Chapter Eighteen
Church was called for noon, and for the first time, Angela was invited inside.
The chapel felt different with every seat filled.
Brothers lined both sides of the heavy oak table, their faces hard with the kind of focus that came before violence.
Jackpot sat at the head, Rosa's hand on his shoulder—a reminder of what they were all fighting for.
Edge stood at the far end, a map of the marina district spread before him.
And Angela sat beside him, feeling every eye in the room.
"Marco Vitale's running his operation out of a warehouse on Mississippi Avenue." Pike pointed to a spot on the map. "Old fish processing plant. Abandoned for years until he bought it through a shell company six months ago."
"How many men?" Ace's voice was flat. Ready.
"Fifteen, maybe twenty. He's been pulling in reinforcements since Nicky died." Pike shook his head. "Problem is, the building's a fortress. One main entrance, loading dock in the back, surrounded by empty lots that give him clear sight lines in every direction."
"So we're walking into a kill box," Ghost said.
"If we go through the front." Edge's eyes found Angela's. "But we're not going through the front."
Angela straightened in her chair. This was why she was here.
"I've been delivering to the marina district for four years," she said, her voice steady despite the weight of attention. "Every restaurant, every office, every business that's still operating down there. I know which ones are connected to Vitale's network."
"How?" Block leaned forward.
"Because they're the ones who started ordering arrangements they didn't need." Angela pulled out a list she'd made that morning. "Six months ago, three businesses on Mississippi Avenue suddenly became my best customers. Weekly deliveries. Big orders. Always paid in cash."
"Cover," Edge said. "Legitimate traffic to mask the distribution runs."
"Exactly. But here's the thing—I know their delivery schedules. I know when their back doors are unlocked. And I know there's an underground tunnel connecting the old fish plant to the building next door."
Silence fell across the table.
"How do you know about a tunnel?" Jackpot's voice was sharp.
"Because I used it." Angela met his gaze without flinching.
"Two years ago, one of my vendors was based out of that building.
They were importing specialty flowers—orchids, exotic arrangements, things you couldn't get from normal wholesalers.
The owner showed me the tunnel when I asked how they kept their stock so fresh.
Said it connected to the old plant's refrigeration system. "
Edge was staring at her like she'd just handed him a winning lottery ticket.
"You're telling me there's a backdoor into Vitale's fortress that he doesn't know about?"
"I'm telling you there's a tunnel that was sealed off twenty years ago and forgotten." Angela allowed herself a small smile. "Whether it's still passable is another question. But if it is..."
"We come up behind him while his men are watching the front." Pike was already recalculating, his fingers tracing new routes on the map. "Split force. Half hit the main entrance loud and obvious, draw their fire. The other half comes through the tunnel and hits them from inside."
"Can you find this tunnel?" Jackpot asked Angela directly.
"I can do better than that. I can show you exactly where it opens."
The planning accelerated after that.
Angela watched the brothers transform from individuals into a unit, each one slotting into a role without being told.
Pike handled logistics—routes, timing, communication frequencies.
Ace coordinated weapons, his calm assessment of what they'd need chilling in its precision.
Ghost and Block would lead the frontal assault while Edge took the tunnel team.
And Angela would be going with them.
"No." Edge said it before she even opened her mouth. "You're staying at the compound."
"Like hell I am."
"Angela—"
"I'm the only one who knows where that tunnel entrance is." She stood, facing him across the table. "I'm the only one who can navigate the building next door without alerting Vitale's people. You need me."
"I need you alive."
"Then keep me alive." Angela's jaw set. "But don't ask me to sit here while you walk into a war zone. Not again. Not after everything."
The brothers exchanged glances. Angela could feel the tension in the room—some of them agreeing with Edge, some of them respecting her refusal to back down.
Jackpot settled it.
"She goes." His voice left no room for argument. "She's proven herself. And she's right—we need her knowledge more than we need her safe at home."
Edge's expression didn't change, but Angela saw his hands curl into fists at his sides. He was furious. Terrified. And completely unable to argue with his President.
"If anything happens to her—"
"Then you make sure nothing happens to her." Jackpot's gaze was steady. "That's your job, brother. Protect what's yours while we finish this."
The meeting broke fifteen minutes later. Brothers scattered to prepare—checking weapons, making calls, handling the thousand details that went into an assault of this scale. Angela found herself alone with Edge in the empty chapel.
"You're angry," she said.
"I'm scared." He turned to face her, and the raw fear in his eyes made her chest tight. "There's a difference."
"I know. But I can't hide anymore. Not while you're out there risking your life for something that started because of me."
"It didn't start because of you. Vitale was coming for the shore towns whether you existed or not. You just got caught in the crossfire."
"Maybe." Angela stepped closer, took his hands in hers. "But I'm not in the crossfire anymore. I'm in the fight. And I'm going to see it through."
Edge pulled her against him, one hand fisting in her hair, the other pressing flat against her back. He held her like he was memorizing the shape of her, like he might never get another chance.
"Stay close to me," he said into her hair. "Whatever happens, stay close."
"I will."
"And if I tell you to run—"
"I'll run." She pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "But you better be running with me."
The ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Deal."
They prepared together after that.
Angela watched Edge check weapons with the same focused intensity he brought to everything. Watched him strap on body armor and load extra magazines into pockets she hadn't noticed before. Watched him become the man who'd torn through her flower shop like a force of nature three weeks ago.
She'd been terrified of that man then.
Now she was grateful for him.
Rosa found her in the garage while Edge was consulting with Pike about the tunnel approach. The President's old lady had a look in her eyes that Angela recognized—the particular fear of a woman watching her family ride toward danger.
"First time?" Rosa asked.
"Being part of something like this? Yeah."
"It doesn't get easier." Rosa's voice was soft. "The waiting. The wondering. But you get better at surviving it."
"Any advice?"
"Stay close to Edge. Do exactly what he says during the fight. And when it's over—" Rosa's hand found Angela's arm, squeezing gently. "—hold on to him. Remind him why he came back."
Angela nodded, throat too tight for words.
"You're one of us now." Rosa's smile was warm despite the worry in her eyes. "Whether you planned for it or not. That means we look out for each other. All of us."
The convoy assembled in the compound parking lot as the sun began its descent toward the bay.
Six bikes in formation. Two SUVs with extra firepower. Every patched member of the Boardwalk Outlaws geared up and ready for war. Angela climbed onto Edge's bike, her arms wrapping around him like they had a dozen times now, but this time it felt different.
This time, they might not be coming back.
"Everyone clear on the plan?" Jackpot's voice carried across the lot.
Nods. Grim faces. The particular silence of men who knew what they were about to do.
"Then let's end this."
The engines roared to life.
Edge's bike rumbled beneath Angela, powerful and waiting. She pressed her face against his back, breathing in leather and motor oil and the warm, solid reality of the man she loved.
The convoy rolled out.
Through the compound gates. Onto the marina district streets. Toward the warehouse where Marco Vitale was waiting, surrounded by men who thought they could take what belonged to the Outlaws.
They were about to learn how wrong they were.