AVA
The prison visitation room stank of bleach and bad decisions.
Ava Lopez drummed her fingers against the cold metal table, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap echoing off the cinderblock walls. She'd waited five years for this moment. Five years of sleepless nights chasing shadows, of dead-end leads, of rage simmering just beneath her skin. The guard had confiscated three knives at security—standard procedure when Ava Lopez came calling—but they'd missed the fourth, strapped to her thigh beneath the leather pants Damien had whistled at.
*"You dressing to kill or seduce?"* he'd asked.
*"Both,"* she'd replied.
Now, the heavy door screeched open, and Julian Thorne shuffled in, cuffed and hollow-cheeked but still wearing that infuriating smirk. The orange jumpsuit hung loose on his frame, the once-pristine venture capitalist reduced to just another convict. His eyes lit up when he saw her.
*"Miss me, Lopez?"* His voice was rougher than she remembered, cigarettes and regret wearing at the edges.
Ava didn't blink. She slid the photo across the table with deliberate slowness, the glossy surface catching the fluorescent lights.
*"Recognize them?"*
The image showed a burning sedan, flames licking at the license plate she'd memorized as a child. And there, standing just beyond the fire's reach—a teenage Julian, his face alight with something between awe and hunger.
*"My parents,"* Ava said. *"Your first kill."*
Julian's smirk faltered. His fingers twitched toward the photo before the cuffs yanked him back. *"That's not—"*
*"Lionel sang like a canary,"* Ava interrupted, leaning in close enough to smell the prison soap on his skin. *"Said he *let* you think they were rivals. But here's the fun part—"* She tapped the manila folder beneath the photo. *"Forensics report. Their brakes were cut *before* the fire. Which means someone *else* wanted them dead."*
The color drained from Julian's face. His throat worked as he swallowed hard. *"You're lying."*
Ava stood abruptly, the chair legs screeching against the floor. She left the folder on the table, the corner just brushing Julian's trembling fingers.
*"Am I?"* She adjusted her leather jacket, the movement deliberately casual. *"Read it and weep, pretty boy. I'm just getting started."*
The guard stepped forward, but Ava was already striding toward the exit, her boots clicking a steady rhythm against the linoleum. Her pulse roared in her ears, a symphony of vengeance and something dangerously close to relief.
---
The SafeHaven server room hummed at 3 AM, the blue glow of monitors painting the walls in eerie light.
Ava cracked her knuckles, the sound sharp in the stillness. Before her stretched a wall of screens Damien had wired into Julian's prison tablet feed—every keystroke, every search, every panicked breath now theirs to monitor.
*"You sure this'll work?"* Damien hovered behind her, close enough that his cologne—something expensive and annoyingly distracting—wrapped around her like a challenge.
Ava didn't look up from the keyboard. *"I'm about to make Julian *beg* to testify against Lionel's remaining allies."* Her fingers flew across the keys. *"Watch."*
The screens flickered—then displayed Julian's cell in grainy detail. The man sat hunched on his cot, the tablet clutched in white-knuckled hands as he scoured the documents Ava had left. His lips moved soundlessly as he read, the panic in his eyes growing with each passing second.
A message popped up on his screen in bold red letters:
**TELL ME WHO ORDERED THE HIT OR I BURN EVERYTHING YOU LOVE.**
Julian lunged for the tablet, his fingers stumbling across the screen.
*"And...we're in,"* Ava murmured as the feed split—Julian's frantic typing appearing in real time on their monitors.
Damien whistled low. *"Remind me never to piss you off."*
*"Too late."* Ava smirked, arching a brow at the way his gaze dropped to her mouth. She saved the transcripts—Julian's confession, his plea deal, the names of three high-profile CEOs who'd bankrolled the hit—before shutting down the system.
*"Now,"* she said, grabbing her jacket, *"let's go crash a wedding."*
---
The cliffside ceremony was in full swing when they arrived.
Ava leaned against the vintage Corvette Damien had "borrowed" for the occasion, watching through binoculars as Carl dipped Kathleen in a kiss that would've been indecent if it wasn't so *them*. Alina—now a lanky teenager in combat boots—whooped and threw rose petals at the newlyweds.
*"You really think this is the time?"* Damien asked, nodding toward the prison tablet in her hands.
Ava's grin was all teeth. *"Best wedding gift ever."*
She strode down the aisle, the tablet held high. *"Sorry to interrupt the happily ever after—"* She tossed it to Carl. *"—but you'll want to see this."*
The screen showed Julian's signed confession—and the list of names that would bring down Lionel's empire for good.
Kathleen's eyes gleamed. *"Ava Lopez, you magnificent bastard."*
Alina snatched a champagne flute. *"To Aunt Ava! Queen of Chaos!"*
As the toast rang out, Damien leaned close, his breath warm against Ava's ear. *"So...what's next?"*
Ava watched the sunset paint the ocean gold, her family laughing around her, the weight of five years finally lifting from her shoulders.
*"Whatever the hell we want."*