Vicious — 26 (Patreon)

Author's note: Hello everyone! Thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

It was still dark out when Y/N jolted awake.

A hand was covering her mouth.

Her body tensed, heart thudding violently against her ribcage—until her eyes adjusted and met Harry’s.

He was crouched over her, shirtless, his eyes sharp and deadly calm. There was no trace of panic in him—only ice-cold focus.

“Don’t speak,” he mouthed.

Y/N nodded, her breath trapped behind his palm. Only then did she become aware of the noise: shouts echoing from downstairs, the muffled thud of footsteps racing through the hallways. And then—the sharp, brutal pop of gunfire.

Harry removed his hand and grabbed the gun from beneath the bed with smooth, practiced movements. He was already dressed in black sweats, barefoot, the veins in his forearms taut as he checked the clip.

“What’s happening?” she whispered.

“We’ve been hit,” he muttered, already moving toward the closet, grabbing a second gun from the top shelf and a tactical jacket. “I don’t know how many. But they got past the perimeter.”

Y/N’s stomach turned. The estate was heavily guarded—fortified. For someone to breach it, this had to be serious. Calculated. Personal.

“Lex and Charlie?” she asked, her voice tight.

“They’re responding. I need to get to the control room.” He turned, eyes narrowing as he approached her again. “Get to the panic room. Don’t argue with me, Y/N.”

But Y/N wasn’t moving.

Her robe had fallen slightly off her shoulder, and her bare legs swung out of bed, but her hand reached out, stopping him. “I’m not hiding while you fight them off. I can help.”

Harry looked at her for a beat, green eyes flickering with a thousand unspoken thoughts. The gunshots were getting louder now—closer.

“Y/N, go,” Harry barked, motioning toward the hidden panel that led to the panic room. “Now.”

But she didn’t move.

The hallway shook with another explosion—closer this time. A window shattered somewhere downstairs, and the rapid staccato of automatic gunfire followed.

“I’m not going down there like some helpless little doll while you run into the fire,” she snapped, eyes wild. Her grip tightened around the gun he’d handed her. “I’ve been around this my whole life. Fede—”

Harry turned toward her slowly, jaw clenched, breath heavy. “This isn’t about your fucking last name.”

“Then what is it about?” she demanded, stepping toward him, barefoot on the cold wooden floors, dressed only in one of his black shirts. “You trust me with everything when it’s convenient, but when it counts—”

“Goddammit, Y/N!” he snarled, grabbing her arm roughly and dragging her closer until their faces were inches apart. “Don’t you understand? I can’t lose you!”

She blinked, stunned. His eyes were wild—desperate—and for the first time since the chaos started, she saw fear in them.

“They’re not here for me,” he said, voice sharp and breaking. “They’re here for you.”

Everything stopped. Even the gunfire felt distant for a second.

“What?” she whispered.

Harry’s grip stayed tight on her arm. “They got past security. They knew where our blind spots were. This wasn’t a random hit. This was planned. And whoever planned it knew where to hit us hardest—you.”

Realization hit her like a blow to the chest.

“Silas,” she breathed.

Harry nodded once. “He’s making his move. And you are the clearest way to gut me from the inside out.”

Her heart pounded like a war drum, but she didn’t flinch. She just stared at him—this man she had once been forced to marry, who now looked at her like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

“I need you to live,” he said, more quietly now. “Because if something happens to you… they’ll kill more than just me.”

Y/N swallowed hard. Her hands, still trembling, reached up to cup his face for a second—just one breathless beat—before she stepped back.

“I’ll go,” she said. “But you better come back to me, Harry Styles.”

His jaw flexed. He leaned in, pressing a hard, urgent kiss to her lips—fast, fierce, like it might be their last.

“I’ll come back,” he promised. “Even if I have to tear through every bastard that steps foot in this house.”

And then she was running—toward the panic room, toward safety—while Harry turned, loading his weapon, and marched headfirst into the storm.

