Chapter 39
Rav
The SUV lurched to a stop at the end of the narrow alley my contact, Luigi, had guided us to, which opened onto a closed street. All around us, nothing but bodies. A solid wall of people between us and forward momentum, celebrating what none of them knew could be their last night.
“Your buddy’s directions were spot on.” Zac pointed to the right, to the round castle rising from the water. “That’s your target. Time to head on foot. I’ll send the directions to the other teams.”
I shoved open the door and stepped into chaos.
The crowd immediately pressed in, forcing me back against the vehicle.
A woman with a child on her shoulders pushed past, the kid waving glow sticks that nearly caught me in the face.
Three twenty-somethings squeezed through a gap that shouldn’t have existed, their laughter slurred with alcohol.
“Stay close,” I told Brooke, though the crowd had already pressed her against my side.
We pushed forward, turning sideways to hurry between groups. My shoulders created space, but every step was a negotiation. Someone’s elbow caught my ribs. A man gestured wildly, telling a story, and I had to duck to avoid his emphatic hand.
The music hit from every direction—techno from our left, traditional Neapolitan songs from a restaurant terrace, a drum band farther down the street.
A stilts-walker dressed as Neptune towered above us, forcing the crowd to flow around him like water around a rock.
His trident trailed blue ribbons that kept getting caught on people’s heads.
“Permesso, permesso,” people called, trying to move through.
Street vendors lined the closed road, selling everything imaginable—glow sticks, flags, spinning LED toys—while food carts pumped out smells of fried dough, grilled meat, and a hundred sweet smells that reminded me I hadn’t eaten since Mario’s villa.
A vendor selling theatrical masks caught my eye. Plague doctor masks, Colombina masks, and cheap plastic superhero masks for the kids. But also simple black silk domino masks and dark cloaks.
“You didn’t bring cash, did you?” I asked Brooke.
She swung her pack around to her front. “You didn’t?”
Working for a covert group that acted like a heist crew meant I never carried a wallet while on a job. At least, not a wallet with my real name or information inside.
She pulled out a wad of euros, pointed to two black masks and cloaks. The vendor, an older woman with shrewd eyes, named a price that was definitely the tourist rate.
We paid without haggling, then pulled them on. The mask covered from my forehead to just above my mouth. The cloak was cheap polyester that would tear if I moved too fast, but it hid my torn clothes, and if I hunched down, it might even conceal my breadth.
“How do I look?” Brooke asked, adjusting her mask.
“Like every other tourist.”
“Perfect.”
We merged into the crowd of bodies who were dancing and touring the city. The castle sat on its tiny island like something out of a fairy tale—medieval walls lit by spotlights cycling through purple, gold, and green.
The couple ahead of us stopped to take a selfie, causing a minor pileup.
Someone cursed in what sounded like German.
A British voice complained about the crowds.
Italian phrases floated past—most too fast for me to catch, but I heard “fuochi d’artificio” enough times to know everyone was talking about the fireworks.
Brooke’s hand found mine in the crush. “If it’s not up there…”
I leaned over to kiss her temple, and we nearly collided with another couple. “It makes too much sense not to be.”
It had to be okay. Because if it wasn’t, I’d lose her again, and there was no way in hell that was happening.
We crossed the small causeway to the castle, slowing at the entrance.
The stone archway was barely ten feet wide, with dozens of people squeezing through.
Someone’s elbow dug into my hip. A woman’s perfume—too much of it—made me cough.
Then we were through, spilling into a courtyard where the crowd spread out. More food vendors had set up shop, with seats and small temporary tables scattered around the space. Servers performed miracles, threading through gaps that shouldn’t exist while balancing trays of drinks.
“There,” Brooke said quietly.
I followed her gaze. A man in a security uniform stood by an information kiosk, but everything about him was wrong. Real security faced out, watching for trouble. This guy kept looking up toward the castle’s highest level, where the old cannons would be.
We drifted closer, using a loud family group as cover.
The fake guard lifted a radio.
“—is in position,” came a voice over his radio, with a thick Russian accent.
He replied, “And the phoenix?”
“Ready,” came the reply.
My hand tightened on Brooke’s. We’d found them. And they didn’t see us.
The radio crackled with static, then a voice came through in English with an Italian accent: “Excellent. Are you ready, Owen?”
Brooke’s entire body shuddered, and her breathing shifted rhythm.
“I’m ready,” the voice—Owen—continued. “Thirty minutes until we launch.”
I lifted my free hand to cover my mouth while alerting my team. “We’ve confirmed Fenix’s presence at the Castel dell’Ovo. Thirty-minute countdown to deployment. Brie, please relay those details to Pendragon.”
“Copy, Brie,” Bobcat responded a moment later. “We’re twenty-five minutes out. Maybe less if these tourists learn how to walk.”
“Twenty minutes for us,” Scarlett said. “Emmett’s driving like a maniac, but—” The sound of a horn blaring cut through. “Make that twenty-two minutes.”
