Seventeen
“Each piece of the puzzle will reveal itself and either be put in its place or taken off the board.”
I t’s been a few days since the chaos at the hospital since Talon got shot.
Since the past smashed into the present the way it always does—loud, messy, and without warning.
Bellamy and my crew have been on it nonstop.
Pulling threads, cracking files, watching movements.
Every inch of Salvatore’s life is under the scope—weak spots, habits, side deals, who he owes and who owes him.
We ain’t just prepping. We’re lining shit up.
Moving fast wasn’t up for debate. When it comes to this part of my life, this aspect of who I am, I never allow problems to linger.
I don’t give threats air. You allow an enemy to breathe, and they start thinking.
Thinking leads to angles. And I don’t like angles I didn’t design.
That’s how I’ve kept my family and the club alive this long—by staying ten steps ahead and striking before the smoke clears.
“Brick supposed to meet us at the spot?” Bellamy’s voice crackles in my ear, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I say, eyes fixed on the surveillance feeds. “He’ll be here.”
Brick called the night it all went down with the family.
At some point after the kids and I left the hospital, he spoke with my brother.
Sam brought him up to speed, which is why he reached out to me.
I expected fury. Hell, I was ready for it.
But what I got was... control. Frustration?
Yes. But Brick didn’t come unhinged. He listened.
He asked questions. And then he processed.
That earned him my respect.
After we talked, he wanted to meet Malikai and Olivia, because at the time, Seb and Fi were still on assignment.
I wasn’t sure how that would land. My kids don’t trust easy.
Life taught them too young how ugly the world can be.
But when Brick walked in, Liv melted. That girl was gone in seconds.
Kai followed, cool but curious, drawn to something he didn’t even understand yet.
Brick showed up for them. Checked in. Took them out. Made them laugh like he’d been in their lives all along. Even surprised Kai at a sparring session—stood in the back with that quiet grin like he was watching his own son in the ring.
Fi had a few brief conversations with him, keeping it surface level. She’s watching, clocking everything like she always does. But Sebastian? He’s a whole different storm. That boy ain’t budging. Too much damage behind those eyes. Too much of his father in his bones.
I figured Brick would push. Maybe catch an attitude. But he didn’t.
“He’s like Talon,” he said with a shrug. “Hard-headed. Got reasons. I’ll let him come to me when he’s ready.”
That right there? That earned him more than just my respect—it earned my trust.
The static hums in my ear again, then voices. Position checks. Finally, green light. We’re on schedule. Everything’s locked and loaded. Then I hear it—the deep, gritty growl of a Harley cutting through the quiet like a war cry.
I smirk. Of course, it’s Brick. Loud as hell and not giving a damn. Man rolls up to a tactical ambush like it’s a Sunday ride.
I shake my head and return my focus to what I’m here for.
We’re camped just outside the airport—the private hangar where the Salvatores are scheduled to arrive.
Arrogant bastards. They made it easy for us, broadcasting their arrival like they were untouchable.
They’ve always been prideful and reckless.
That combination makes people sloppy. Pride and sloppiness make people stupid.
And stupid gets you buried.
Don Salvatore lost his mind when he learned Talon survived. Made no secret of his disappointment. The Keepers failed. Valentina’s still breathing. So now, he and his heir have flown in, thinking they’ll finish the job themselves.
Let them try.
They think their name and the need for revenge give them power.
But they forget—I wrote the book on vengeance, and my name is power.
They’re not walking out of this city. Their terror ends tonight.
For Valentina. For Talon. For every woman who has suffered and all the pain the Salvatores and men like them have inflicted.
“So, how are we doing this?”
Brick’s voice cuts through the room. I turn as he enters, dressed head-to-toe in black.
He’s all intensity-no soft edges, no pleasantries.
The man has presence, even when he’s silent, especially when he’s quiet.
His eyes scan the room, checking everyone, assessing everything.
When his gaze locks on mine, I nod once.
He returns it, understanding the weight of what we’re about to do.
A quiet force of vengeance and control. No theatrics.
Just precision. He’s here for blood, but more than that—he’s here for peace.
I see it in how his jaw flexes and the tightness around his eyes.
He needs this to be done. We all do.
“They’re landing in less than twenty,” I say, shifting into strategy mode. “Two cars, one SUV. The driver is ex-military, likely armed. Don and his heir are in the second vehicle. The third car will be their backup—they’ll hold unless they hear gunfire.”
