The room is a graveyard of maps and coffee cups. Aurelio sits at the head of the table, Claudio and Emilio flanking him. The twins look roughed up but operational. Claudio has a cut above his eye that’s already been butterflied. Emilio is icing his ribs where the round hit his vest, grinning like he had the time of his life.
Aurelio doesn’t grin. His face is stone, eyes like steel.
“Eighteen mercenaries,” he says. “Professional. Well-equipped. Funded by someone with deep pockets.”
“Marco Castillo,” I say.
“Castillo doesn’t have this kind of money.” Aurelio taps a finger on the table. “Someone else is bankrolling this war. Someone we haven’t identified yet.”
The room goes quiet. There’s so much at stake. The shipping manifests, the gaps, the patterns Alexandra found. The third Tuesday. The off-books shipments.
“There’s a third player,” I say.
Aurelio nods. “That’s my suspicion. Someone funding them, equipping them with resources they shouldn’t have. Tonight wasn’t just a Castillo operation. It was a demonstration.”
“For us?”
“For us. For the city. For whoever’s watching.” He stands, moving to the map on the wall. “They wanted to prove they can reach us inside our own walls. The attack itself was secondary. The message was primary.”
I process this. “Renzo was feeding them everything. If the third player has access to that intelligence, they know more about us than the Castillo’s do.”
“Which is why Renzo is being dealt with tonight.” Aurelio’s voice doesn’t change, but anger darkens behind his eyes. “Carmelo is handling it.”
Renzo Marchetti, dead man walking. By dawn, there won’t be enough left to bury.
I push the thought aside. “What do you want me to do?”
“Find the third player. Use every resource we have. Pull financial records, communication intercepts, anything that traces the money behind tonight’s attack.” He pauses, studying me. “Use the girl, if she’s willing. She found Renzo when my analysts couldn’t. She might find this too.”
I nod. “I’ll brief her in the morning.”
“Leone.” Aurelio’s gaze holds mine. “This changes the war. We’re not fighting the old rivals anymore. We’re fighting whoever’s behind them, and we don’t know their face, their name, or their reach.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” He steps closer. “Because I need you sharper than you’ve ever been. No distractions. No divided attention. The next mistake could be our last.”
The worddistractionis sharp and unsettling. I know what he means.Whohe means.
“She’s not a distraction,” I say. “She’s an asset.”
Aurelio watches me for a long time. Then he nods, once, and turns back to the map. “Make sure it stays that way.”
I leave, but the conversation follows me down the corridor.
No distractions. No divided attention.
He’s right. I know he’s right. The smart move—the only move—is to lock Alexandra down, put her to work, and treat her like what she is: a tool. An analytical mind strapped to a body that happens to make my chest tight when she’s too close.
I pass the medical wing. Through the open door, I see one of our wounded soldiers. Dante, the kid who replaced Renzo, sitting on a gurney while a medic stitches a gash across his forearm. He’s twenty-two, twenty-three. Pale. Trying hard not to shake.
He sees me and straightens. “Sir.”
“At ease.” I step inside, scanning the wound. Deep, but clean. “You held the east gate.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good work.”
