Just checking in. Hope you're okay.
Be safe.
Something in my chest cracked open. Not broken. The opposite of it. Like something that had been locked tight for four years finally remembered how to feel again.
I wanted to respond, to tell her I was okay, but I didn't want to promise her something I might not be able to keep. I'd respond once the dust settled.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket, but the warmth stayed. She cared. Despite everything I'd done, all the ways I'd fucked this up, Ivy still cared whether I came back breathing.
That made surviving this clusterfuck non-negotiable.
"Ready?" Hughes asked.
I lifted my weapon. "Let's finish this."
We moved as a unit down the corridor, boots silent on concrete despite our pace. Years of training made it second nature. Hughes took point with two of his men while I covered the rear with Ivan and another of my people.
A door ahead burst open. Automatic fire sprayed the hallway.
I dove right, rolled behind a support column. Return fire came from Hughes' position, controlled bursts that forced the shooter back. I counted the rhythm of the enemy's shots. AK pattern. Thirty-round magazine. He was burning through it fast, panicked.
Amateur hour.
The shooting stopped. The click of an empty chamber.
I stepped out and put two rounds center mass before he could reload. He dropped.
"Clear," I called.
We pushed forward into what looked like a makeshift office. Desks overturned for cover, papers scattered everywhere, a safe standing open and empty. They'd already pulled their assets. Smart. But not smart enough to actually get away.
"Two more in the back," one of Hughes' men reported through the comms. "Barricaded in the storage room."
I moved toward the sound of voices. Angry Italian, the kind where you didn't need translation to understand the sentiment. They were arguing about whether to surrender or fight.
The decision got made for them when Ivan kicked the door in.
I swept in behind him, weapon up. Two men. One reaching for a gun on the table. The other already raising his hands.
"Don't," I said.
The first one froze. Smart.
"On your knees. Hands behind your head."
They complied. Hughes' men zip-tied them while I cleared the rest of the room. Nothing but boxes of cheap electronics and knock-off designer handbags. The Malatestas had been running penny-ante operations out of here, barely worth the real estate.
"Building's clear," Hughes said into his radio. "Six hostiles down, two in custody."
I holstered my weapon and pulled out my phone again. No new messages from Ivy.
I wanted to see her. Wanted it with an intensity that would've worried me a week ago. But I'd stopped fighting it somewhere between watching her almost get kidnapped and realizing I'd rather die than let anyone hurt her again.
"You good?" Ivan asked, eyeing me with the kind of knowing look that made me want to punch him.
"Fine."
"That the girl?"
