Chapter 18 – Lazaro
Four days have passed since the incident at the docks. Four days of buried fury, four days of simmering rage that I’ve shoved beneath layers of plans, retribution, and calculated moves. Every minute has been spent preparing for this. I’ve reviewed every detail, every move that needs to be made. The De Corsi family won’t get away with what they did. They won’t get away with using Calista as a pawn.
I stand in my office, staring at the map laid out before me, my fingers lightly brushing over the coordinates of the De Corsi-affiliated warehouse district. There are four locations I’m targeting tonight. Four buildings, packed with weapons, men, and the threat of retribution. It’s not enough, but it’ll make them feel the full impact of what they’ve done. It’ll make them bleed.
My thoughts are sharp, laser-focused, when the door to the office opens behind me. I recognize her without turning. Her scent immediately fills the room, and I can feel her presence in the room before she even speaks.
Calista steps inside without knocking, her footsteps quiet on the floor. She stands there for a moment, watching me, and I can feel her gaze on me. I’ve noticed that she’s never been one to tiptoe around anything. Never been one to wait for permission. Still, her next words catch me off guard.
“Take me with you.”
Her words make me freeze. My mind, so focused on the operation ahead, stumbles over the meaning of her request. She can’t be serious. She can’t.
I turn to face her slowly, studying her face like I’m trying to read her. Trying to figure out what she’s really asking. She stands tall, her expression hard—too hard for someone who just lost everything. Her eyes, though, tell a different story. There’s steel in them, a kind of resolve I haven’t seen before.
I let my gaze linger on her, looking for weakness, for hesitation, for any sign that she’s not serious about this. But all I see is a woman who’s willing to do whatever it takes to feel something other than the grief that’s eating her alive.
I know the toll this has taken on her. I’ve been watching her through the feeds—the way she’s barely eating, barely sleeping, the hollow look in her eyes. The way she’s been pulling further and further away, disappearing into the darkness of her own mind. I hate seeing it. I hate that she’s so fucking broken, and it’s all because of me, because of this world I’ve dragged her into.
But it’s too dangerous. She has no idea what she’s really asking.
“This isn’t just some ride-along, Calla,” I say, my voice firm, even though I can feel the hesitation curling in my chest. “You’ll see things you can’t unsee.”
She holds her ground. No fear. No falter. She meets my gaze directly, her eyes unwavering, burning with something that makes my chest tighten.
“I’m done watching from windows,” she says, her voice low, steady. “I want to see the world I’m meant to burn.”
I can feel the words reverberating through me. I know what she’s trying to do. She’s trying to take control, to make herself feel like she’s not helpless. She’s trying to take the grief and turn it into vengeance.
But this isn’t what I want for her. She’s already too deep in it. She’s already sacrificed too much.
I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my tongue. I see the way she’s standing there, resolute and defiant, and I know I won’t be able to stop her. Not this time. Not when she’s already made up her mind.
Her grief is consuming her. I can see that, even in the way she stands there. But maybe this—this operation—will give her something to focus on. It might just help her channel her rage. Even if it’s just for a little while.
“Be ready in an hour,” I say quietly, my voice resigned as I turn back to the map. I’d rather not—but if this will help her, if it’ll pull her out of the spiral she’s in, then fine.
I can feel her eyes on me as I turn back to the logistics, her gaze burning into me like a brand on my skin. But I don’t look at her again. I don’t need to.
XXX
The two black SUVs cut through the industrial outskirts of Veldenport like a pair of shadows. The city is sleeping, but beneath the surface, everything is moving. Everything is on the brink of combustion. The streets are empty, save for the occasional stray car and the lingering scent of diesel. The factory lights are dim, casting long shadows on the ground as we drive past. This place is a wasteland, built on sweat, blood, and corruption.
In the backseat of the first SUV, I glance over at Calista, her figure a silhouette against the tinted windows. She’s dressed in matte black—combat boots, a long coat that barely brushes her knees, her posture tense as she looks out the window. A gun rests on her thigh, the handle almost too familiar in my mind.
She’s always been one to dive headfirst into whatever chaos comes her way. But this time, it’s different. She’s not just here because she wants to be. She’s here to deal with her grief. I can’t blame her for that, but I can’t help but worry about what happens when she finally sees it all—when she sees the bodies and the blood and the violence that I’ve lived with for so long.
