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Billy limped into the dimly lit dive bar, his arm still wrapped in a thick cast.
Three months had passed and the bone was almost healed, but keeping the cast on felt like smart insurance. The place was packed with core members of the Castro crew. The air was thick with tension — the kind that made Billy's gut scream that something ugly was about to happen.
"Mike, what the hell is going on?" he asked, spotting a familiar face.
Mike had been part of the crew that raided the Bonanno estate and caught multiple charges. Frank Castro had bailed him out — only because Antonio Costa had promised to cover the cost. That promise died when the Bonannos executed Antonio for betrayal. The unpaid debt was exactly why Frank had been tearing his office apart in a blind rage for weeks.
Mike leaned in, voice low. "No idea. Frenchie sent out an emergency summons. Said it was mandatory, so here I am."
Billy frowned. The other lieutenants wore the same tight, anxious expressions. His own panic started to rise.
Minutes later, Frank Castro walked through the front door wearing dark sunglasses.
"Hey! Beautiful weather today, right? How's everyone feeling?" His tone was deceptively light.
A few nervous replies muttered back.
Then Frank's face twisted. The easy smile vanished, replaced by cold, murderous rage.
"Because I'm fucking pissed!"
The bar went dead silent.
Frank was pushing sixty, not tall, not built like a heavyweight, but the raw violent authority rolling off him froze every man in place. He slowly swept his gaze across the room.
"I bet you're all wondering why I dragged you here today. Let me make it simple. Today, I'm executing a rat. Frenchie — bring him out!"
Frenchie dragged a young guy — about Billy's age — out from the back and threw him onto the floor.
The kid was in bad shape. Covered in blood, fingers bent at sickening angles, leaking from multiple stab wounds. He'd clearly been tortured for hours.
Billy's blood ran ice cold. He knew this guy. They were both mid-level enforcers. They'd worked jobs together. Billy had no idea the kid was wearing a wire.
Frank stepped forward and planted his hard leather shoe directly on one of the open wounds.
"You all know this piece of shit? James Orlanden."
No one spoke. Frank didn't care.
"DEA. Federal Drug Enforcement. Gotta admit, that one actually surprised me."
He ground his heel down, putting his full weight into it. James screamed in raw agony. Frank just kept twisting.
Not a single man dared show sympathy. In this life, pity got you killed next. Billy clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached and locked his knees to stop himself from shaking.
After enjoying the show, Frank casually drew his pistol and put a bullet through James Orlanden's skull.
Bang.
The gunshot hit Billy like a punch to the chest. His lungs seized. A dark pool of blood and brain matter spread across the sticky floor. The violent warning made it hard to breathe.
Frank looked around, clearly satisfied with the terror he'd created.
"Whether you're an undercover cop or a confidential informant, this is how your story ends."
He started to holster the gun, but a cell phone suddenly rang.
"Fuck! Whose phone is that?!" Frank roared.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea, leaving Billy standing completely alone, frantically digging into his pocket.
"Billy? Bring it here. Now."
"Mr. Castro, it's just the hospital—"
"I said bring me the fucking phone!"
Billy swallowed hard and stepped forward. Frank snatched it, answered on speaker, and stared straight into Billy's eyes.
"Hello, Mr. Costigan? You were scheduled for your final post-op checkup today. Is everything alright?"
Frank kept his gaze locked on Billy as he replied into the phone.
"Sorry, Doc. Mr. Costigan is tied up today. He can't make it."
"Oh, that's a shame. I'm booked solid for the next two days. If he wants that checkup, he'll have to wait until next week."
"I'll pass the message along."
Frank hung up. Then, without breaking eye contact, he smashed the phone on the floor and stomped it until the casing shattered. He crouched, sifting through the pieces looking for a transmitter.
Finding nothing, his eyes slowly drifted up to Billy's cast.
Before Billy could react, Frank grabbed his arm, slammed it against the edge of a table, and smashed it down again and again until the plaster exploded.
The bone hadn't fully healed. Under the brutal impacts it snapped with a sickening crack, twisting into a grotesque angle.
Frank inspected the broken arm. No wire. He glanced at the thin gauze around Billy's leg — too thin to hide anything.
Satisfied, Frank patted the pale, hyperventilating Billy on the shoulder, pulled a thick wad of cash from his money clip, and stuffed it into Billy's good hand.
"Take this. Go see a doctor. And buy yourself a new phone."
Frank turned back to the terrified crew.
"I'll say it one last time. If I find a rat, I will end them. Meeting adjourned. Mike, get Billy to a hospital."
"Y-yes, Mr. Castro!"
By the time Billy left the bar, his legs were jelly. Mike practically had to pour him into the passenger seat.
It wasn't just the agony of the re-broken arm. It was the pure terror of nearly being exposed. Watching the DEA agent get his brains blown out, then hearing his own phone ring seconds later — Billy had genuinely thought his heart would stop. Thank God it really was the doctor and not his handler, Captain Queenan.
"Jesus, Billy, you okay?" Mike asked, pulling away from the curb.
"Fuck, Mike! Do I look okay?!"
"Alright, alright, I'm taking you to the ER. Man, what a nightmare. I never would've guessed James was a fed. The guy was as dirty as the rest of us. Billy, what the hell does a real undercover even look like?"
Billy didn't answer. He just leaned his head against the window, clutching his shattered arm, mind drifting far away while Mike kept rambling.
---
After getting the full rundown on the Irish mob situation from Sean, Lawson finally walked out of the FBI Field Office.
