The farmhouse kitchen smelled of antiseptic, old coffee, and stale whiskey.
I sat on the counter, watching Cassian. He was sitting up on the makeshift operating table, his shirt off, a thick bandage wrapped around his midsection. He looked pale, and sweat slicked his forehead, but his eyes were sharp. The drugs Isolde had given him were wearing off, replaced by sheer willpower.
"You should be lying down," I said, handing him a glass of water.
"I can sleep when I'm dead," Cassian grunted, taking the glass. His hand shook slightly, frustrating him. "Right now, we are sitting ducks. If Vittorio tracks the truck, he'll burn this farm down with us inside."
Isolde leaned against the sink, nursing a mug of black coffee. She looked tired, her makeup smudged.
"Then leave," she said dryly. "I like my farm unburnt."
"We will," Cassian said. "But not before we change the board."
He looked at Rook, who was cleaning his gun by the window.
"Rook. The satellite phone."
Rook nodded. He reached into a duffel bag and pulled out a heavy, brick-like phone. He extended the antenna and handed it to Cassian.
"Who are you calling?" I asked.
"The only man in the Syndicate who hates politicians more than he hates me," Cassian said, dialing a number from memory. "Don Salvatore."
"Salvatore?" Isolde let out a low whistle. "The Old Lion? He'll hang up on you. Or trace the call and send a hit squad."
"He might," Cassian admitted. "Or he might listen."
He hit send. He put the phone on speaker and set it on the metal table.
Ring... Ring...
A click.
"Speak," a gravelly voice answered. It sounded like rocks grinding together.
"It's Vance," Cassian said calmly.
Silence. The line crackled.
"You have nerve, boy," Don Salvatore said. "The Council has a five-million-dollar bounty on your head. I could track this signal and be rich by lunch."
"You don't need five million dollars, Salvatore," Cassian said. "You need your city back."
"Excuse me?"
"Vittorio Morell," Cassian said the name like a curse. "He's using the Syndicate, Salvatore. He's using Claudia and the Rossis as his personal attack dogs. Since when does the Syndicate take orders from a Governor? Since when do we bow to the law?"
Silence on the other end. Cassian had struck a nerve. The Old Guard hated police interference.
"He bombed a neutral site," Cassian pressed, his voice gaining strength. "He brought a helicopter to a private residence. He is reckless. He is exposing our operations to the public just to clean up his own messy past. If he wins... if he kills me and gets the files... he won't stop. He'll blackmail the entire Council."
"And you have these files?" Salvatore asked slowly.
"I do," Cassian lied (Elena had the drive, but he took the credit). "And I am willing to share."
"What is the price?"
"Immunity," Cassian said. "For me. For Rook. And for the girl. We walk away. We leave the life. And in exchange, I give you the evidence you need to destroy Vittorio Morell and purge the Rossi family for treason."
I held my breath. This was it. The gamble.
"Claudia Rossi is powerful," Salvatore mused. "Her family controls the ports. Moving against her starts a civil war."
"The war has already started," Cassian said. "The only question is, which side of history do you want to be on? The side that bowed to a politician? Or the side that stood tall?"
A long, agonizing pause stretched out. I could hear a clock ticking on the wall.
"Meet me," Salvatore said finally. "The Old Steel Mill. Midnight. Alone."
"I don't go anywhere alone," Cassian said, looking at me.
"Bring the girl if you must. But if I smell a trap, Vance... I will skin you alive."
Click. The line went dead.
Cassian let out a breath, slumping slightly. The adrenaline crash was hitting him.
"He took the bait," Cassian whispered.
"Or he's luring you into a kill box," Isolde pointed out unhelpfully. "Salvatore is ruthless. He might just kill you and take the files to Vittorio himself."
"It's a risk we have to take," Cassian said. He looked at me. "Elena, you stay here with Isolde. Rook and I will go."
"No," I said instantly.
"Elena—"
"No!" I stepped between his legs, putting my hands on his shoulders. "You can barely walk, Cassian. You are not going into a meeting with a Don without me. I have the drive. I am the witness. I am the leverage."
"She's right," Rook signed from the window. 'She goes. I go. You need support.'
Cassian looked at the three of us. He looked at his wound. He looked at the gun on the table.
"Fine," he relented. "But we need weapons. Real ones. Isolde?"
Isolde sighed, rolling her eyes. She walked to the pantry and kicked aside a rug, revealing a trap door.