I can’t stop looking at her. My eyes keep drifting to her, watching the way her face hardens, the way she grips the gun like it’s the only thing that’s real to her right now.
“You don’t need to do this,” I say quietly. My voice is low, almost lost beneath the sound of the engine running through the streets. “You don’t have to come. You could stay back.”
I can almost feel her weighing her options, and then, after a brief pause, her voice breaks through—soft yet steady. “Yes, I do.”
There’s nothing I can say to that. Nothing that will change her mind. I want to pull her out of this world. I want to protect her from everything. But I can’t. Not when she’s already made this choice. Not when she’s already stepped into it.
I look over at the second SUV, where Ethan, Aaron, and the rest of the team are. I trust Ethan with my life—just not with her. I trust no one with her.
Before we left, I pulled Ethan aside, lowering my voice so only he could hear. “She wants this,” I muttered, my eyes darting towards Calista. “But if she gets hit, you pull her out. Quietly. No arguments.”
Ethan looked at me for a long second with a confused look. He didn’t argue, didn’t ask why. He just nodded, his face hardening. “And if she refuses?”
I met his gaze, my gaze unwavering. “Then knock her unconscious if you have to.”
I don’t want to go that far. But if she gets in over her head, if she gets hurt… I won’t forgive myself.
Ethan watched her from across the lot, the way she checked her weapon like she’s done it a thousand times.
“She’s not like us, Laz,” he said, voice low—quiet enough only I could hear. “You bring her too deep, she won’t come back. You sure she’s still choosing this?”
Heat rushed up my neck. I didn’t answer right away. Because part of me knows—she’s already too deep. And part of me hopes she’ll never want to crawl out.
Each minute on the road stretches longer than the last. I keep stealing glances at Calista, my chest tightening with every look. I want to tell her she shouldn’t be here. I want to tell her to go back, to get out of this life before it’s too late. But I can’t.
This is her fight too. And no matter how much I wish I could protect her, I know she won’t let me. Not anymore.
We’re getting closer to the district. I can feel it. I can feel the heat of the battle coming, the adrenaline starting to build in my veins. But no matter how many times I’ve done this, no matter how many raids I’ve led, my mind keeps coming back to one thing: Calista.
The warehouse looms ahead—a dark, imposing mass of steel and shadows, nestled at the edge of the industrial outskirts. Its very existence feels like a challenge, a threat. This is where the De Corsi think they can hide their weapons, their men, their power. I’m about to take that away from them.
The engines of the SUVs roar to a halt. The team disembarks in swift, practiced motions, forming up in a coordinated spread. My crew is a machine, every member moving with the precision of a weapon in perfect sync. I stand at the front, issuing signals with a few quick hand gestures, my fingers flicking out precise commands, the radio clicks answering them with near-instant efficiency.
Right now, everything is understood without speaking.
The first charge hits the door. The metal doors of the warehouse shudder before the explosion rips through the air, sending a shockwave of sound and force across the parking lot. The chaos erupts instantly. Gunfire cracks like thunder, shouts fill the silence, and flashbangs detonate, lighting up the dark space in blinding bursts of light.
I’m already in motion, the adrenaline in my veins sharpening every movement. I’m not just leading the charge—I am the charge. My body moves with a lethal grace, like a predator in the night. Headshots come first, one, two, three. My pistol barks, its noise drowned by the chaos around me. There’s no hesitation, no mercy. Every movement is calculated, my knife flashing out in a blur of motion to disarm a man who thought he could draw on me. His scream is cut short as I break his arm with a sickening crack, the sound muffled by the intensity of the moment.
Blood stains the concrete, but there’s no reaction. No feeling. This is war—and it’s what I’m made for.
Behind me, the rest of the team follows suit—Ethan, Cain, the enforcers—all of them moving in sync, taking out targets as we move deeper into the building. I don’t need to look back to know that Calista is with us. I can feel her presence, the pulse of her energy as she moves with the team.
I see her briefly, crouched behind cover, her eyes scanning the room as the chaos of battle unfolds around her. Her hand grips the gun like it’s a part of her now, her knuckles white as she waits for the right moment to strike.
She doesn’t wince. Not at the gunfire. Not at the blood. Not at the screams that echo through the warehouse.
She’s not the same woman I found in that tattoo studio. She’s becoming a different person. And I’m not sure whether that thought thrills me or terrifies me.
