19. Raiden
Chapter 19
Raiden
T he darkness before dawn has a certain stillness to it—a heavy, suffocating quiet that wraps around everything like a wool blanket. I stand under the dim glow of a street lamp with cold air biting at my exposed skin. My breath forms pale clouds that disappear into the night as I wait for Bash to arrive. It’s 3:27 a.m., and the city is asleep, oblivious to the chaos we’re about to unleash.
I glance at my watch and then down the empty street, scanning both directions for any sign of movement. The industrial lot we’re using as a rendezvous point is littered with rusted metal scraps and abandoned machinery, ghosts of productivity long forgotten. Skeletal remains of old forklifts and shipping containers loom in the darkness. The shadows stretch and twist, playing tricks on my eyes, making every pile of debris look like a crouching figure ready to pounce. I pull my jacket tighter around me, more out of habit than cold.
Footsteps echo behind me, the sound amplified by the concrete and metal surroundings. I turn to see Kristopher emerging from the shadows, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, shoulders hunched against the night air. The light catches a silver chain around his neck before he steps back into darkness, becoming little more than a silhouette against the industrial wasteland behind him.
“You’re early,” he remarks, stopping a few feet away from me.
“I could say the same about you,” I reply, tone flat as I watch his shadowy form for any sudden movements.
He shrugs a twitchy movement that makes the chain at his neck glint again. “Big day.”
“That it is.”
Silence settles between us. Kristopher rocks on his heels, his gaze darting around the empty lot like a caged animal before settling back on me.
“Have you talked to Lucrezia this morning?” he asks, his voice trying too hard to sound casual.
I arch an eyebrow, studying his shadowed features. “Of course I did. What’s it to you?” I ask.
Kristopher smirks, but there’s no humor in it, just a tight pulling of lips. “I’m just making conversation.” His fingers drum against his coat pocket, betraying his attempt at nonchalance.
“Well, save it. We’re not here to chat.” I shift my weight, making it clear this line of questioning ends now. The less said about Lucrezia, the better.
He mutters something under his breath, but I let it slide. No point in picking a fight before the job even starts.
Headlights sweep across the lot as a black SUV pulls up. The vehicle’s engine idles with a low purr before cutting out. Bash steps out, his massive frame casting a long shadow in the dim light. He’s a mountain of a man with a thick beard streaked with gray and dark, calculating eyes that miss nothing.
“Drake,” he greets me with a nod, then glances at Kristopher with barely concealed suspicion. “This him?”
“Just the errand boy,” I say, ignoring Kristopher’s sharp intake of breath behind me. “You got the package?”
Bash opens the back door of the SUV and pulls out a nondescript black duffel bag. The zipper catches briefly on the fabric as he adjusts his grip. He hands it to me, his expression serious, his weathered face creasing with concern. “Everything you asked for. Handle with care. And make damn sure this doesn’t trace back to either of us.”
“Always do.” I grip the duffel’s strap, feeling the weight of its contents. In my hands, I hold the bomb that’s going to up-end the entire Midwest.
Bash’s gaze shifts between Kristopher and me, lingering longer on my companion. He remembers when Kris was a member of the Destroyers a few years back. He didn’t trust him then; I can see in his eyes that he doesn’t trust him now. “You sure about this? This isn’t exactly your usual kind of job.” The unspoken truth: it’s usually Bash’s kind of job, since he heads up the arms division of the Destroyers MC.
“I’ve never been more sure,” I reply, meeting his gaze.
Bash hesitates for a moment, then claps a hand on my shoulder. “Watch your back.”
“Will do.” I shrug off his touch.
Without another word, Bash gets back into his black SUV and drives off, leaving us alone once more. I sling the bag over my shoulder, adjusting the strap when it digs into my collarbone, and turn to Kristopher. “Let’s get moving.”
He stares at the bag, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing fascination that makes my skin crawl. “Finally,” he murmurs, voice thick with an emotion I don’t want to identify. “She’ll see what I’m willing to do for her.”
I stop dead in my tracks, my boots scraping against the pavement at the abrupt halt. “What did you just say?”
Kristopher blinks, feigning innocence with the skill of a practiced liar. “Nothing.”
I step closer, close enough to smell his cologne. “Listen, this isn’t some grand gesture to win her over. We’re here to do a job—a dangerous one. Don’t lose sight of that.” My words come out as a low growl of warning. If he doesn’t realize how serious this is, he’ll wind up getting us all killed.
But Kristopher just smirks, the expression twisting his handsome features into something ugly. “Jealous, Drake?” The taunt hangs in the air between us like poison.
My patience snaps like a frayed rope. I grab him by the collar, bunching the expensive fabric between my fingers, and yank him forward until our faces are inches apart. The smirk falters as his breath catches. “I don’t give a damn about your sick fantasies. You screw this up, and I’ll make sure you regret it in ways that’ll keep you up at night. Got it?”
His smile doesn’t waver, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—fear, maybe. “Touchy, aren’t we?”
