Chapter 6 – COLE
CHAPTER 6
COLE
I take up position by the window, my eyes scanning the darkened street below. The first hints of dawn paint the sky in muted pinks and oranges, but the shadows still cling stubbornly to the corners and alleyways. It's in those shadows that danger often lurks. And I've learned the hard way never to underestimate the darkness.
My fingers absently trace the rough skin along the right side of my jaw, a habit I've never quite been able to break. The scars are a constant reminder of the price of complacency, of what happens when you let your guard down for even a moment.
I won't make that mistake again.
Not here, not now, when everything's gone to shit in the most spectacular way possible.
Behind me, I hear the others moving about the safe house, their voices a low murmur of uncertainty. They're nervous, even if they won't admit it. I can smell it on them, that sharp tang of fear that cuts through even the lingering scent of gunpowder and sweat.
I don't blame them. A dead client is bad for business in the best of circumstances. A dead mafia don? That's the kind of shit that gets people buried in shallow graves.
But fear is a luxury we can't afford right now. Fear makes you sloppy, makes you miss things. And in our line of work, missing things gets you killed.
So I push it down, lock it away in that dark little box in the back of my mind where I keep all the other things I can't afford to feel. The pain, the doubt, the crushing loneliness that threatens to swallow me whole if I let my guard down for even a second. It's all there, waiting, but I won't give it the satisfaction of taking control.
I focus instead on the task at hand, my eyes methodically sweeping the street for any sign of movement, any hint of approaching trouble. A cat slinks across the street, its tail held high like a banner. An early-morning jogger passes by, oblivious to the drama unfolding behind these walls. A car turns the corner, its headlights cutting through the pre-dawn gloom.
I tense, my hand instinctively moving to the weapon at my hip. But the car doesn't slow, doesn't show any interest in our little sanctuary. It passes by without incident, leaving nothing but a fading engine note in its wake.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, forcing my muscles to relax. This hypervigilance is exhausting, but it's kept me alive this long.
It's all I know.
The sound of approaching sirens cuts through the quiet morning, growing louder with each passing second. I resist the urge to retreat further into the shadows. Old habits die hard, and there was a time when the sound of sirens meant nothing but trouble for me.
But we're not running this time. We're standing our ground. It feels... strange. Uncomfortable. Like wearing someone else's skin.
I watch as the first police car pulls up, its lights painting the street in alternating flashes of red and blue. More follow, along with an ambulance and what looks like some sort of crime scene unit. They move with purpose, these harbingers of law and order, secure in their authority and the rightness of their cause.
Part of me envies them that certainty. My world has always been shades of gray, morality a shifting landscape where right and wrong are determined by whoever's signing the checks. But there's no room for that kind of thinking now. We've made our choice, for better or worse.
I hear footsteps behind me, too heavy to be Savva, too measured to be Troy or Liam. Roman, then. The leader of the Vanguard Pack. The man who's led us through hell and back more times than I can count.
"Anything?" he asks, his voice low.
I shake my head, not taking my eyes off the street. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Local LEOs just showed up. Looks like they're setting up a perimeter."
Roman grunts, a sound that could mean anything from acknowledgment to frustration. With him, it's often hard to tell. "Keep your eyes open. The Russos might try to take advantage of the confusion. I'm sure their connections have informed them there's something going on here."
I nod, not bothering to point out that I don't need the reminder. Roman knows me well enough by now to understand that vigilance is as natural to me as breathing. It's everything else that I struggle with.
He lingers for a moment, and I can feel the weight of his gaze on me. There's something he wants to say, some burden he wants to share, but the words don't come. They never do, not between us. We understand each other too well for that, know the demons that haunt each other's dreams.
In the end, he just claps a hand on my shoulder, a gesture of solidarity that speaks volumes in its simplicity. Then he's gone, moving back into the depths of the safe house to deal with the storm that's about to break over our heads.
I return my attention to the street, watching as the first officers approach the building. They move cautiously, hands hovering near their weapons, eyes darting from window to window. They're expecting trouble, and I can't blame them. In their shoes, I'd be doing the same thing.
But we're not here to cause problems. Not this time, at least. We're here to face the music and hope like hell that honesty counts for something in this fucked-up world we live in.
Never has before, but we don't have much of a choice.
It's a gamble, and not one I'm comfortable with. In my experience, the truth is rarely as liberating as people like to claim. More often than not, it's just another weapon to be used against you, another crack in your armor for the world to exploit.
The sound of the front door opening draws me back to the present. I listen as voices fill the entryway, the clipped tones of authority mixing with the familiar cadences of my teammates. Roman's deep baritone, steady and controlled. Troy and Liam's easy charm, already working to smooth ruffled feathers. Savva's cultured accent probably confusing the hell out of some local cop who's never left Sicily. Good thing Savva's fluent in enough languages, I couldn't begin to list them if I tried.
