The dawn in Chicago was gray and merciless. Rain streaked the streets like ink, blurring neon lights and reflecting the chaos of the night before.
Luca DeRossi stood at the head of a sleek conference table in his private war room. The map of the city was spread before him. Red dots, blue dots, lines marking territories, escape routes.
Amara Volkov leaned against the wall, arms crossed, observing quietly. Her dark hair was pulled back, exposing the faint bruise on her arm from the sniper's grazing bullet. But her eyes were sharp. Analytical. Dangerous.
"They know we're alive," Luca said, voice low. "They expected us to panic. To scatter. They expected us to be weak."
Amara smirked faintly. "They also underestimated me."
Luca's gaze found hers. "You were a distraction."
"And?" she asked, tilting her head.
"And you're more useful alive than dead," he said simply. "For now."
Matteo had been replaced, Viktor dead, but the attackers' planning had clearly gone higher. Someone with resources. Someone patient. Someone who knew both Volkov and DeRossi.
"Here's what we do," Luca continued, tracing a route on the map. "We hit them before they regroup. Quick, clean. One location at a time. Their command. Their supply. Their men."
Amara stepped closer, fingers brushing the table. "We don't just hit them. We send a message. They know you don't forgive. Let's make sure they know neither do I."
Luca's jaw tightened. He liked that. Dangerous women weren't new. Women like Amara? Rare. Calculated. Deadly.
"Phase one," she said, pulling out a tablet. Images flashed across the screen. "This is the warehouse they're using as a forward base. Guns, ammo, intel. They leave tomorrow at 0600. I have access codes and schedules from a little surprise I planted last night."
He studied her carefully. "And Phase two?"
Her smile was faint. "Phase two is finding out who's actually pulling the strings. They didn't come for me. They came for both of us. Whoever benefits from that… they're dangerous. And they're hiding in plain sight."
Luca's fingers drummed on the table. "Then Phase two is mine. We take them out after the warehouse burns."
"Or," Amara countered, "we use the warehouse as bait. Watch who comes to protect it. That's how we find the mastermind."
He paused. "You just might be insane enough to be useful."
The plan was set.
By 5:45 AM, Luca, Amara, and a small team of elite DeRossi enforcers approached the warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Fog hugged the ground, muffling sounds.
Luca signaled. Amara pressed a small button on her wrist. Security cameras inside the warehouse flickered, then went dark. The intruders inside didn't notice yet—they thought the storm of last night had ended.
A single shot rang out from the roof. The first attacker dropped. Chaos erupted.
Amara moved like liquid shadow, precise, unstoppable, cutting off exits and forcing the enemy into the center. Luca was behind her, calculating, executing.
In minutes, the warehouse was under DeRossi control. Guns, ammo, and the surviving attackers were neutralized or captured.
But Luca noticed something on the surveillance monitors. A black SUV parked several blocks away. Someone watching. Someone patient. Someone waiting.
"She's still out there," Luca said, voice grim.
Amara followed his gaze. "And she's the one who pulled all the strings."
Luca's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
A whisper of a laugh, distorted through a masked voice over a comm device, cut the silence.
"Gentlemen," the voice said, cold and precise. "You've just walked into my game."
Luca clenched his fists. "Show yourself."
"I don't need to," the voice replied. "But you will see me soon enough. And when you do… only one of you will survive."
Amara's lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. "Well, Luca… looks like the real war is about to begin."
He looked at her, dark eyes burning. "Then we don't wait."
And somewhere in the shadows, the mastermind watched. Patient. Calculating. Ready.
Because the game had only just begun.