"My ex-husband was a paranoid doomsday prepper," she said, pulling the door open. "Help yourselves."
The basement was a treasure trove. Assault rifles, tactical vests, grenades.
Rook was like a kid in a candy store. He grabbed an AR-15 and a fresh sidearm.
Cassian struggled to put on a kevlar vest over his bandages. I helped him tighten the straps, my fingers brushing his skin.
"Does it hurt?" I asked softly.
"Only when I breathe," he joked weakly. He caught my hand. "Elena. Tonight is going to be dangerous. Salvatore is Old School. He respects strength. If things go south... stay behind Rook."
"I'm done hiding behind people," I said, picking up a smaller, compact 9mm. I checked the chamber just like he taught me. "I shot the King, remember?"
Cassian looked at me with that same mixture of pride and terror. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
"I remember," he murmured. "I just wish you didn't have to be this strong."
"I have to be," I said, looking into his gold eyes. "Because I have something worth fighting for."
Rook cleared his throat loudly from the stairs.
'Lovebirds. Time to move.'
Cassian smirked. He grabbed a shotgun and racked the slide.
"Let's go start a war."
The mill was a rusting skeleton of industry, looming against the moonlit sky. Shadows stretched long and deep.
We pulled the truck into the main hangar. It was empty, save for a single black limousine parked in the center.
Four men in trench coats stood by the limo holding submachine guns.
"Stay in the car," Cassian told me.
"Not a chance," I said, opening my door.
We stepped out. Rook flanked Cassian on the right, his rifle raised. I stood on his left, my hand hovering near the gun tucked in my belt.
The back door of the limo opened.
Don Salvatore stepped out. He was an older man, maybe sixty, with a thick gray beard and a cane. But he didn't look frail. He looked like a boulder that had weathered a thousand storms.
He walked forward, leaning on his cane, stopping ten paces away.
"Vance," Salvatore nodded. He looked at Cassian's pale face and the way he favored his left side. "You look like hell."
"I've had better weeks," Cassian replied smoothly.
"And this," Salvatore turned his dark eyes to me, "is the girl worth twenty million dollars."
I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. "My name is Elena."
"Elena Morell," Salvatore corrected. "The lost princess."
"Elena Vance," Cassian cut in, his voice sharp. "She isn't a Morell anymore."
Salvatore raised an eyebrow. He looked between us, sensing the dynamic. A slow smile spread across his face.
"I see," he rumbled. "It isn't just business, is it?"
"Do we have a deal, Salvatore?" Cassian pressed. "Or did you bring me here to collect the bounty?"
Salvatore tapped his cane on the concrete floor. Clack. Clack.
"I hate Vittorio," Salvatore admitted. "He has no honor. But I need proof. You say you have files? Show me."
Cassian nodded to me.
I reached into my bra—the safest place I had—and pulled out the USB drive. I held it up.
"It's all here," I said, my voice echoing in the cavernous space. "Police reports. Bank transfers. Video of him murdering my mother."
Salvatore took a step forward.
"Give it to me."
"No," Cassian said. "You get the drive when Vittorio is dead."
Salvatore chuckled. "You want me to kill a sitting Governor based on a promise?"
"I want you to provide the distraction," Cassian said. "You attack the Rossi strongholds. You draw their forces away. Rook and I will kill Vittorio ourselves."
"A suicide mission," Salvatore mused. "I like it."
Suddenly, a red laser dot appeared on Salvatore's chest.
Then another on Cassian's forehead.
"GET DOWN!" Rook roared, shoving me behind a concrete pillar.
CRACK-THWOOM!
A sniper shot echoed through the mill.
Don Salvatore spun around, his shoulder exploding in red mist. He fell to the ground.
"It's an ambush!" Cassian shouted, returning fire into the rafters.
But the shots weren't coming from Salvatore's men. Salvatore's men were dropping too.
From the shadows of the upper catwalks, figures repelled down on ropes. They wore black tactical gear with a specific insignia on their shoulders.
A red wolf.
The Rossi Family Crest.
And walking out from the shadows of the loading dock, clapping his hands slowly, was a young man with a cast on his wrist and a cruel smile.
Luca.
"So predictable," Luca laughed, his voice amplifying over the gunfire. "Did you really think you could have a secret meeting in my city without me knowing?"
He looked at Cassian, then at Salvatore bleeding on the floor.
"Dad sent me to clean up the trash," Luca sneered. "Kill them all. But leave the girl. I want her alive."