Brick nods. “Positions?”
“Bellamy’s team will handle the escort detail. Olivia’s got eyes in the tower. Sebastian’s on-ground surveillance. Kai and Fi are sweeping the perimeter now.” I pause. “I’ll take the shot.”
Brick raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”
I smile, but it’s not kind. “I’m sure. I got this.”
He studies me. There’s something in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, maybe even admiration.
Brick steps forward, voice low and steady. “You want to end this, Gabriella. I’m with you. I’m not here to second-guess you. Just tell me what you need.”
I nod a few times as I stare into his eyes and see the truth in them.
The room around us is buzzing—comms, foot traffic, tension—but for a second, it’s just me and him.
Me, the woman who’s kept secrets. Him, the man who’s walking through the fallout of secrets kept from him.
What I need is for this to end. For the past to stop dictating every damn decision I make.
“I need this to be over,” I whisper. “I need to stop looking over my shoulder. I need my kids to know what peace feels like.”
Brick nods slowly. “Then let’s take it.”
The Airstrip Hours later
We move like shadows—silent, efficient, lethal.
No wasted motion. No room for mistakes. Bellamy’s voice cuts in over the comms, low and clipped: “Wheels down in five.” Time folds in on itself as the energy shifts.
No more waiting. No more prep. Now it’s action.
Outside the hangar, I move with purpose.
My boots barely whisper across the gravel as I head toward the access ladder.
Brick follows. Heavy footsteps, but steady.
He’s a blunt weapon, that man—force over finesse—but right now, he’s following my lead, eyes sharp.
I don’t look at him, but I feel his gaze. There’s something behind it. Not just focus—something heavier. Surprise maybe. Or shock. Maybe both. I don’t ask. Don’t have time to dig into emotions when blood’s about to hit pavement.
The roof is hot under my palms as I scale up, steel warm from soaking in the day’s heat. The night air is thick, humid, clinging to my skin like sweat that hasn’t even started yet. Up here, the city hushes, and time slows.
I drop to the rooftop, low and tight, my body one with the steel and concrete. Brick settles beside me—less smooth, but competent. He may not be sniper-trained, but he’s been in enough fights to know how to stay still when it matters.
“We clear,” I whisper into the mic. Bellamy clicks back twice. That’s the code––all green.
I lay flat and slide my rifle into place, adjusting the bipod legs with precision.
No rattling. No clinks. This weapon’s part of me now—custom, tuned, deadly.
My fingers move by memory. One check on the chamber.
One on the sight. I settle in, the scope tight against my eye.
My breathing evens out, steady as a surgeon.
The world narrows into the black circle in front of me.
Then I see it.
The jet cuts through the clouds like it owns the damn sky. Sleek. Obnoxious. Like a predator too arrogant to believe it could ever be hunted. Its landing lights blaze against the night, slicing through darkness like it’s entitled to every inch of airspace.
Unbothered.
Unaware.
Perfect.
The tarmac below is quiet, but the energy is loud. My team is in place—eyes in the hangar, eyes at the exit points, weapons ready. Every role has been drilled. We’ve run this scenario on paper and in muscle memory until it became instinct.
Tripwires, angles, fallback points, kill zones.
All accounted for. There are no second chances tonight.
The Salvatores walked into our crosshairs the second they brought their asses to California.
And they won’t be walking out. I shift just slightly, dialing in on the jet’s hatch. One breath in, one out.
Come on, you cocky bastards. Step into my world.
Typical Salvatore fashion—make a grand entrance, dare someone to react.
They’re about to regret that.
I shift slightly, my rifle steady, my heartbeat calm. I've done this before—too many times. But tonight feels different. Personal in a way I haven’t let myself admit out loud. This isn’t just about vengeance.
This is about freedom .
Brick is crouched behind me. He signals with two fingers to my spotters below, confirming we are in position. Bellamy’s team is scattered like chess pieces—every angle covered, every backup plan in motion. Olivia’s voice comes through my earpiece, low and clear.
“Touchdown. Rear hatch opening. Three exiting—confirmation: Don Salvatore, Gianni Salvatore, and an unknown male. Drivers moving to position.”
“Copy,” I whisper.
My grip tightens around the trigger.