Elias Kane had learned two things in the desert — how to kill quietly and how to live with ghosts.
He used to believe wars ended when the guns stopped firing. They didn't. They just changed their names. Some became politics. Others became contracts. For men like him, they became work.
The military had trained him to survive anything — bullets, betrayal, loneliness. But it hadn't taught him what to do when the silence came afterward. The silence was worse. It was where the memories lived.
He'd been out for three years now, working security and private risk assessment. Clean jobs, on paper. But there was always something dirty hiding under the ink — powerful men wanting their sins contained, women paying for safety they'd never truly have. He wasn't proud of it, but pride didn't pay the bills.
They called him the quiet one in the field. Never raised his voice, never flinched, never got attached. But that didn't mean he didn't feel. It just meant he'd buried it deeper than anyone could reach.
That morning, when the call came from a man named Don Giovanni Russo, Kane already knew it wasn't about ordinary protection. He'd heard the name before — whispered in corners where law and order didn't reach. The kind of man whose money smelled faintly of gunpowder.
But the offer was simple: one client, one objective. Keep her safe.
No names, no background check, no questions. The pay – mouth watering.
He almost said no. Just kidding…he accepted the job the next morning.
And now, standing in front of the Don's study — surrounded by silence, oak walls, and the faint smell of old whiskey — Elias Kane realized something else:
Wars never really ended. They just found new battlefields.
"She doesn't know," Giovanni said quietly, swirling the whiskey in his glass, eyes flicking over Kane's face the way a man studies a chessboard.
"And she must never know. You'll protect her from them — and from me, if it comes to that."
Kane stood a few feet away, posture straight, hands clasped loosely behind his back. The amber light from the fireplace carved hard lines across his face — the kind that spoke of discipline, loss, and too many nights awake.
"Yes, sir," he said, voice calm, unreadable.
Giovanni's study was a dark world. Heavy drapes blocked out the Los Angeles sun, and the air carried the scent of oak, tobacco, and old secrets. Behind the desk, portraits of past Russos watched in silence — men who'd built an empire out of blood and loyalty.
"She thinks AM Crisis is her way out," Giovanni murmured, more to himself than to Kane. "A life away from my sins. But my world doesn't let you walk away so easily – not when it is built on bones and blood."
He lifted his gaze, sharp and assessing. "You've read her file?"
"Yes. Sofia Russo. 26 years old. CEO of AM Crisis Consulting. Graduated top of her class in Law and holds a PhD in public relations. Keeps her record clean, runs her business even cleaner."
Giovanni smirked faintly. "That's my girl."
For a moment, pride softened his face — then it was gone, replaced by steel. "There's been talk. The DiLorenzo family is making moves. They know I have enemies, and enemies know where to strike. If they can't touch me, they'll touch her."
Kane said nothing.
"She'll resist you at first," Giovanni continued. "She thinks she doesn't need protection. You'll work for her — quietly, under whatever title she believes. But your loyalty is to me. Do you understand?"
Kane nodded once. "I understand."
Giovanni studied him for a long, measured moment. "You served eight years in the Marines. Two tours. Discharged with honors. I was told you are a good man. In my line of work, such men do not exist."
The words landed like an accusation. Kane's jaw tightened. Giovanni was right, he was no "good" man. That word didn't sit right anymore. Not after all the blood he had shed – the things he had done for survival has stripped that word bare. Good was a currency he could not afford.
"Why take this job, Mr. Kane?" Giovanni asked finally. "Men like you don't do bodyguard work for strangers."
Kane met his gaze without flinching. "Let's just say, I've seen so many wars and I don't like seeing innocent people get caught in other people's wars."
Giovanni's eyes narrowed — suspicion written all over. "In as much as that sounded like complete bullshit, I'll choose to trust you – for now. My source said you were reliable. Don't ever think of crossing me, Kane. You would engage in a heart to heart with the people who did, in the afterlife."
Kane nodded, his face expressionless.
Giovanni raised his glass slightly. "Keep her safe. At all costs. And, no funny business. I trust we are on the same page?"
"Yes Sir."
The Don nodded once, satisfied. "My driver would take you to her office tomorrow morning. She's expecting you. Well, she thinks she is.
Kane inclined his head, and turned to leave.
"Mr Kane." The Don said, voice low but heavy with warning. "If anyone–anyone finds out who you really work for you'll be dead before sunrise. I'm watching you."