We couldn’t rely on either of them to make it in time. They’d get close, but then they’d have to walk or run.
We were on our own.
I said, “The streets are closed near the castle. It’ll take you longer than you expect. Brooke and I are going in.”
The fake guard moved away from the kiosk, heading deeper into the castle. We followed, letting ourselves be pulled along by a tour group that had just finished dinner. Their guide held up a light wand and spoke in German about the castle’s history.
A bilingual sign pointed to the cannon terrace: tourist territory and the highest publicly accessible point.
Half the people around us were also in masks and costumes, helping us sneak through the castle without raising suspicion.
Brooke’s breathing had gone shallow. She was starting to panic. Her free hand kept moving to her neck, fingers brushing the collar that hid her scars.
“You okay?” I whispered.
She nodded, but didn’t speak.
Second level. A jazz trio played in the corner. A couple danced on a tiny floor, oblivious to anything beyond each other. Two men in security uniforms stood by the next staircase, but they had the same tell—eyes tracking up instead of scanning the crowd.
I counted as we climbed. One more guard by the information desk on level three. Two more flanked the entrance to the cannon terrace. All fake, all Fenix. Plus, however many were already on the roof.
“There are at least six fake security guards here,” I advised. “All armed.”
Scarlett hummed. “None of them were armed at the amphitheater. The police took them all away without trouble.”
Of course, these men were armed. This was the real target.
“Rav?” Scarlett said my name slowly, drawing it out. That was her way of telling me to be careful. Don’t take unnecessary risks.
But how many risks were unnecessary when this many people were about to be hit by a chemical weapon?
“I know, Scar.”
The crowd thinned the higher we got. On the cannon terrace—a stone platform with medieval cannons pointing out toward the city—only forty or fifty people were milling about.
Most tourists stayed on the lower levels, where the food and drinks were.
I hadn’t seen any signs announcing when the fireworks were officially scheduled, but if it were soon, everyone would have gone to the highest peak they could reach.
Informational plaques in Italian and English explained the cannons’ history. Couples posed for photos against the battlements. The view was spectacular: the curve of the bay, Vesuvius looming dark against the stars, the lights of Naples spreading in every direction.
Two guards blocked a narrow staircase marked “Privato. No Entry.”
They weren’t just fake security. They stood like men prepared for violence, with their weight evenly distributed, hands resting near their weapons. The stairs behind them were barely three feet wide, steep enough that I could only see a few steps before they curved out of sight.
“Twenty-four minutes,” Brooke whispered, checking her phone.
What were we going to do? The deployment site had to be up top.
The terrace walls were maybe ten feet high—climbable, but not quickly. The guards had clear sightlines across the entire platform. There were no crowds to blend into up here, no distractions.
“There has to be another way up.” I strolled toward the edge of the terrace with her, attempting to pass for another couple in search of a romantic photo op.
From here, I could tell the castle’s roof was flat and ringed with a low wall.
Brooke pulled out her phone, but her hands shook so much she dropped it. Cursing, she bent over to retrieve it.
“Brooke.” I turned her to face me. “We’ll find a way up. I’ll get us past them.”
Her jaw clenched, and the look in her eyes made my chest tight. Fear, yes, but also determination. And regret?
“Rav.” Her voice was so quiet I had to lean in to hear it. She reached up and pulled off her mask, those bright green eyes locking onto mine. “Whatever happens, I need you to know—” She stopped, swallowed. “I never stopped loving you. And I never will.”
Before I could respond—before I could even process—she was moving. Not toward the guards, but left, where a man in jeans and a button-down stood near the railing, typing on his phone.
She pulled off her cloak as she walked, letting it fall.
“Owen!” she called out, her voice carrying across the terrace. “Owen, what are you doing here?”
The man’s head snapped up. From thirty feet away, I saw his eyes go wide. He lit up like she was the answer to every prayer he’d ever had.
“Brooke?” He crossed to her in quick strides and wrapped her in an embrace that made my heart stop. His hands splayed across her back, pulling her against him. “Oh my God, you’re here! This is perfect. I heard you were in town, but I didn’t believe it.”
“Trevor Norris told me you started working for a private company, but didn’t say you were in Naples.
” She didn’t pull away. Didn’t resist. Just accepted the stranger’s arms around her, while I watched, trying to make sense of what was happening.
Every word traveled through the earpiece, ensuring I heard her say, “I would have looked you up!”
“You have to come see what I’ve done,” Owen said, shifting so he held her hand like he had the right. “You won’t believe what I accomplished with our old research.”
Their research?
He started pulling her toward the guards, who stepped aside without hesitation. They knew him. He belonged here. Not here, but up there!
Brooke glanced back once as Owen dragged her up the narrow stairs. Our eyes met, and she mouthed to me, ‘I love you.’
Then she was gone, disappearing with a man who’d held her as though he owned her. A man whose voice I’d heard on the radio, counting down to mass murder.
Owen. Whoever Owen was, he had Brooke now.