“Yes.”
The tactical team secures the room while I examine Diana more closely. The forehead wound is superficial, already clotting.
The wrist bruising looks worse than it probably is—capillary damage from restraints rather than breaks or sprains. No obvious signs of sexual assault or torture beyond the psychological impact of captivity itself.
She’s intact. Traumatized certainly, but physically whole in ways that could have been catastrophically different.
The relief intensifies into something protective and possessive that overrides tactical thinking. I pull off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders, the fabric hanging loose on her smaller frame but providing coverage the torn dress no longer offers.
“We’re leaving,” I tell the tactical lead.
He nods, already coordinating extraction routes through the comms.“Alpha team reports building secure. Two hostiles detained, three neutralized permanently. No civilian casualties.”
The body count is acceptable given the circumstances. Sartore will retaliate for tonight’s breach, but the immediate threat has been contained.
“Move out,” I order.
The tactical team forms protective formation around Diana and me, weapons trained outward as we navigate back through corridors now littered with evidence of the assault.Flashbang debris. Spent casings. Bodies we step over without acknowledging.
Diana stays close, one hand fisted in my shirt, her breathing controlled but rapid in a way that suggests adrenaline crash approaching. I keep my arm around her shoulders, guiding her over obstacles, maintaining contact that anchors us both.
We’re halfway to the exit when I hear labored breathing from one of the offices we’re passing.
I signal halt and move toward the sound, weapon raised again.
The office contains a man I recognize from intelligence files—Marco Delgado, Sartore’s third lieutenant, responsible for coordinating maritime logistics across the eastern seaboard. He’s slumped against the wall, hand pressed to his side where blood seeps between his fingers. The wound looks serious but not immediately fatal.
He sees me and tries to reach for the weapon lying two feet beyond his grasp. I step on it, pinning the pistol beneath my boot.
“Felix Rudenko,” he manages through gritted teeth. “Lorenzo said you’d come yourself. Said you couldn’t resist.”
“He was right.” I crouch to examine the wound—gunshot, through-and-through, bleeding steadily but not arterial. He’ll survive if he receives medical attention within the hour. “Where is Lorenzo?”
Marco laughs, the sound wet and pained. “You think I’m telling you anything?”
“I think you’re injured, abandoned by your people, and looking at either slow death from blood loss or federal custody that ends with decades in prison.” I holster my weapon and pullzip ties from my tactical vest. “Unless you provide information that makes keeping you alive worthwhile.”
His expression shifts, calculation replacing defiance. Sartore loyalty runs deep, but survival instinct runs deeper when you’re bleeding out in a warehouse your own people evacuated.
“What do you want to know?”
“Lorenzo’s location. Operating bases. Communication channels. Supply routes.” I secure his hands with the zip ties, tight enough to restrain but not cut circulation. “Everything you know about Sartore operations in the northeast corridor.”
“That’s—” He stops, breathing hard. “That’s organizational intelligence. Lorenzo will kill me if I talk.”
“Lorenzo abandoned you here to die or get captured.” I stand, gesturing for the tactical team to secure him. “I’m offering a third option. Cooperation in exchange for medical treatment and witness protection that keeps you breathing.”
Marco stares at me for a long moment, weighing options that have narrowed to survival through betrayal or death through loyalty.
“Get me a medic,” he says finally. “Then we’ll talk.”
The tactical lead signals for medical support while two team members lift Marco carefully. He groans but doesn’t resist, aware that cooperation is the only path forward that doesn’t end with him bleeding out on concrete.
Diana watches the exchange with an expression I can’t fully read. “You’re taking him alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