The walls shook with another blast, and Y/N ducked low, gun gripped tightly in her hand as she darted through the corridor. Her bare feet were silent against the hardwood floors, her body moving on instinct — heart hammering, adrenaline roaring through her veins.

She should have gone straight to the panic room.

Harry’s voice still echoed in her head, low and desperate: “I can’t lose you… they’re here for you.”

But as she slipped past the smoking remnants of a shattered window and turned the corner toward safety… she hesitated.

Giana.

She bit down on a curse. Harry’s orders were clear. Get to the panic room. Don’t look back. Don’t be a hero. But Y/N had never been the kind of woman to follow blindly — especially not when it came to the people she cared about.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, pivoting sharply.

The hallway to Giana’s room was dim, half the lights blown out from the blast. She moved like a shadow, keeping low, gun at the ready, eyes flicking over every corner, every movement in the dark. The manor — their stronghold — had become a war zone. The sounds of boots storming the lower levels, the occasional burst of gunfire, and the shouted orders in a language she didn’t recognize made every step feel like a countdown.

She reached Giana’s door, heart pounding. It was cracked open.

Y/N pushed it in slowly, gun raised. “G?” she hissed.

From behind the vanity, a head popped up — wide eyes, a bat clutched in her hands.

“Y/N?” Giana gasped. “What the fuck is happening?!”

“No time,” Y/N said, crossing the room in seconds and grabbing her by the wrist. “We need to move. Panic room. Now.”

“But—Harry?”

“He’s holding the line,” she said, her voice sharper than she felt. “But he won’t be able to unless we’re out of the way. We need to go.”

Giana nodded quickly, slipping into shoes and grabbing a hoodie. She didn’t argue again.

Y/N led the way back down the hallway, every turn more dangerous than the last. She didn’t have time to think about what would’ve happened if she hadn’t turned back — if she had ignored the knot in her gut and left Giana behind. She didn’t have time to think about anything at all.

Only about getting to that door alive.

And hoping that when it was all over, Harry would be on the other side of it too.

Just as they turned the corner into the east wing hall, a shadow stepped into their path.

Tall. Armed. Smiling.

Y/N’s body froze for half a second — then her instincts kicked in. She shoved Giana behind her and raised the gun in both hands, steadying her grip like Harry had taught her. The metal was ice-cold in her palms, but her voice was firm.

“Don’t move,” she warned, her tone flat and sharp.

The man didn’t flinch.

Instead, he stepped forward — slow, deliberate — his boots clicking on the floor, expression calm, almost amused.

Then he spoke, voice thick with a Sicilian accent that sent a chill down her spine.

“Harry took something from us,” he said quietly. “Now we take everything from him.”

Her stomach twisted. Her finger hovered near the trigger, her breathing short and tight.

“I said don’t move,” she snapped, raising the gun higher.

But he only tilted his head, dark eyes glinting with cruelty.

“You die here, Mrs. Styles.” His voice was smooth. Cold. “And he lives with it for the rest of his life.”

That did it.

Y/N fired.

The shot rang out, shattering the stillness like glass.

The man jerked back, hit in the shoulder, but not down. He snarled and lunged.

Y/N screamed as he rushed her — but Giana, fierce and fast, swung the bat she’d been clutching straight into his knees. The crack echoed loud and sharp. He collapsed to one side.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She fired again. This time, the bullet buried itself in his chest.

The man fell. Hard.

Silence.

Heavy breaths. A tremor in her limbs. Giana’s hand on her arm.

“I told you,” Y/N whispered, voice thick with adrenaline, “don’t fucking move.”

She grabbed Giana, and they ran — the panic room just around the corner.

The sound of gunfire was still echoing through the halls as Y/N and Giana sprinted up the stairs, breath ragged, adrenaline pumping.

The office door was already open when they reached it — papers scattered, one of Harry’s weapons still smoking on the desk. Y/N locked it behind them without a second thought and rushed to the far wall, pulling Giana along with her.

“Move the chair,” Y/N ordered, shoving furniture out of the way.