I'm not like them. I've never been good with people, even before I looked like this and everyone else decided they weren't good with me, either. So I hang back, in the shadows where I belong. Let the others handle the social niceties. I'll do what I do best. Watch, listen, and be ready to act if things go sideways.
And they always go sideways, sooner or later.
It's the nature of our work, of the life we've chosen. Or maybe the life that chose us. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.
Hours pass, the sun climbing higher in the sky as the investigation unfolds. I remain at my post, ignoring the growing ache in my muscles and the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. Discomfort is an old friend, one I've learned to embrace rather than fight.
Occasionally, one of the others will drift by, offering updates in low voices. Caruso's body has been removed, whisked away to some sterile morgue where men in white coats will pick apart the secrets he took to his grave. The local police are cooperating, for now at least, but there are rumblings of higher authorities getting involved. The Carusos are suspiciously quiet, which sets my teeth on edge more than any overt threat could.
Through it all, I watch and wait, my mind cataloging every detail, every potential threat. It's exhausting work, but it's what I'm good at. It's what keeps us alive.
Finally, as the afternoon sun begins its slow descent toward the horizon, there's a shift in the energy of the house. Footsteps approach my position, and I turn to see Roman standing in the doorway. He looks tired, the kind of bone-deep weariness that comes from hours of careful negotiation.
"It's done," he says simply. "They're leaving."
I nod, not bothering to ask for details. If Roman wants me to know more, he'll tell me. That's how we operate.
He steps further into the room, his eyes scanning the street below in a habit I recognize all too well. "You did good work today, Cole."
The praise catches me off guard, and I feel a flush of warmth that I quickly suppress. "Just doing my job," I mutter, uncomfortable with the attention.
Roman's lips quirk in what might be the ghost of a smile. "Your job is important. Don't sell yourself short."
I shrug, unsure how to respond. Compliments have always made me uneasy, like ill-fitting clothes that chafe and bind in all the wrong places. But coming from Roman, they carry a weight that's hard to ignore.
He seems to sense my discomfort, because he changes tack. "We're not in the clear yet. The local authorities are satisfied for now, but this is going to attract attention we don't need. We need to be ready to move at a moment's notice."
I nod, already running through mental checklists of gear and exit strategies. "Where to?"
Roman hesitates, and I can see the conflict playing out behind his eyes. He's weighing options, considering angles, trying to find the best path forward for all of us. It's what makes him a good leader, this ability to see the bigger picture while still caring for the individuals under his command.
"I'm not sure yet," he admits finally. "We have some options, but each comes with its own risks. I need to talk it over with the others before we make a decision. If all this blows over—and it actually might, because we're just a security team with no real connections to any of these people—we're going to find a more laid-back job. Something that isn't a constant threat to our sanity."
The admission of uncertainty is unlike him, and it sets off warning bells in my head. Roman's always been our rock, the one constant in a world of shifting loyalties and broken promises. To see him wavering now...
I push the thought aside, focusing on the practical. "What do you need from me?"
Relief flickers across his face, there and gone in an instant. This, at least, is familiar territory for both of us. "Just keep doing what you're doing."
I nod, understanding the unspoken request. Roman needs me to be the steady one, the unmovable object in a storm of emotion and uncertainty.
"I've got it covered," I assure him, and I see some of the tightness leave his shoulders.
"I know you do," he says, and there's a warmth in his voice that I'm not used to hearing. "I don't say it enough, but... I'm glad you're here, Cole. We wouldn't have made it this far without you."
For a moment, I'm at a loss for how to respond. "Yeah, sure," I finally mutter, my voice rougher than I'd like.
Roman nods, seeming to understand all the things I can't bring myself to say. He turns to leave, but pauses at the doorway. "Get some rest when you can," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We need everyone at their best in the coming days."
I nod, knowing I probably won't follow his advice but appreciating the sentiment nonetheless. Sleep and I have been uneasy bedfellows for years now, my dreams haunted by faces I'd rather forget and choices I wish I could unmake.
As Roman's footsteps fade away, I turn back to the window, resuming my vigil. The street below is quieter now, the circus of police and emergency vehicles replaced by the normal ebb and flow of city life. But I know better than to let my guard down. Danger rarely announces itself with sirens and flashing lights. More often, it creeps in on silent feet, striking when you least expect it.
So I watch, and I wait, ready for whatever comes next. Because that's what I do. That's who I am. The silent guardian, the watchful protector. The one who sees the threats others miss and stands ready to face them head-on.
It's not an easy life, not by any stretch of the imagination.
But it's mine.
And for now at least, it's enough.