He fired off a quick text to Brian to set up a meeting later, then called Svafa to let her know he was officially back on the West Coast. She didn't hesitate — she told him to come straight to her apartment.
It was only 1:00 p.m. Plenty of time before his date with Blake tonight. Lawson fired up the Dodge Viper and headed toward Beverly Hills.
But when he stepped into Svafa's luxury apartment, he got a massive surprise.
"Sofia? What are you doing here?"
Lawson was genuinely caught off guard. He hadn't expected to see Sofia Bonanno sitting in Svafa's living room. During his occasional monitored calls from Quantico, she had never mentioned this.
Svafa leaned against the counter, looking incredibly smug.
"Sofia reached out to me through Eva. We had a very… enlightening conversation."
Lawson looked at Sofia's deadpan face and felt completely set up. "So why didn't either of you tell me?"
"Because Sofia wanted to see the look on your face," Svafa smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos.
Lawson shot Svafa a dangerous look, grabbed her by the waist, and let his eyes promise payback later. Svafa just gave him a sultry, challenging stare right back, daring him to try.
He let her go and sat down across from Sofia.
"Alright, Sofia. Where's your head at?"
The second he sat down, Sofia's icy mask shattered. All the rehearsed lines vanished.
"I… I can't leave you!" she choked out, tears spilling as she threw herself into his arms. "I couldn't have survived any of this without you!"
Ever since the Bonanno takedown, Lawson had been her rock. The thought of losing him terrified her.
"Hey, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere unless you want me to," Lawson said gently, rubbing her back until the sobs eased.
Once she was steady, Svafa walked over and patted her shoulder.
"See, Sofia? Instead of crying, you should help me inspect him — make sure he hasn't been eating out while he was away."
Lawson stared at Svafa in disbelief. "Wait… are you two actually serious right now?"
Sofia's cheeks flushed deep crimson. It was obvious the two women had reached some kind of private agreement while he was gone.
The former Mafia widow grabbed Lawson by the collar, eyes turning predatory. "She's right. We need to thoroughly interrogate this bad boy."
The truth was, right before his flight out of Virginia, Chief Instructor Peggy had wrung him dry on the sparring mats — which was why he'd slept like the dead on the plane. But thanks to the Iron Man Trump Card's insane recovery, he was already fully recharged.
Knowing he only had Blake's fragile stamina to deal with tonight, Lawson decided to play along. He threw his hands up, pretending to be helpless and cornered.
His "surrender" ignited both women. For the next two hours they aggressively teamed up, trying to completely dismantle him.
But as the saying goes: the most lethal hunters often disguise themselves as prey.
Lawson's strategic retreat quickly turned into a devastating counter-offensive. Two hours later, both women were completely spent, and Lawson stood victorious over the wreckage.
"Svafa, you figure out who's boss yet?"
"I submit! I submit! Lawson, please, I'm begging you — let me sleep!"
"Sofia? What about you?"
"I'm sorry! I'll never team up on you again!"
After delivering a deeply satisfying, high-energy lesson, Lawson stared at the ceiling, feeling refreshed. It had been an absolute war, and he'd loved every second.
The only downside was the clock. It was already pushing 5:00 p.m.
"Sofia, Svafa, I've got business tonight. I won't be back."
Neither woman answered. They were both in a localized coma. Even when Lawson playfully slapped Svafa on the hip, she just groaned and buried her face deeper into the pillows.
Smiling, he left a quick note on the nightstand, took a shower, and headed out to pick up Blake.
---
By the time the Viper pulled up to Caltech, Blake was already waiting by the entrance.
"Sorry I'm late," Lawson said, leaning over to open the door. "Just got back into town today. Had a lot of 'company' business to catch up on. You been waiting long?"
"No, I just got here."
Before she climbed in, Blake nervously glanced over her shoulder, scanning the campus.
Lawson's instincts flared. He casually checked the mirrors. "Blake… is your dad spying on you again?"
"What? No! I haven't heard from my dad in months. Mom said he got deployed on a long-term mission."
Lawson quietly exhaled. After surviving Quantico and mastering elite CQB, Ray Gaines no longer physically intimidated him. But dealing with his hyper-protective future father-in-law was still a massive headache.
"Alright. Where to tonight?"
"Bubba Gump Shrimp Co.! Do you remember it?"
"Of course. Their shrimp is incredible."
The quality of a dinner date depends entirely on the company. If Ray Gaines had been sitting across from him, Lawson would have lost his appetite. But with Blake looking at him like he was the only man on earth, the food tasted like a Michelin-star meal.
After paying the check, Lawson looked over at her. "What's the plan for the rest of the night?"
"Lawson, I don't want to go anywhere else. Let's just go straight back to your apartment."
"Why the rush?"
"Did you forget? I told you on the phone I had a little surprise waiting for you!"
Lawson raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. "Blake, you aren't trying to jump-scare me, are you? It's nowhere near Halloween."
"No way! Just wait until we get inside. You'll see!"
Thirty minutes later, Lawson parked the Viper. As they walked up to the front door, Blake suddenly stopped him and pulled a thick silk blindfold from her purse, tying it securely over his eyes.
"Blake, is this really necessary?"
"Just trust me! I promise this is a surprise you'll never forget!"
"Alright, Blake. But if I don't remember this for the rest of my life, I'm making sure you remember my revenge."
Lawson stepped into the apartment. It was pitch black. Blake hadn't turned on any lights, and she immediately closed the door behind them, cutting off the hallway light.
"Blake? Are we doing this or what?"
No answer.
Instead, in the total darkness, a pair of highly unfamiliar hands reached out and slowly began unbuttoning his shirt.
---