I fold my arms. "Good. Because we’re not coming through it."
Massimo’s gaze flicks to him. "You have an entry vector?"
"We do," Raf is back to his usual smugness. "Underground. Old infrastructure that they still rely on."
Massimo pauses, considering, the way a man does when a missing piece finally clicks into place. "That explains the power cycling," he says slowly. "We clocked a ninety-second fluctuation every hour. Thought it was a fault."
"It’s not," Oksana says. "It’s a door."
Massimo exhales once, sharp. "Then we stop circling each other."
He looks between us, voice cool and final. "I don’t care who claims which corpse. We can argue about spoils and grudges after my son is safe and their leverage is dust."
Just like that, the board locks into place.
I meet his gaze. "You get your boy. We get answers. And blood."
Oksana lifts her glass. "Efficient. I like it. Let’s retrieve the child and remove the men who thought this was clever."
Massimo stares at her again. Longer this time. Irritated. Calculating. And—damn it—impressed.
"…Fine," he mutters. "I’ll take the help."
I watch Massimo as he says it, hear what he doesn’t bother voicing. Men like him don’t share vengeance. They don’t subcontract it. And they sure as hell don’t walk away from anyone who puts hands on their blood. Aurelio and Silvestre didn’t just cross him; they took his son. That kind of debt doesn’t get split. It gets erased.
Massimo will want them both.
Not later. Not diplomatically. Completely.
But that’s a problem for later.
For now, we’re aligned. Temporary allies with overlapping targets and a shared deadline. Tonight, we get inside. Tonight, we take back what was stolen and burn their leverage to ash.
Once the Valverde men are in chains—or in the ground—then we can sort out whose war this really is.
And whose it becomes.
That night…
Night in Caracassettles like a velvet noose. Still. Heavy. Waiting.
We stand in the jungle-dark perimeter around Valverde’s hillside compound, a sprawling villa tucked between cliffs and palms, lit by mirrored pools and armed arrogance.
Or at least, itwaslit.
Until Sasha triggered the EMP.
A pulse ripples through the air, silent, invisible, but powerful enough to make every hair on my arms stand up. Within the blink of an eye, the entire estate goes black.
Lights die.
Cameras blink out.
Phones crash, all but ours, snug and safe in their little Faraday cases.
Security systems flatline.
Exactly like Aurelio did to Raf.
