January 2, 2026 – Chicago Port Container Yard Time: 02:45
Chicago Port stood like a vast metal graveyard in the darkness of the night. Fog from Lake Michigan drifted like a ghost between the containers. Michael, dressed in black tactical gear, watched Luca's delivery point through his night vision goggles.
Right beside him, Ivy held her breath, glancing at Michael's profile. The unwavering calm on Michael's face, the faint smell of gunpowder and leather reaching her nose... Ivy felt the professional journalist inside her slowly retreat. When Michael bit his lip slightly as he planned his next move, Ivy's heart beat at an uncontrollable rhythm.
"Are you ready?" Michael asked. His voice was barely a whisper, but it echoed like thunder in Ivy's ears.
"I'm ready," Ivy said, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. "I've installed the signal jammer. Luca's men can't communicate with the outside world."
Michael glanced at Ivy for a moment. There was neither appreciation nor emotion in his eyes; only the coldness of an operator calculating his next move. "Good. If things go south, get in the car without looking back and leave this place. Don't wait for me."
Ivy grabbed Michael's arm. A strange chill ran through her when her fingers felt the hard muscles beneath the fabric. "I'm not leaving you here, Michael. This isn't just a story anymore."
Michael pulled his arm away slowly but firmly. "Don't get sentimental, Ivy. Sentimentality kills faster than a bullet."
When Michael disappeared into the darkness of the containers, Ivy remained where she stood. Michael Hale wasn't just a man; he was the destructive, uncontrollable fire Ivy had been searching for her entire life, ready to burn everything. And Ivy realized in that moment that she had long since accepted burning in that fire.
Time: 03:15
Shipping Yard – Warehouse 4
The warehouse was filled with illegal weapons and drugs Luca had brought from Europe. After Enzo's death, Luca had doubled security. About fifteen armed men patrolled among the pallets.
Michael watched from above, through the ventilation pipes in the ceiling. Just as his father had taught him:Not force against force, but chaos against intelligence.
He remotely detonated the small explosive he had placed in the warehouse's electrical panel.
BOOM!
Panic broke out in the warehouse, which was plunged into darkness with a loud bang. As Luca's men shouted and fired randomly, Michael glided down from above like a shadow. His silenced gun worked with deadly rhythm in the darkness.
Puff. Puff. Puff.
Every shot found its target. Michael watched his enemies' psychological collapse. The fear of those poor souls, colliding with each other, screaming, "Where are they shooting from!" was fuel for Michael.
Luca's voice rose from the darkness. "Hale! You coward! Come out!"
Michael threw a smoke grenade in Luca's direction and appeared right in front of him through the smoke. "Cowardice is for people like you who gather armies behind them, Luca. I'm just speeding up justice a little."
Luca emptied his automatic rifle at Michael's location, but Michael had already slipped behind a container.
Time: 03:45
Port Exit
Outside, sirens began to wail. Natalia and her team were approaching the port, following Ivy's "anonymous" tip.
Michael started a huge fire by blowing up the warehouse's fuel tanks. As the flames rose into the sky, the port was lit up as if it were daytime.
Michael's clothes were covered in soot when he finally got out of the burning warehouse. Ivy quickly pulled up next to him in the minibus. As Michael jumped in, Ivy immediately moved towards him with a wet towel in her hand.
"Are you hurt?" Ivy asked, her hands trembling as they moved across Michael's face. "My God, Michael, that was so dangerous."
Michael grabbed Ivy's hands firmly and pushed them away. "I'm fine, Ivy. Drive the car."
Ivy was once again captivated by Michael's reckless, death-defying attitude. The mixture of blood and soot on his face was more attractive to Ivy than any work of art in the world. She could have sold her journalist identity, her thirst for revenge, everything, for a single smile (or glance) from Michael at that moment.
As the minibus pulled away from the port, the fire behind them painted the Chicago skyline red.
Michael whispered:"The collection is burning, Asher. Are you watching?"