Years ago, I purchased a property in the heart of Sicily with the intention of turning it into a vault. No one knew about it, and that was intentional. It was the place where I kept the last pieces of mine and my parents' belongings.
After they died, my grandfather had ordered my mother's old belongings to be destroyed. I remember clutching one of her dresses, my fists twisted into the fabric so tightly the maids had to pry my fingers loose one by one. They took pity on me, so instead of destroying her belongings like they were ordered to, they packed them into a trunk and hid it deep in my closet.
It became a crutch, for me.
I would pull out the trunk in secret after brutal training sessions or missions, and bury my face in the fabric, breathing in what little scent remained. Over time, the smell faded. But the familiar texture certainly didn't.
Years later when I found out the truth and stopped trusting the walls of that estate, I bought this place and transferred the trunk here myself. Carefully, I took time bringing some of the things I couldn't part with along, stole some other pieces of my father's belongings as well. From his old books, his luggage, to some of the clothes he had left in the estate before he passed.
Standing in the center of the small living room, dust drifting through thin blades of light from the narrow windows, I can't help but feel the past tightening in my throat.
I never thought I would return here.
At least not this soon. Not before my grandfather and Arturo was gone.
This place was hidden in plain sight. A place no one would associate with me. The distant hum of tourists and locals weaving through the narrow Sicilian roads drifted through my windows, oblivious to what was unfolding right above them.
I lifted my wrist and checked the time, finding it nearly noon.
Arturo's meeting had started just ten minutes ago, in a restaurant just down the street. Close enough for convenience. Far enough to avoid suspicion.
"Your uncle's been informed," Alex said from the sofa.
He was leaning forward, pager in hand, thumb moving with deliberate precision. We had reverted to analog communication, not wanting to risk our safety especially when we we'd be in such close proximity to our target. Paranoia was survival in our world.
"He's trying to contain it," Alex continued, eyes scanning the incoming codes. "But his partners are pressing him. They want answers."
I could picture it clearly. From the shift in tone at the table, to the way their conversation would tighten. Their polite smiles thinning.
"He can't stall them," Alex added. "Not with the documentation already circulating."
Good.
By now, the evidence of Arturo's embezzlement would have reached far more than just his inner circle. Investors, council members and all other crime families.
There would be pressure from every direction, starting with this one.
"Fuck," Alex bit out.
The pager hit the sofa as he lunged for me, tackling me to the floor just as gunfire erupted from the street below.
The shots were sharp and close. Not distant echoes, but immediate. Glass shattering somewhere beneath us. People screaming.
We hit the ground hard. I landed on top of him, my breath knocked out of my lungs.
"What happened?" I demanded.
"Stay down."
More gunfire. Rapid. Undisciplined.
I rolled off him and crawled across the wooden floor toward the sofa. Dust lifted into the air with every movement, catching my throat. I let out a few sneezes before grabbing the pager, squinting at the coded number flashing across the screen.
I recognized nothing.
Alex was already beside me in seconds, one arm braced protectively over my back as he extended his hand.
"I should start teaching you how to read our codes," he muttered.
"Yes. You should."
I handed it over.
His eyes moved quickly, calculating.
"They're not waiting," he said flatly. "His partners want blood."
Another burst of gunfire cracked through the air.
"They shot his guards," he continued, jaw tightening. "But Arturo returned fire."
A pause.
"He escaped."
I exhaled slowly.
"They panicked," Alex said, already shifting into strategy. "Once the money trail was confirmed, they moved fast. Too fast."
Below us, tires screeched. There were more shouting, then sirens in the distance.
I met his eyes.
"Are you ready?" I asked quietly.
His gaze held mine. Steady and unreadable.
"I've always been, my love."
There was no bravado in it. Just face.
We moved at once.
Weapons first. Efficiency over panic. He retrieved the duffel from beneath the sofa while I crossed to the small cabinet where we had stashed the rest. Steel pressed against my ribs as I secured the holster beneath my jacket. Extra magazine. Knife at my thigh.
Outside, sirens were growing louder.
I pulled my hair back, twisting it into a tighter bun at the nape of my neck. Tighter than the ponytail earlier. Just so there'd be nothing loose. Nothing to grab.
When I turned, Alex was standing directly in front of me.
Too close for strategy.
His expression had shifted. Not softer, but stripped down. The commander in him receding.
"What is it?" I asked, quieter now.
His hand came up, fingers brushing beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his.
"I love you," he said.
Not whispered. Not dramatic, but certain.
Then he kissed me.
His hand sliding from my chin, all the way to the back of my neck. His fingers tangling gently in the hair I had just secured, holding me there as his mouth moved against mine with slow, unhurried devotion. There was nothing frantic about it. No fear, nor hesitation.
Only certainty.
His other hand settling at my waist, pulling me flush against him as if he was memorizing the shape of me. As if he was grounding himself in something real before stepping back into chaos.
The world narrowed for a brief second.
The gunfire below fading into something distant. The sirens, the betrayal, Arturo, all of it dissolved beneath the warmth of his mouth and the steady rhythm of his breath against mine.
"I love you too, Barinov," I murmured as I pulled back, resting my forehead against his.
He flashed me a warm smile.
"We'll walk out together," he said. "We'll end this together."
I nodded once.
Then we stepped away from each other. Not because we wanted to, but because we've got a fight to finish.