Chapter 210

Ava’s POV

“At least if we die, we go down in the most epic way,” Isabella’s eyes gleamed with excitement. I had to snap my fingers in front of her face to bring her back to reality.

She jolted, but the exhilaration remained.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get any ideas. Only take the things on the list I made.”

“Don’t be a bore, Lilian. And how could you keep this from me for so long? I mean—wow, Lilian, just wow.”

I sighed at her dramatics, though I couldn’t blame her. Her reaction was valid. The first time I discovered my parents’ collection of weapons was entirely accidental—and it earned me one of the worst scoldings of my life from my mother.

Even now, standing in the hidden room beneath their mansion, surrounded by shelves lined with weapons, I could still hear her sharp voice echoing in my head.

The room was dimly lit, cold, and smelled faintly of metal and gunpowder. Neatly mounted racks of firearms—sleek sniper rifles, handguns, and semi-automatics—lined the walls, each positioned with precision. Another section held blades of all kinds, from simple daggers to longer swords with intricate engravings on their hilts. A separate cabinet housed crossbows and bolts, some tipped with silver—likely for werewolves.

Then there were the more unconventional weapons: poisoned needles, smoke bombs, and a small row of vials filled with unidentified liquids that I was almost certain were lethal. Some weapons weren’t just for humans; they were meant for werewolves, too—silver-laced bullets, a modified dagger with a hidden compartment for injecting wolfsbane, and even silver-reinforced chains capable of binding a werewolf.

I’d made a list of what Isabella and I were taking for werewolf hunting—more specifically, Damien hunting. No one, not even Grayson, had been able to find him, and I was certain he wasn’t hiding in plain sight. Damien knew us; he knew how we thought, how we planned. Approaching this like a Pierce would never work.

I couldn’t think like a Pierce. I couldn’t think rationally.

Which was why we were here, selecting weapons for what was likely a reckless, suicidal plan.

Isabella had suggested hiring a private investigator to find my twin sister, but if my parents, with all their resources, hadn’t found her, I couldn’t either. Especially not now that I knew Damien had taken her.

Besides, I didn’t have the money for a private investigator. I’d dropped Grayson’s black card at the first opportunity, much to Isabella’s dismay. The last thing I needed was to owe him anything else.

The sound of a door opening made us both freeze.

“Shit.”

Even though my parents had forfeited their right to tell me what to do after all their lies, my mother wouldn’t appreciate me being here. She hadn’t the first—and only—time she caught me in this room, and I doubted that had changed. My father was still unconscious upstairs, under Maria’s spell, which meant only one person could have entered.

My mother.

A cold chill ran down my spine, but it wasn’t just because I’d been caught. It was because of what she was wearing.

The ever-composed, pearl-wearing Evelyn Pierce, impeccably dressed in tailored suits with her hair always in a tight bun, stood in the doorway—dressed for war. Her sleek black hair, like mine, was loose, falling in soft waves. Instead of her usual suit, she wore a fitted black tactical outfit—pants with holsters, a form-fitting top, and a thick belt with compartments likely filled with weapons. She wore boots instead of heels, and there was no makeup on her usually flawless face.

Isabella broke the silence.

“Lilian, you see what I’m seeing, right?”

My mother’s sharp glare flicked to Isabella, then back to me.

“You really couldn’t make a better friend,” she said dryly.

There she was. The not-so-lovely Evelyn Pierce.

Isabella scoffed. “Excuse me, I am delightful.”

I barely paid attention; I was trying to process what I was seeing.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I finally asked.

My mother gave me a look that suggested the question was unworthy of an answer. “I’m taking a dive off my high horse and I’m going with you.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I laughed sharply, but there was no humor in it. “You must be joking.”

She stepped further into the room. “You’re going after Damien. I assume you have some semblance of a plan, but considering how reckless you are, I also assume it’s half-baked at best.” She glanced at the weapons Isabella and I had gathered. “Not bad. But it won’t be enough.”

I stared, incredulous. “You think I’m going to let you come with me?”

“I don’t need your permission.”

“Of course you don’t,” I snapped, “because that would require you to actually respect my decisions, and we both know that’s never going to happen.”

My mother’s expression remained infuriatingly composed. “I respect intelligence, not foolishness.”

I clenched my jaw. “I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

She tilted her head. “And yet, here you are, in my armory, preparing to go after a man even Grayson hasn’t been able to find.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she wasn’t wrong. Still, that didn’t mean I wanted her help.

Isabella cleared her throat. “Uh, as fun as this is, can we focus on going after Damien together?” She turned to my mother. “Do you have a way to actually find him?”

My mother’s gaze flicked to her. “I have leads.”

That got my attention. “What kind of leads?”

“The kind that will actually get you to him instead of sending you on a wild goose chase,” she said smoothly.

I narrowed my eyes. “And you’re just now saying this?”

“I wasn’t planning on telling you at all.”

I crossed my arms. “But?”

“But you’re too stubborn to let this go, and if I leave you to your own devices, you will get yourself killed. And you seem to have forgotten that you cannot just think about yourself anymore.”

I hated that she sounded so sure. I hated that a small part of me knew she was right. I was carrying a child, and Damien wasn’t just some enemy. He was calculating. He’d thought this through long before I even knew what was happening, long before I was born.

And as much as I despised my mother… she was one of the most intelligent people I knew.

I glanced at Isabella, who was watching like it was her favorite drama series. Then back at my mother, who stood there, waiting.

I exhaled. “Fine. But if you try to take control of this mission, I will shoot you.”

A flicker of amusement crossed her face. “Duly noted.”

I rolled my eyes, reaching for the silver-laced bullets. “Let’s get moving.”

I stopped, realizing something, and reluctantly turned back to her. “Where are we going?”

She smiled, and for the first time in my life, it looked almost normal. And then it hit me. Without the makeup, without the mask she always wore, I could see it—the resemblance. The same high cheekbones, the same sharp jawline. When my eyes shifted, swirling before settling into brown with flecks of gold, I realized I looked just like her.

The thought unsettled me so much that it took me a moment to register what she’d said, until Isabella blurted, “Italy?”

My focus snapped back to my mother. She was watching me carefully, her expression unreadable.

“Yes. Italy,” she said, her voice steady, unwavering. “We’re going to see an old friend of mine. She has links to the underworld, and if anyone can dig Damien out, it’s her. He won’t be an easy find.”

I hated it. Hated that she was right. Hated that no matter how much I wanted to charge ahead fueled by anger and desperation, it wouldn’t be enough. If I wanted to find and take down Damien Cross, I needed more than just rage. I needed strategy. And, apparently, I needed Evelyn Pierce.