phoenix arrive, they all look as grim as I feel.
"The hospital's on high alert," Dante reports. "Security everywhere. But also lots of visitors coming and going. It would be easy for someone to slip in."
"Which is exactly what they want," Ezra adds. "They hurt Luna to lure you out of the protected campus. The hospital is neutral ground—harder for us to control."
"I don't care," I say firmly. "Luna's in danger because of me. I'm going."
The boys exchange glances. Then Phoenix grins. "Our girl's getting a spine. I like it."
We pile into Dante's car. The drive to the hospital takes twenty minutes. Nobody speaks. The tension is suffocating.
When we arrive, the parking lot is packed. Dante parks far from the entrance—strategic positioning, he explains. Multiple escape routes.
We're walking toward the main doors when my phone buzzes. Unknown number again.
The message makes my blood freeze: "Look up, little bird."
I look up at the hospital building. In one of the windows on the fifth floor, I see a figure. They're holding something against the glass.
A sign.
Even from here, I can read it: "LUNA DIES AT NOON. SURRENDER YOURSELF, OR WE INJECT THE POISON. YOU HAVE 10 MINUTES."
"No!" I start running for the entrance, but Killian catches me.
"It's a trap!" he says.
"I don't care! They're going to kill her!"
Dante's phone rings. He answers, listens, and his face goes white. "That was hospital security. Someone locked down Luna's room from the inside. There's an armed person in there with her."
"They're really going to kill her," I whisper.
"Unless you turn yourself over," Ezra says quietly. "That's what they want. You, in exchange for Luna."
I look at the hospital. At the window where the sign was. The figure is gone now, but the message is clear.
My life for Luna's.
"I'm going in," I say.
"Sera, no—" Dante starts.
"YES!" I spin to face them all. "Luna is innocent! She's only in danger because she's my friend! I won't let her die for me!"
"If you go in there, they'll take you," Killian says desperately. "We might not get you back."
"Then you better have a plan to get me back." I pull away from them and start walking toward the entrance. "Because I'm surrendering. Right now."
"SERA!" All four boys yell my name, but I don't stop.
I walk through the hospital doors with my hands raised. Security guards immediately surround me.
"I'm Seraphina Ashford," I announce clearly. "I'm here to trade myself for Luna Martinez. Take me to whoever's in her room."
The guards look at each other, confused. One speaks into his radio. "We have a situation—"
"Top floor," a voice says over his radio. "Bring her up. Alone. Or the girl dies."
They put me in an elevator. Press the button for the tenth floor—not the fifth where I saw the sign. They lied about Luna's location. Smart.
As the elevator rises, I think about what Killian taught me this morning. Be ruthless. Don't hesitate. Hurt them worse than they hurt you.
The doors open to a dark hallway. At the end, a door stands open. Luna's room.
I walk forward slowly. My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear anything else.
I step into the room.
Luna lies unconscious in the hospital bed, tubes and wires everywhere. Standing next to her bed is a man in an expensive suit. He's holding a syringe.
"Hello, Seraphina," he says with a cold smile. "My name is Vincent Moretti. I'm Dante's father."
The floor drops out from under me. Dante's father. The man who murdered my mother. Who ordered his son to torture me.
"Where are your Dark Angels now?" Vincent asks mockingly. "Can't save you this time, can they?"
Behind me, I hear footsteps. Two large men block the doorway. Trap.
Vincent presses the syringe closer to Luna's IV line. "You're going to come with us quietly. No fighting, no screaming. Or I inject this into your friend's bloodstream, and she dies in thirty seconds."
I look at Luna. At my only real friend, helpless and unconscious.
Then at Vincent Moretti. At the monster who thinks he's won.
"Okay," I say calmly. "I'll go with you. Just don't hurt her."
Vincent smiles. "Smart girl. Your mother should have been this smart."
Rage floods through me, but I push it down. Not yet.
The two men grab my arms, dragging me toward the door. Vincent follows, pocketing the syringe.
We're in the hallway when alarms suddenly blare throughout the hospital. Emergency lights flash red.
"What—" Vincent starts.
The lights go out completely. Emergency backup kicks in, casting everything in dim red light.
In the chaos, I remember Killian's words: Be ruthless. Don't hesitate.
I drive my heel down on one guard's foot, elbow the other in the throat, and drop to the ground just as the Dark Angels explode from the stairwell.
Phoenix tackles Vincent. Killian destroys the two guards. Dante and Ezra secure the hallway.
"Got her!" Killian pulls me up. "You okay?"
"Luna—"
"Already being moved to a secure room," Ezra says quickly. "Phoenix hacked the hospital systems. This whole thing was a diversion."
Vincent Moretti struggles in Phoenix's grip, screaming threats. "You just signed all your death warrants! The Five Families will hunt you down! You'll never be safe!"
Dante walks over to his father. Looks down at him with cold eyes. "You murdered an innocent woman. You tortured your own son. You tried to kill a seventeen-year-old girl." He kneels down. "We're not afraid of you anymore, Father. We're done protecting you."
"You ungrateful—" Vincent snarls.
Dante pulls out his phone and shows his father the screen. "That's a recording of everything you just said and did. Attempted murder. Kidnapping. Threatening a minor. I just sent it to Margaret Chen, the federal prosecutor."
Vincent's face goes white.
"Your son just ended you," I say, and I smile. "How does it feel?"
Police sirens wail outside. Dante really did call them.
As they drag Vincent Moretti away in handcuffs, I turn to the Dark Angels. "You saved me again."
"That's what partners do," Dante says.
But something's wrong. Phoenix is staring at his phone, his face pale.
"What?" I ask.
"Message just came through," he says slowly. "From the Four Families. Vincent was just the distraction. While we were here—" He looks up, and fear fills his eyes. "They took someone else. Someone they knew we wouldn't expect."
"Who?" Killian demands.
Phoenix turns his phone around.
The photo shows a girl bound and gagged in a dark room. A girl with sharp eyes and street-smart attitude.
Luna.
But Luna's in the hospital bed—
I spin around and run back to the room. The girl in the bed isn't Luna. It's someone else wearing a wig, made up to look like Luna in the dim light.
"It was all a trick," I whisper. "They never poisoned Luna at the hospital. They already had her."
Another message comes through: "You saved the wrong girl, little bird. The real Luna Martinez is with us now. And if you ever want to see your friend alive again, you'll stop investigating our families. Burn the evidence. Convince the prosecutor to drop the case. Or Luna dies screaming. You have 48 hours."
The phone clatters from my hands.
They have Luna. The real Luna.
And it's all my fault.