Melody's POV
The room was silent.
A large map lay spread across the table, red pins stabbed into key points. Surrounding it were files, photos, digital trackers, and a worn-out notebook I'd filled over the past months. My evidence, my strategies, my thoughts. Every corner of the warehouse we suspected he'd meet at. Every guard route I predicted. Every possible backdoor and escape hatch.
I was seated at the head of the table. Not by choice but somehow, the others had all taken their places around me, waiting. Listening.
Even Marvis.
"Three minutes," I said, tapping a pen on the map. "That's how long it'll take him to check the meeting room. No more. He never stays still. His habits are too strong."
Darius's old phone logs. The way the boss always scheduled things in bursts of three. Three minutes. Three doors. Three exits. I had learned his patterns better than anyone.
Mary nodded slowly. "And the guards?"
"He'll bring only two. Armed but not armored. He doesn't like looking vulnerable. He wants to appear in control. They'll sweep the outer perimeter before he enters. But not the rooftops. He never looks up."
I stood and walked to the board, circling the north side of the building with a marker.
"That's our blind spot. I'll be up here. I need three seconds of silence. Just three. When I give the signal, distract the guards by triggering the car alarm on the black SUV parked outside the west gate."
"And what if he brings backup?" someone asked.
"He won't," I replied, calm. "This meeting isn't about power. It's about secrets. He doesn't want anyone hearing what's said."
Marvis watched me closely, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
I could feel it. The weight of their attention. I wasn't just a law student anymore. I wasn't just a grieving daughter. Somewhere along the way… I became something else.
Not a mafia boss.
Not a killer.
But a queen in her own right, ruling with strategy, not blood.
"I'll handle the conversation," I continued. "He trusts me just enough to gloat. And while he's talking, I'll be recording. Every word."
I held up a tiny device, smaller than a coin, that I'd sewn into my jacket's collar.
"If things go south?" Marvis asked, his voice calm but steady. "What's your escape plan?"
I turned, locking eyes with him.
"You'll be my shadow. If he pulls a gun, you disarm. If I hesitate, you shoot. But only if necessary. I want answers more than blood."
His jaw tightened. "Understood."
Mary leaned forward. "Mel… You're doing all this like you've done it before."
I gave a small, crooked smile. "I haven't. But it's like my mind just... knows."
The room was quiet again.
Because it was true. I'd never officially been initiated into the mafia. I wasn't married to Marvis. I hadn't taken an oath. But the instincts pulsed through my veins like they were built into me.
Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was anger. Or maybe it was destiny.
I didn't need a title to think like a leader. Or move like one.
"I don't want this to be messy," I said quietly. "But I'm not afraid of mess anymore."
A pause.
Then I added, "I'm tired of running. He took everything from me. My parents. My peace. My future. But what he didn't take… is my mind. And I plan to use it."
The room shifted with a new kind of energy. The quiet kind. The powerful kind.
Respect.
I glanced at the last pin on the map, the boss's projected escape route if things didn't go as planned.
"I'll block this path. He always runs south when cornered. It's his instinct."
"How do you know that?" Marvis asked.
I tapped my head. "Because it would be mine."
A silence passed between us.
Marvis stepped forward. "You don't need to prove anything, Melody."
I looked up at him, expression firm. "I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm finishing something."
He held my gaze for a long second… then nodded.
I turned to the others. "Everyone clear on their role?"
Heads nodded one by one.
"All right," I said, rolling up the map. "Let's finish this."
I packed my weapons with precision. Slid the knife into my boot. Tucked the earpiece into place. Every movement was rehearsed, controlled.
Then I picked up the notebook one last time, the one with all my scribbles, questions, grief.
And I tore the last page out. It was blank.
Because tonight, I'd write the ending myself.