The power of maternal love really is something else—it can make a killer put down her weapons, walk away from the underworld, and trade all of it for a quiet, safe life for her child.
If Luca remembered correctly, the place where the Female Bruce Lee went into hiding was somewhere out West—Texas, maybe Mexico, or Nevada—somewhere surrounded by endless desert and open wilderness. Of course, things might have shifted a bit from the original timeline.
That so-called "retirement," though, came as a buy-one-get-one-free tragedy. She was pregnant with Bill's child, trying to start over with a new life and a new man, only for her ex to show up at her doorstep and wipe out her entire family. Brutal. Tragic. Almost like demonic in how cruel it was.
So… was she still in Vegas?
"Why do you keep asking about her?" Elle Driver shot back, her tone laced with sarcasm. "You've met her once, and she's already got someone she's into."
Luca shook his head. He wasn't interested in playing the fool—he just wanted the skill set. Thinking about that Five Thunder Heart-Piercing Palm, he said, "I'm focused on the Vegas bounty. If the Black Mamba helps, even better. Buddy's already a dead man walking. Can you reach her for me? Ask if she's taking the job."
Elle pulled out her phone and made the call. After a brief exchange, she hung up and looked at Luca with a teasing smirk. "She said no."
"Not even for a million?" Luca frowned slightly. "I can add more on top."
"It's not about money," Elle replied. "If she doesn't want to do it, she won't. The only person who can make her move is Bill."
That pretty much confirmed Luca's suspicion—the Female Bruce Lee are likely pregnant and already thinking about getting out. Refusing money like that wasn't something a professional assassin did unless they were done with the life.
Fine. Let her retire. If she wasn't stepping in, someone else would.
Right now, Luca's real concern was how to deal with Sparazza in Los Angeles. He'd already sent Leon to scout things out—if an opportunity showed up, they'd act immediately; if not, they'd regroup and figure something else out.
The problem was, Sparazza wasn't just sitting around unguarded. The FBI had eyes on him, wired the place, the whole package. Killing him under that kind of surveillance wasn't going to be easy.
"How long are you staying in L.A. this time?" Elle asked.
"At least until Mathilda starts school next month," Luca replied. "It's not often I come out West—I'll stick around a bit."
Between dealing with Sparazza, cleaning up the robbery situation, and stabilizing the gas-tax operation, his plate was already full.
Right then, Mathilda came running over from the beach, barefoot, carrying a surfboard. "Luca, can you surf?"
Before he could answer, Elle jumped up, grabbed her, and grinned. "Surfing's easy. I'll teach you."
With that, she dragged Mathilda off toward the waves.
Luca leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, letting the sun wash over him. For once, things were quiet. Peaceful.
That night, Beverly Hills.
The old guard of the Los Angeles family clearly knew how to live. Mansions, luxury, celebrities, models—they had it all. Compared to the buttoned-up seriousness of New York, the West Coast crowd preferred to mix business with pleasure.
The moment Luca arrived, he was pulled straight into a lavish party. Models in bikinis, actresses from Hollywood—it was a full-on spectacle.
By the pool, Milano handed him a few photos. "These are the robbers."
Luca glanced through them. Blurry shots—clearly taken from street surveillance. Four figures, all masked. One had long hair, but the build didn't look female.
That didn't match Mia.
He frowned slightly. Hard to confirm anything from this.
"Any clearer shots?"
"That's all we've got," Milano said, shaking his head. "This one wasn't even gasoline—they hit a different shipment, electronics this time. Now it's not just us. The Teamster from another brach local is complaining too."
Luca didn't respond right away. One thing he was sure of—Toretto's crew had definitely been involved. Now it was just a matter of getting Brian to dig deeper. If they could be persuaded to stop, great. If not… he'd have to handle it the hard way.
After wrapping up the business talk, Luca casually brought up Sparazza again. Despite the number of bosses present tonight, the old man was nowhere to be seen.
"His condition's bad," Milano said, glancing toward the pool. "Can barely walk. Even if you put a dozen naked models in front of him, he wouldn't have the strength to care. Hopefully Buddy's heart fixes that. If he dies, the family's going to be unstable for a while."
Luca already knew the answer, but he played along. "Buddy's a match?"
Milano smirked. "You know what Buddy is to him?"
"…?"
"Illegitimate son."
Milano let out a cold laugh. "Back when Sparazza was working girls in Vegas, he fathered that useless kid. If not for blood, why would he back him like that?"
Like father, like son. One wanted the post. The other wanted the son's heart to stay alive.
Milano knew part of the story—but not the whole truth. He didn't know Sparazza's real identity. Very few did. After defecting from the FBI, his records were buried deep. Decades later, only top brass even knew he existed.
In the original timeline, even the agents involved had no idea at first. Only after digging through old files did they uncover the truth—and change the plan entirely. Protecting Buddy became secondary; saving Sparazza became the real objective.
After all, a decades-long undercover asset at that level was worth far more.
Unfortunately for them, Luca had no intention of letting that happen.
Meanwhile, a hospital in Las Vegas.
Sparazza lay in bed, gaunt and pale, his face hollowed by illness. His eyes, cloudy with age, still clung to a desperate flicker of life.
Even if it meant sacrificing his own son.
A subordinate leaned in. "Boss, the contract's active. We've added a 24-hour limit. They'll have Buddy's heart for you soon."
Sparazza could only nod weakly.
Downstairs, an unmarked FBI surveillance van sat parked nearby. Inside, agents monitored everything—audio feeds, movement, all of it.
Not far away, around the corner, Leon stepped out of a convenience store, a carton of milk in hand. He glanced at the van, then up at the hospital, before quietly walking off.
"The FBI's all over the place," Leon reported over the phone later. "Plenty of guards inside too. He hasn't left the hospital once—we don't have a clean shot."
That made things complicated. Sparazza was too weak to move, meaning the only way to reach him was inside the ward itself.
"Could we pose as doctors?" Luca asked.
"Too risky. Everyone going in and out gets checked."
"Keep watching," Luca said. "Don't let him slip."
After ending the call, Luca studied the photos in his hand.
Two targets: Buddy… and Sparazza.
Both had to die. Sparazza came first—but he wasn't accessible yet.
After a moment, Luca picked up the phone again.
"Arthur, change of plans."
The next morning, Luca called Brian to check on Toretto's situation.
"Dove, something came up—I'm not in L.A. right now," Brian said apologetically. "I went back to Barstow. Visiting some old friends—they're racers too. They can help us deal with those robbers."
Barstow.
Right—Brian did have a talkative childhood friend there. That guy even ended up joining Toretto's crew later.
In that case, Luca decided not to interfere.
On the road to Las Vegas.
Brian ended the call, then turned to the FBI agents riding with him.
"So," he said, exhaling lightly, "how exactly do you need me to cooperate? Let's make it quick—I've got to get back to Los Angeles."
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Tomorrow is my day off as well, cos i take overtime shift at Saturday