NICO: The civilian is mine.
I type the words and hit send. No hesitation. No qualification. The declaration sits on the screen, green text against black. A permanent record of my total surrender to the woman sleeping in the next room.
MATTEO: Understood. Protect what is yours. Do you need a cleanup crew?
NICO: Not yet. I need the blueprints for the Bellanti building. Now.
Ten seconds later, an encrypted file drops into my secure inbox. I open it. Structural schematics. City zoning permits. Electrical grids.
I lean closer to the monitors, my eyes rapidly scanning the architectural lines. The building next to Priya's clinic was originally a textile factory in the nineteen forties. It has deep basement levels. Reinforced concrete sub-floors. A reinforced loading dock hidden in the back alley.
I cross-reference the power consumption records. The building is supposed to be vacant, but the electrical grid shows a massive, continuous drain on the local power lines. High-voltage spikes. Consistent thermal signatures.
It’s not just a money-laundering front. It’s an active armory.
The Bellantis are stockpiling weapons right next to her clinic. The strike force today was an advance team riding cover for a supply run, a logistical drop disguised as a routine patrol—and they would have put anyone in that doorway down without blinking. They’re gearing up for an offensive against the Costas, and they are using the neighborhood she rebuilt her life in as their staging ground.
Cold rage crystallizes.
They are turning her sanctuary into a war zone. They are threatening the only piece of light I have found.
I pull up the security feeds I hacked from the street cameras surrounding the clinic. I rewind the footage to yesterday afternoon. I watch Priya walk out of her front door, adjusting her coat, locking the deadbolt. She walks right past the abandoned building.
Ten minutes later, the alley camera catches movement. A steel door opens. Three men step out. Bellanti soldiers. I recognize the tattoos on their necks. They stand in the exact spot Priya occupied minutes before, smoking cigarettes, jackets hanging open over the weapons slung tight beneath them — confident no one on this controlled block is watching.
The proximity makes my vision blur with red, violent static.
They’re too close. They’re breathing her air. They’re existing in her space.
I stand up from the desk. The metal chair scrapes harshly against the floorboards. I go to the duffel bag shoved in the corner of the room. I unzip it.
The metallic scent of gun oil and cordite hits the air.
I pull out my primary tactical vest. I check the ceramic plates. I load my sidearm, check the spare magazines, and pull the suppressed weapon from the bottom of the bag. Enough to level the building. Enough to make sure no one walks out breathing.
The metallic clack of the bolt locking into place is the only sound that makes sense right now.
I’m a soldier. I became the violence. I became the thing the family points when they need a problem erased from the earth.
I slide a secondary blade into my boot.
The Bellantis think they can build an armory next to my woman. They think they can use her neighborhood as a shield.
They are fundamentally incorrect.
I walk back to the kitchen doorway. I stand in the shadows, looking at Priya on the sofa. She’s sleeping deeply now, her breathing slow and even. The wool blanket has slipped down slightly, revealing the collar of my bloodstained shirt. She looks peaceful.
I will keep her peaceful. I will keep her insulated from the slaughter that is about to occur.
I check the deadbolts on the safehouse door. I engage the secondary electronic lock. I set the proximity alarms on the stairwell. Nothing gets through this door without tripping a silent alarm straight to my phone. She’s safe. She’s secure and protected.
I grab a jacket to cover the weapons strapped to my chest.
I'm going to drive to that clinic. I'm going to breach the reinforced steel door in the alley. I'm going to identify every Bellanti gun breathing the air near her building.
And I’m going to kill them all.
7
