Okay. Stay safe, Shadow.
Shadow. I told her my nickname for me, and she’s claimed it and says it with affection instead of fear. Like she’s tamed the monster, turned something dark into something she can laugh about.
But shadows can’t protect anything. They can only watch while the light gets extinguished.
The next three hours pass in a blur of preparation. Weapons checked, teams briefed, exit strategies mapped. Paulo coordinates the surveillance teams. Dante handles the tactical elements. Marco oversees the entire operation with the grim efficiency that’s made him invaluable.
The men who’ll be staying behind to guard Elena’s shop are given explicit instructions, anything moves toward Petals & Pines, you eliminate the threat first and ask questions never.
At eighteen hundred hours, Marco appears in my office doorway. “Teams are in position. We’re ready when you are.”
“Give me five minutes.”
He nods and retreats. Alone again, my fingers hover over my phone. One last text to Elena before walking into whatever tonight brings.
I meant what I said in your apartment. I’m falling for you too.
The response comes almost immediately:Past tense. I’ve already fallen.
Three words. Eight syllables. And they rearrange something fundamental in my chest, some piece of armor I’ve worn so long forgot it was there.
Then I’ll catch you.
Promise?
Promise.
The lie comes easy because what else can be done? Promise her safety in a world where safety doesn’t exist? Promise her a future when tomorrow might bring bullets or bombs or any number of creative ways Greco could choose to hurt me?
All I can be offer are lies wrapped in good intentions and the cold comfort that anyone who touches her will die screaming.
It will have to be enough.
Standing, the desk is cleared of everything except the blood-red poinsettia. One more look at Greco’s message, at the threat disguised as a gift, then the pot is lifted and carried to the window.
Thirty stories down, the city spreads out like a kingdom. My kingdom. Built on blood and fear and the weight of family legacy. Somewhere down there, Elena is closing her shop, maybe thinking about the soup she made, probably wondering why her mob boss boyfriend is being cagey about his evening plans.
She deserves better than this. Better than me.
But selfish men don’t give up what they want, and the Shadow has never been anything but selfish.
The window opens, bulletproof glass sliding aside to let in the December cold, and the poinsettia is dropped. It falls, pot and all, thirty stories down to shatter on the concrete below.
A message for a message.
You want to threaten what’s mine? Then watch what happens when The Shadow stops playing nice.
“Marco,” the call goes out without turning from the window. “Tell the teams we’re moving now. And Marco?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“No survivors at the drug house. No mercy. No quarter. They threatened her, so they all burn.”
His voice comes back hard with approval. “Understood.”
My men file out to their assigned vehicles, their designated targets, their roles in tonight’s carefully orchestrated violence. Soon it’s just me, alone with the city lights and the cold wind and the certainty that after tonight, there’s no going back.
Greco wanted a war? He’ll get one.