“Answer the question.” I tighten my grip, making sure he feels every ounce of pressure behind my words.
“Fine,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. A nervous laugh escapes his throat. “I got it. Message received, loud and clear.”
I release Kristopher with a shove that sends him stumbling back. “Good. Now move.”
We walk in tense silence to where my bike is parked. Lucrezia waits there, leaning against it with a calm that borders on eerie, her posture relaxed but ready. She’s dressed in black from head to toe like a shadow made flesh, her hair pulled back tightly in a severe bun that accentuates her sharp features, eyes sharp and alert as they scan the surrounding area.
“Everything set?” she asks, her gaze flicking between me and Kristopher.
“Yeah,” I say, handing her the bag, feeling its weight shift between us. “Bash came through.”
“Good.” She slings the bag over her shoulder with ease. “Let’s get to it.”
Kristopher steps forward. “I can take that,” he offers, reaching for the bag.
Lucrezia holds up a hand to stop him, her movement swift and decisive. “I’ve got it.”
A flicker of annoyance crosses his face, darkening his features for a split second before he masks it quickly behind a veneer of compliance. “Of course.”
We mount up—Kristopher climbing into his car, Lucrezia climbing onto the back of my bike with a grace that makes it look effortless. As she wraps her arms around my waist, settling in close against my back, I can’t ignore the way my heart beats a little faster at her proximity. I push the feeling aside, forcing my thoughts back to the task at hand. Now’s not the time for distractions.
We ride through the sleeping city, streets empty save for the occasional delivery truck lumbering between early morning stops. The roar of our engines is the only sound breaking the pre-dawn quiet, a low thunder that dissipates into the night like a rolling wave. My bike purrs beneath us while Kristopher’s car follows close behind, headlights cutting through the lingering darkness.
By the time we reach the rendezvous point near Saverio’s house, dawn is starting to streak the sky with pale hues of pink and orange, nature’s warning that our window of darkness is closing. We park in a secluded spot, hidden from view by a cluster of old-growth trees whose branches hang low enough to shield us from any prying eyes.
Daniela is already there, pacing nervously beneath the canopy of trees. She looks up as we approach, relief evident on her face. “You’re on time,” she says, trying to steady her voice, though a slight tremor betrays her anxiety.
“Always,” Lucrezia replies.
Daniela glances at the bag, then back at her sister, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Lucia will be leaving the house at seven with Riccardo. They always take the same route to his school.”
Lucrezia pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly, a subtle change that nonetheless transforms her entire expression. “Riccardo?”
Daniela nods, wrapping her arms around herself as if warding off a chill. “Their son. They named him after our older brother. He’s almost three.”
A brief flash of emotion crosses Lucrezia’s face—something between surprise and something else I can’t quite place. The muscles in her jaw tighten momentarily, then relax. “I see,” she says quietly.
Daniela steps closer, her shoulders hunched as she lowers her voice to barely above a whisper. “Lucrezia, if you want to stop, it’s not too late. We can find another way.”
Lucrezia’s expression hardens, her features settling into uncompromising lines. “We’ve been over this. There’s no turning back. Not after everything that’s happened.”
Daniela hesitates, then nods in resignation. “Alright. Just be careful.”
Lucrezia places a hand on her sister’s shoulder; the gesture is both reassuring and final. “I will. Thank you for everything.”
Daniela offers a weak smile, her eyes glistening slightly in the dim light, before turning and walking away. Her footsteps fade as she disappears down a winding path, leaving only shadows in her wake.
I watch the exchange from my position. When Lucrezia turns back to us, her eyes are steely once more, all traces of sisterly warmth vanishing beneath layers of determination.
“Let’s move,” she commands, her voice sharp and brooking no argument.
We make our way toward the house, sticking to the shadows cast by hedges and ornate lampposts. The neighborhood is quiet. Saverio’s mansion looms ahead, all grandeur and excess. I’ve seen it before—surveillance photos, intel reports, detailed blueprints studied late into the night—but standing here now, beneath its towering facade and watching moonlight glint off dozens of windows, it’s more imposing than I expected.
“Security systems?” I whisper.
“Disabled,” Lucrezia replies. “Daniela took care of it.”
“Convenient,” I mutter.
We slip through a side gate, moving swiftly across the lawn where sprinklers have left the grass damp beneath our feet. Kristopher takes the lead, and his movements are surprisingly smooth. I follow close behind, keeping an eye on him, watching for any hint of hesitation.
We enter through a back door, the lock clicking open under Lucrezia’s deft touch, the tumblers falling into place with barely a whisper. Inside, the house is dark and silent, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and expensive cologne that speaks of wealth and pretension. Moonlight filters through tall windows, casting long shadows across marble floors and creating silvery patches that we carefully avoid.
“Kitchen’s this way,” Kristopher whispers, gesturing down a hallway.
