Gunshots echoed through the cavernous space, followed by the distinctive pop of a flashbang grenade. My ears rang as we pressed forward, using massive shipping crates for cover.
"Two tangos, catwalk, your ten o'clock," Mateo warned.
I pivoted, dropping both men with four rapid shots. They tumbled from the walkway, crashing onto the concrete floor below.
"Bravo team, report status," I demanded, reloading without breaking stride.
Static crackled, then: "Three men down. They knew we were coming, boss."
Ice settled in my veins. Someone had warned Falco. Someone had betrayed us.
We encountered heavy resistance in the central corridor—four of Falco's men with automatic weapons. I ducked behind a forklift as bullets tore through the air, pinging off metal and concrete.
"Cover me," I ordered, then rolled to my right, firing in a controlled burst. Two men fell. Mateo took out the third. The fourth retreated behind a steel door, slamming it shut.
"Enzo, what's your position?" I barked into my comm.
"West corridor clear. Moving to rendezvous point alpha."
We pushed forward, room by room, hallway by hallway. Each empty space increased my dread. Where was she? What had they done to her?
A memory flashed—Sophie in the garden, sunlight catching her hair, that defiant tilt to her chin when she challenged me. The thought of Falco's hands on her made something primal rise in my chest.
"Movement ahead," Mateo warned, interrupting my thoughts.
Three more of Falco's men appeared at the end of the corridor. One carried an SMG, the others handguns. They opened fire immediately, forcing us back around the corner.
"Flashbang," I ordered.
Mateo pulled the pin and tossed the grenade. The explosion was followed by disoriented shouts. We rounded the corner, eliminating all three men in seconds.
"Nine down," Mateo counted. "At least six more, plus Falco."
We reached a heavy steel door with reinforced hinges. A keypad secured the lock—military grade. This had to be it.
"Breach charge," I said, extending my hand.
Mateo placed the shaped explosive in my palm. I set it against the electronic lock, stepped back, and triggered the detonator.
The door blew inward with a deafening crack. Through the smoke, I caught my first glimpse of her. Sophie was tied to a chair, face bruisedand bloody. At her feet lay Jonah's corpse, one of my former security team, a pool of blood already congealed beneath his still form.
"Clear!" I shouted, scanning for threats as I rushed to Sophie's side. Her eyes were unfocused, her breathing shallow. Fury, unlike anything I'd ever known, consumed me.
For a split second, I saw another face in her place—Livia’s.
Eyes wide. Body broken. Blood soaking the silk of her favorite dress.
Antonio had insisted it was a house bomb planted by a rival. Claimed she’d just been collateral.
But I’d read between the lines. Heard the note of indifference in his voice. And when I pressed, he showed no remorse. Not even a flicker of guilt. Just cold justification.
“She knew too much, Vittorio.”
That was all he said. As if that made it okay. As if her life had been a strategic expense.
I never forgot the way he looked at me after she died—calm, calculating. Like he'd removed an inconvenient variable.
From that day on, I vowed I would never be caught off guard again. Never let someone I cared about fall to someone else's ambition.
