Morning light pooled through the cracked skylight as the hideout yawned awake. Most of the team still slept in that limbo between exhaustion and watchfulness — curled on crates, curled on chairs. Emma found Valeria at the small table, cleaning a blade with the same distracted grin she always wore when she pretended nothing was wrong.
Emma sat down without ceremony and didn't waste time with small talk. Her voice was low, deliberate.
"Valeria," she said. "I need you. As my bodyguard."
Valeria blinked, then laughed—short, surprised. "Me? Your bodyguard? I thought I was more 'chaos on two legs.'"
Emma's face didn't change. "You're fast, you move with noise and you scare people who should be scared. I want that on my side. I don't want anyone else here in the room for what I'm about to do."
Valeria's smile faded as the seriousness cut in. "What's up? More Vencor-sicko business?"
Emma told her, but only the parts she chose: Shadow had come last night, unarmed. He'd brought an invitation to a network of women — older, experienced, organized killers who targeted gangs. The meeting: discreet, neutral, possible leverage to find Vencor. Emma had decided to go and she wanted Valeria at her shoulder.
She left out the confession Shadow had made about her father. She never mentioned that. The omission sat like an iron coin in the middle of her decisions — necessary, private, poisonous.
Valeria listened, face shifting from amused to alert. She tapped the table once, thinking. "You sure you don't want more than a guard? You always play solo like you're afraid of attachments."
Emma's reply was blunt. "I don't want the theater. I want someone who moves when I give the signal. You stand close, you don't talk to them unless I ask, and you get me out if it goes sideways. No heroics, no posing. Understand?"
Valeria's grin curled back on, sharper now. "So… be my boss, I be your sword. Got it." She slid the cleaned blade into her belt and stood. "When do we go?"
"Tonight," Emma said. "Neutral house. No cameras. Carlo will scrub our tracks for the route. Don't tell anyone. Not Diana, not Kane not Mostang. Not until I say."
Valeria's eyes hardened at the secrecy, then flicked to Emma. "You sure it's safe to keep Diana out? She's our anchor."
Emma's jaw tightened for a heartbeat. "This is small. Low profile. If it works, we bring them into White World. If it doesn't, I don't want anyone else caught."
Valeria nodded once, accepting the risk like she accepted a blade's weight. "Fine. For you." She smacked her palm against Emma's shoulder—an odd, rough promise. "We move tight. I watch your back."
Emma allowed a sliver of something close to gratitude. "Dress for a meeting. Not like a knife show. Blend in. Leave the loud colors. If they test you, don't bite — you hold until I say otherwise."
Valeria snorted. "You act like I don't have manners."
"Then don't prove me wrong," Emma said.
They stood, the map between them and the day's light sliding across it. Carlo would route their movements. The team still slept, unaware of the notch of secrecy that had just appeared. Valeria adjusted her jacket, checked her knife one more time, and slipped a small comm-bead into her ear.
"As long as you buy me a better jacket after this," Valeria teased.
Emma allowed the smallest ghost of a smile. "We'll see."
They left the hideout together that night as two shadows — one blade and one mind — moving toward a meeting that could change everything.
The black car rolled to a stop in front of a large, old-fashioned manor that looked both elegant and dangerous — its stone walls covered in ivy, windows tinted black, and the faint hum of security systems hidden beneath its beauty. The night was quiet, but it carried a weight. You could almost feel that the place had seen blood before.
Emma stepped out first. The car door shut behind her with a clean click.
She was dressed in a sharp black suit — skirt cut to the knee, jacket fitted perfectly to her shape, and a white shirt beneath it. Her hair was down, brushing her shoulders, the wind tugging at the strands as she stood beneath the manor's lights. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were sharp — black, focused, unreadable.
Valeria stepped out next — wearing a dark crimson formal jacket and black pants. She still had that wild edge to her look, but tonight she was composed, like a predator waiting to move. Her presence next to Emma felt like controlled chaos.
They walked together toward the entrance, heels echoing across the polished stone.
At the large double doors stood a massive man — at least 6'6, shoulders like a wall, dressed in a suit that could barely contain his build. His expression was flat, but the instant he saw Emma, something in his posture changed.
He tilted his head slightly and asked in a deep, rumbling voice:
"Vencor's Legacy?"
Emma didn't flinch. She just looked up at him and nodded once.
"Yes."
Without another word, the man straightened, pressed his earpiece once, and then opened the heavy door. The sound of the hinges echoed like a signal — she's here.
Emma stepped inside first. Valeria followed quietly, eyes scanning the interior.
The room was massive — an elegant hall draped in crimson and gold. A long oval table dominated the center, made of dark oak, polished to a mirror shine. Around it sat eight women, each distinct, each radiating danger in a different flavor.
One was tall and pale, with long silver hair tied back and a scar crossing her cheek — she looked like a commander from an old war.
Another wore a white suit and held a cigarette delicately between her fingers, her eyes sharp like a viper's.
A woman with long dreadlocks sat lazily at the end of the table, golden rings on her fingers — watching Emma as if studying prey.
Next to her, one with blood-red lipstick and short black hair smirked slightly, crossing her legs.
Others varied — one in her forties with an eyepatch and calm composure, another with tattoos trailing down her neck, another dressed elegantly as if she belonged in a royal court, and one with cold eyes that never blinked.
They were all beautiful, yes — but in that predator's way. You could sense power, experience, and blood in the air.
As Emma entered, all eight turned their attention to her.
The air shifted.
Even the faint hum of electricity seemed to pause.
The silver-haired woman — clearly the leader — leaned slightly forward.
Her voice was deep, steady, and commanding.
"So... the Phantom of Hell finally walks through our door."
Emma stopped a few steps away from the table. Her posture didn't break.
"You called me," she said calmly.
The red-lip woman smirked. "And you actually came. The ghost herself. We didn't think you existed outside the rumors."
Valeria's eyes moved across them silently, watching hands, exits, weapons. But she didn't speak — not until Emma did.
The silver-haired woman stood.
She approached slowly, her heels soft against the marble floor, and stopped right in front of Emma — close enough to see her reflection in Emma's black eyes.
"You killed half of Vencor's lieutenants on your own."
"You stole millions from his accounts."
"You survived when he wanted you buried."
Then she leaned slightly closer.
"Tell me, Emma Elarat — are you here for vengeance... or purpose?"
The room stayed silent.
Eight dangerous women waiting.
Valeria's hand hovered near her side, just in case.
Emma looked directly into the leader's eyes.
Her tone was low. Controlled. Unshaken.
"Both."
And for the first time, a faint smile appeared on the silver-haired woman's face.
"Good answer," she said softly.
She turned to the others.
"Ladies… welcome the Phantom of Hell."
The women at the table slowly began to stand — one by one — each giving Emma a look of approval, challenge, or respect.
The meeting had just begun.
Chapter end