We move cautiously, every creak and rustle setting my nerves on edge. The faint hum of the refrigerator makes me twitch, and even our breaths seem too loud in the stillness. As we reach the kitchen, its stainless steel surfaces gleaming in the darkness, Lucrezia passes the bag to Kristopher, who sets it on the marble countertop and begins unpacking the bomb. I keep watch at the doorway, ears straining for any sign of movement, my hand hovering near my weapon.
“How long?” I ask quietly.
“Ten minutes,” Kristopher replies, not looking up.
I glance back at him, watching as he assembles the device with meticulous care, his nimble fingers connecting wires. There’s a strange intensity about him—a gleam in his eye that sets me on edge. The way he handles each component with such reverence and focus reminds me more of an artist at work than a saboteur. Even in the dim kitchen light, I can see tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he concentrates.
“Make it five,” Lucrezia says. “We need to be out of here before the staff arrives for the morning shift.”
He smirks, a self-satisfied expression that makes my skin crawl. “Anything for you, my dear.”
I grit my teeth, fighting back the urge to wipe that look off his face. There’s something off about the way he says it, the way his eyes linger on Lucrezia when he thinks no one is watching—predatory and possessive.
As Kristopher finishes setting the timer with an unnecessary flourish, he whispers, almost to himself, his voice thick with an unsettling devotion, “You’ll finally see how much I care. You’ll understand how far I’ll go for you.”
My blood runs cold, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. “What did you say?” I demand, stepping toward him.
He looks up, eyes wide with manufactured innocence. “Just talking to myself. Nothing important.”
“This isn’t about you winning her over. We’re here to do a job, nothing more. Don’t lose sight of that.”
Kristopher sneers, showing teeth. “Afraid she’ll choose me over you? It must eat at you, watching us work so closely together.”
“Enough,” Lucrezia hisses. Her eyes flash dangerously in the dim light. “We don’t have time for this.”
I reluctantly let it go because she’s right. I would love nothing more than to paint Saverio’s kitchen with Kristopher’s blood, but that would only invite more questions and more noise. “Just do your part and keep your mouth shut.”
He straightens his jacket with exaggerated care, smoothing out the wrinkles as a grin spreads across his face. “Already done. Perfect as always.”
Lucrezia checks the device, her fingers moving over the connections before nodding in approval. “Let’s go. And both of you—keep your personal issues to yourselves.”
Kristopher secures the bomb beneath the sink, concealed behind cleaning supplies. The timer is set. We have less than two hours before it goes off.
We retrace our steps through the house. As we slip out the side door, the first light of dawn casts a pale glow over the grounds.
Back at the meet up spot, Kristopher gets in his car. Lucrezia climbs onto the back of my bike without hesitation, wrapping her arms securely around my waist. Kristopher’s eyes narrow as he watches us, his jaw tightening.
“Meet back at my place,” I say over the rumble of the engines.
Kristopher nods curtly, starting his bike. “Lead the way.”
We pull out onto the quiet street, the hum of our engines slicing through the morning stillness. The city begins to stir around us as early commuters start their day, oblivious to the destruction set in motion.
Lucrezia’s grip around my waist is firm but not constricting. The warmth of her body pressed against my back is both distracting and grounding. I steal a glance in the side mirror; Kristopher is following close behind, his expression set into a scowl. My mind races with thoughts of Kristopher’s unsettling behavior, his obsession with Lucrezia becoming more apparent—and more dangerous. I know she doesn’t see it as a problem, but I do.
We arrive at my place just as the sun begins to crest the horizon, casting golden hues across the rooftops. I park the bike, and Lucrezia slides off gracefully, removing her helmet and shaking out her hair.
“Everything okay?” she asks, her eyes searching my face.
“Fine,” I reply curtly, unable to keep the edge from my voice as I dismount the motorcycle.
She glances at me briefly, concern flickering across her features, then back to Kristopher’s car pulling in behind us. “We did good today.”
I nod, though unease coils in my gut like a serpent ready to strike. “Yeah.” The word comes out more clipped than I intend.
“Once this is over, things will change,” she says softly, almost to herself, her fingers absently playing with the helmet strap.
“That’s the idea.” I try to keep my voice neutral, but the weight of everything left unsaid hangs between us like a storm cloud.
“How long until—” I begin.
“7:45,” Lucrezia answers, knowing exactly what I’m asking.
The Castiglione family has been a thorn in the Destroyers’ side for years, their influence spreading like poison through our ranks. They’ve caused pain, suffering, and countless deaths—mothers left without children, partners torn apart, futures shattered beyond repair. They deserve this.
“Now we wait,” Lucrezia says, her voice carrying an edge of anticipation that makes my stomach twist.
I glance back at Kristopher, who is staring out the car window at us with a dreamy expression. The sight sends a chill down my spine, and I have to look away from his unnaturally calm eyes.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “We wait.”
As the seconds tick by, each one feeling heavier than the last, I wonder what the cost of all this will be—and whether any of us are prepared to pay it.