Giana didn’t ask questions. She kicked the armchair aside as Y/N yanked on the edge of the bookshelf Harry had shown her once — only once — in secret.

The wood groaned, but it didn’t budge.

“Dammit,” Y/N hissed. “It’s stuck.”

Behind them, Giana threw her body against the office door as someone began trying the handle from the outside.

Y/N kept pushing.

The bookshelf refused to move.

“Giana!” she called, panic creeping into her voice. “I need you—now!”

Giana bolted across the room. Together they pressed against the hidden lever and heaved.

It shifted an inch. Another.

Then—bang.

A body slammed into the office door.

“Faster!” Y/N snapped, sweat on her brow, heart racing. “Again!”

They threw their weight against the shelf. With a final, splintering creak, it slid free — revealing a steel door set into the wall.

Y/N didn’t wait. She punched in the code Harry had drilled into her memory. Click. The lock disengaged.

The office door burst open just as the panic room's steel door slid aside with a low mechanical hiss.

They weren’t fast enough.

Y/N's heart stopped. Giana screamed.

And standing there in the ruined doorway… was Silas.

He looked inhuman.

His shirt was soaked in blood — not his. His hair was matted to his forehead, jaw clenched so tightly the muscle twitched. His eyes were wild, glassy, gleaming with something between rage and triumph.

The gun in his hand dangled lazily at his side, but there was nothing casual about the way he moved forward — slow, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Going somewhere?” he said, voice rough, lips tugging into a chilling smile.

Y/N stepped in front of Giana instinctively, blocking her with her body as she raised her gun again, two hands gripping it to steady the tremor. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or fury.

"Silas..." she breathed, barely recognizing the man who used to toast with Harry at family dinners.

“Harry always did love his toys hidden behind bookshelves,” Silas muttered, glancing at the panic room like it was nothing more than a broken vault. “Too bad he never considered who else might know the codes.”

"You're out of your mind," Y/N said, voice low and trembling with restraint. "This is madness."

Silas tilted his head. “No. This… is freedom.”

He raised the gun toward her.

Y/N didn’t flinch.

“If you shoot me,” she said, her voice steadier now, “Harry will burn the entire city to find you.”

Silas laughed — soft and broken.

“Oh, he already plans to,” he said. “That’s what makes this so fun.”

Giana whimpered behind her. Y/N held her ground.

Finger hovering over the trigger, she stared Silas down, searching his eyes for the brother Harry once mourned when he thought he’d lost him to the life. But there was nothing left.

Only a monster in a blood-soaked shell.

And they were trapped.

Silas took another step forward, slow and deliberate. The blood on his hands dripped onto the hardwood floor with quiet, dreadful splats.

Y/N’s hands tightened around the gun, but her finger trembled on the trigger.

Silas noticed.

He smirked.

“You're shaking,” he said, tilting his head. “You’re terrified. I can see it in your eyes. It’s… beautiful.”

Giana pressed herself closer to the wall, her breath shallow and fast. Y/N didn’t let her own fear show, not entirely — not to him.

“What do you want?” she asked through gritted teeth.

Silas stopped, gun still hanging casually at his side. “Now that,” he said, “is a question I’ve been dying for someone to ask.”

He spread his arms, as if offering them an answer that tasted like gospel.

“I want to kill you,” he said plainly, without a hint of hesitation. “But not just that. I want to hurt Harry. I want him to suffer the way I have. Every time I had to watch him get everything. Everything I was denied.”

His lip curled, madness seeping into his voice. “Do you know what it's like? To be born second? To be less in our father's eyes? Always the spare. Always behind him. Never enough, never chosen. I watched him take the seat I was promised. I watched him inherit the name, the fear, the power.”

He took a step closer, and Y/N raised the gun again, but Silas didn’t stop. He seemed to enjoy watching her panic.

“And then he got you,” he added, voice now quieter. “The sweet little bride meant to make peace between empires. The pretty thing who looks at him like he’s something more than the monster he is.”

