Page 87 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

“How can I get tired of shedding blood?” he says, shaking his head like I asked a ridiculous question. “This is all I’ve ever known. This is all he’s ever known.”

I swallow hard. “But don’t you see how pointless it is? It’s been decades. It started with your grandfather, but you—” I exhale sharply, eyes locked onto his. “You’re keeping it alive.”

His smirk fades slightly.

A flicker of doubt? No. Resignation.

Samuel tilts his head, studying me with an almost regretful expression. Then, he lets out a slow breath and steps closer, towering over me again.

“A world doesn’t exist where both of us are alive, Isabella,” he says, his voice smoother now, certain. “We are the last players left in this game. And I am tired of playing.”

His eyes darken further, and his fingers flex at his sides, as if he can already feel the blood on his hands.

“It’s about time,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “I get rid of him.”

A sharp chill runs through me.

Because for the first time since I’ve met Samuel Delgado, I realize—this isn’t about winning.

This is about ending it.

One way or another.

Suddenly, the room goes dark. Everything stops.

The single flickering bulb overhead blinks once, twice—then dies, plunging us into pitch-blackness.

For a heartbeat, silence claws at the air, thick and heavy. Even Samuel tenses, his posture shifting as his head snaps toward the door.

Then—chaos erupts.

A thunderous explosion of gunfire shatters the eerie quiet, sending tremors through the very walls of the crumbling castle. Men shout, the sharp cracks of bullets ripping through the thick stone corridors, followed by the sickening thuds of bodies hitting the floor.

My pulse skyrockets, fear tightening around my throat.

Dominic is here.

He’s here, and he’s fighting his way through hell to get to me.

Samuel curses, low and vicious, his grip tightening on my arm as he yanks me toward him. His jaw locks, frustration radiating from every inch of his body.

"Son of a bitch," he snarls under his breath. His hand jerks toward the gun at his hip.

More gunfire. More screams. The metallic scent of blood laces the air, creeping in from the hallway like a warning.

I suck in a breath, my hands trembling against my restraints. The sound is deafening, the kind of violence that doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left to kill.

I brace myself.

The power outage wasn’t a coincidence. Dominic planned this. He knew he’d have to fight his way in, and he’s doing exactly that.

Samuel’s eyes flick toward the door again. His mind is racing—I can see it in the tension lining his face, the way his lips press into a hard, thin line.

He’s worried.

And for the first time since I was dragged into this nightmare, I see it—doubt.

The great Samuel Delgado, cartel prince, untouchable executioner, the man who swore he’d kill Dominic and make me watch—

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