Steve's POV
The city never really slept.
Not for people like us.
Not when the air itself buzzed with betrayal, smoke, and unfinished wars.
Jomiloju lay beside me, not quite asleep, not fully awake either. Her fingers traced idle lines on my chest, a silent rhythm of thoughts she couldn't voice yet.
I knew that silence.
It was the kind that comes before war.
Before the vow that changes everything.
"I don't want to forgive you," she whispered.
I didn't flinch.
"I don't want you to," I said, voice low. "I want you to choose me… with everything that truth costs."
She looked up, her eyes fierce, but not cruel.
"You took something from me… a piece of history. But I'm not a girl chasing ghosts anymore."
I turned fully toward her. "Then what are you chasing?"
She leaned in, lips almost brushing mine.
"Blood. Justice. Peace."
And in that moment, I saw the woman she had become.
No longer the kidnapped daughter of a politician.
No longer the hidden rose.
She was the storm now.
And I would burn Lagos for her if it came to that.
Jomiloju's POV
The next morning, I lit a match.
Dropped it onto the folder filled with my father's darkest secrets—the ones I didn't need anymore.
Because now we had something better.
Something real.
Something earned.
We weren't going to win this war by exposing ghosts.
We were going to create new ones.
Steve stood behind me, silent as the papers curled and blackened.
Then he dropped something into the fire too.
His ring.
The one with the symbol of his family's first crime syndicate.
"I'm done being their monster," he said.
I nodded. "Good. Because I need you to become mine."
He turned slowly.
"What are you asking?"
"I want to take down Abeni," I said. "Not just defend ourselves. I want to dismantle her."
He studied me.
Hard.
Then he gave a single, solemn nod.
"Then it's time to make a blood vow."
Steve's POV
Blood oaths weren't superstition in the underworld.
They were law.
If you spilled blood beside someone, and swore upon it—you were bound. By death. By code. By eternity.
We drove two hours out of Lagos to a ruined chapel. The one where my father was married. And where he was betrayed.
Seemed fitting.
We stood in the center of the crumbling altar.
Jomi wore black. Her eyes like dusk—mournful, deadly, beautiful.
I sliced my palm.
She didn't flinch when I handed her the blade.
She sliced hers too.
We pressed our hands together.
Warm blood.
One oath.
"Say it," I whispered.
"I vow," she said, voice trembling but strong, "to stand with you until the last enemy falls. To rebuild this world with fire and mercy. To rise from everything they buried me in."
My breath caught.
Then I spoke.
"I vow to kill for you, burn for you, bleed for you. Until you have peace. Or I have none."
And that was it.
No priest.
No judge.
Just two monsters in love.
Ready to kill.
Jomiloju's POV
The war began with a whisper.
One call to an old friend of Korede's.
A financier.
He owed Steve a life debt from the last purge war.
"I'm in," he said. "Whatever you need."
Then another call.
A former sniper who owed Steve time off a prison sentence.
Then a safecracker. A forger. A mole inside Abeni's second house.
In 48 hours, we had a team.
No names. Just loyalty.
And scars.
We didn't call them soldiers.
We called them ashes.
Because that's what rises after fire.
Abeni's POV
They thought they were clever.
But I had eyes everywhere.
I watched them build their rebellion.
Let them think they were safe.
And then I made my move.
That night, Steve's godson was abducted from school.
A five-year-old.
Innocent.
Unarmed.
The same age Steve had been when his parents were killed.
I didn't kill the boy.
I just sent Steve a video.
The child, crying in a dark room.
A timer blinking behind him.
Six hours.
Tick.
Tock.
War isn't just blood.
It's timing.
Steve's POV
The second I saw the child's face, I knew.
This wasn't about strategy anymore.
This was personal.
The timer glowed on screen.
6:00:00…
It ticked down.
Every second was a heartbeat.
Jomi didn't panic.
She planned.
"We need to divide," she said. "You go for the child. I'll draw Abeni out."
"Absolutely not."
But she was already packing a weapon.
"She's expecting you, Steve. Not me. Let me be your edge."
I stared at her.
She wasn't asking for permission.
She was leading.
And for the first time, I let her.
Because this queen?
She had claws now.
Jomiloju's POV
I met Abeni on the rooftop of a hotel she owned—covertly, of course.
I wore white.
To mock her bloodlust.
She wore red.
To remind me I was already stained.
"You're brave," she said. "Or stupid."
I smiled.
"You're old. Or desperate."
She hissed.
We walked circles around each other like lions in heat.
Then I pulled out the chip.
The one that used to live in my body.
Her eyes widened.
"You kept it?"
"I extracted it with fire," I said calmly. "And now I'm giving it back."
I threw it at her feet.
Then I smiled.
"Tell the devil I said hello."
Steve's POV
Meanwhile, I raided the compound.
Three guards.
One locked steel door.
A silencer. Two blades.
One broken chain.
The boy was inside, scared but unharmed.
I carried him out just as the timer ticked down to zero.
5:59:59…
No explosion.
Just silence.
Because we had defused the war she thought she could win.
Abeni's POV
I should've killed her.
I wanted to.
But I didn't.
Because the second I lunged—she pulled the trigger.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't blink.
The bullet grazed my shoulder.
I stumbled back.
She aimed again.
This time?
At my leg.
Bang.
Down I went.
Hard.
She stood over me.
Breath heavy.
"I was never your pawn," she said.
And then?
She walked away.
Left me bleeding.
But alive.
Because that was the worst punishment.
To survive your own defeat.