“You think he’s not a monster?” Silas laughed, the sound sharp and unhinged. “You think he loves you? That he’ll keep you safe forever? No. He can’t even keep his kingdom from rotting beneath his feet.”

Y/N didn’t blink. “What did you do, Silas?”

“I made a deal,” he said, smile tightening. “With people who hate him as much as I do. The Italians — the real Italians, the ones who think he’s grown too soft since marrying you.”

He paused, then lifted his gun, pointing it directly at her forehead.

“So now,” he murmured, “the only thing left to decide is this…”

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

“How do you want to die?”

Silas lunged.

Y/N barely had a second to react — her finger squeezed the trigger with a terrified scream as his body collided with hers.

Bang.

The sound cracked through the room. The force made him stumble slightly, and for one horrifying second, Y/N thought it was over.

But he just looked down at his shoulder, saw the blood spreading through the torn fabric… and smiled.

“You bitch,” he hissed, voice feral. “That actually hurt.”

“Shoot him again!” Giana cried, scrambling behind Y/N.

“I—” Y/N tried to raise the gun again, hands trembling. She pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

“No—no, no—”

Before she could even think to run, Giana threw herself in front of her like a shield.

“Run!” Giana yelled.

But Silas struck her across the face with the back of his gun before either of them could move.

Crack.

Giana’s body crumpled like a ragdoll to the floor, blood trickling from her temple. Y/N screamed, reaching for her, but Silas was already on her.

“You should’ve run when you had the chance,” he snarled.

He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her up with brutal force. She cried out, struggling, her legs kicking wildly, fists hitting whatever part of him she could reach. But he was stronger — and fueled by rage.

“You’re going to be the message,” he spat near her ear, dragging her out of the office. “You and your perfect little face.”

Y/N clawed at him. She scratched, kicked, bit — but he didn’t stop. His grip was iron. Blood dripped from his wounded shoulder, soaking into her dress as he hauled her through the hall.

“You think Harry’s feared?” Silas snarled. “Wait until they see what I become when I take you from him.”

He slammed her against the wall, knocking the breath from her lungs, and then backhanded her across the face.

Her vision blurred. Her knees buckled.

Silas dragged Y/N down, her feet scrambling for leverage, blood dripping from her split lip, her skin burning from where he’d struck her. She was still fighting — clawing at him, spitting curses — when he slammed her down against the floor.

“Should’ve been easier,” he muttered, towering over her. “But you’re just like him. Stubborn to the end.”

Then he raised his boot — and kicked her hard in the ribs.

She cried out, curling in on herself as the air was knocked from her lungs.

Another kick.

Another.

She felt something crack.

“You think marrying into this family makes you untouchable?” Silas growled, towering over her, fist raised now. “I’m going to make you watch—”

The door burst open.

Bang.

The sound of wood splintering echoed through the hallway as Harry kicked it off its hinges. His eyes found her instantly — crumpled on the floor, bleeding, gasping, pain etched into every line of her face.

And then he saw him.

Silas. Standing over her, blood on his hands, a wicked smirk twisting his mouth.

Harry didn’t hesitate. He charged.

“You touch her again, and I’ll kill you!” Harry roared, fury exploding in every step as he launched himself at his brother.

But just before he could reach him —

Crack.

A blow to the back of his head sent him crashing to the floor.

From the shadows behind the door, another man had emerged — one of the Italians. Tall, silent, lethal. A metal pipe slick with Harry’s blood now in his hand.

Harry fell hard, a deep groan escaping him as he hit the floor face-first, motionless.

“Harry!” Y/N screamed, dragging herself toward him, her body screaming in pain, ribs aching with every breath.

But Silas was already on her again, grabbing her hair and wrenching her back.

“No more heroes,” he hissed. “Not tonight.”

And then the men began dragging Harry’s limp body away — while Y/N, bloodied and breathless, kicked and fought with everything she had, her screams echoing through the halls of the estate that had finally fallen under siege.