The battle rages on through the open areas of the warehouse, but I need information. I need to know where the De Corsis are hiding their stash. I make my way down a narrow corridor, the walls slick with sweat and the smell of fear. The team clears the area as I move, pushing forward with calculated determination. Then, I hear it.
A scuffling sound, a weak, panicked breath. A boy.
I round the corner, and there he is—barely sixteen, his face a mess of blood and dirt, hands trembling as he clutches a satchel tightly to his chest. His wide eyes lock onto mine, and I can see the terror in them. He’s just a kid. A pawn in this fucked up game. But a pawn who knows too much.
Without hesitation, I corner him, my gun trained on his chest. He freezes, his back pressing against the concrete wall.
He’s still clutching the satchel, his hands bloody, shaking. The moment I step closer, he stumbles back, trying to get away from me. But there’s nowhere to go.
“Drop the bag,” I command, my voice rough. The boy looks up at me, his body trembling like a leaf in the wind.
He doesn’t drop the satchel. He’s too scared. “Please,” he begs, his voice cracking. “I don’t know anything. I’m just... just a courier.”
I raise the pistol. “You’re running shipments for them,” I say, my voice calm and deadly. “You know the routes. You’re cargo, just like everything else here.”
The boy trembles as if my words are knives, but he still holds onto the bag. I take a step closer, the gun steady in my grip. I can see him weighing his options, but he’s too young. Too terrified to think straight.
Before I can move again, I hear a noise behind me. A quick, deliberate footstep. I turn just as I see Calista appear at the end of the corridor, gun raised. She looks at the boy, her eyes sharp with calculation. But as she takes in the scene, her expressions shift. Her brow furrows slightly as she looks at the boy, and she steps closer, her voice softer than I expect.
“He’s just a kid,” she says, breathless, her voice betraying a hint of hesitation.
I feel frustration gnaw at my gut. This is a mission. This is about survival, about taking control. But I can see it in her eyes. The same pity I’ve seen in my own heart when I was forced to pull the trigger on someone too young, too innocent.
“He runs shipments for them,” I repeat, my voice harder now, like the words are a hammer. “He knows the routes. He’s cargo.”
I see her pause. Her eyes stay on the boy, gaze softening for just a second, and I wonder if she’s about to stop me—if she’s going to stand between us. But she steps forward, gun still raised, though now angled toward the ground.
She keeps her eyes on the boy. “You said I could decide,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “So let me.”
My hand hesitates on the trigger. For the first time tonight, doubt creeps in. This is it—the moment I find out if I’m really as cruel as my father… or if I’m someone different. Someone who keeps the darkness at bay instead of letting it consume everything.
I look at her, searching her face for any sign of weakness, any crack in her resolve. But all I see is the woman she’s become. The one who can look at death and not draw back. The one who stands between me and a boy who doesn’t deserve to die.
I don’t know what to do.
I take a slow breath, the gravity of the decision settling in my chest.
“You know he can’t just walk free,” I warn her, my voice tight, but not unkind.
She steps closer to me, blocking my view of the boy. “Then keep him as leverage,” she says. “But not a corpse.”
I look at her, my mind racing. She’s right, of course. This kid can be a tool. A pawn. But that doesn’t mean he has to die tonight.
I turn to Ethan, who’s standing further down the hallway, waiting for the signal. I give him the nod. “Take him,” I say. “Lock him down. If he speaks, I want every name.”
Ethan moves with efficiency, his grip firm as he yanks the boy away from the wall. The kid stays limp, offering no resistance. He knows it’s over.
I turn back to Calista, a quiet respect rising in me. For the way she handled herself. For the decision she made.
As we exit the warehouse, it burns behind us, a dark inferno lighting up the night sky. The fire crackles in the distance, sending a plume of smoke into the air, mingling with the orange glow that seems to swallow the night.
I’m covered in blood—none of it my own.
Calista stands beside me, breathing hard, her hair matted against her face, her clothes stained. But it’s not the blood that catches my attention. It’s the way she stands there, her shoulders squared, her gaze focused on the fire as if it’s the only thing that matters.
She doesn’t glance away. Not from the blood, not from the destruction, not from the aftermath.
“You didn’t flinch,” I say, my voice quieter now, almost as if I’m speaking to myself. But I can’t stop myself from looking at her.
She turns her head slowly, her eyes locking onto mine. “I’m not here to,” she says, her voice low and firm. “I’m here to finish this.”
I step closer, brushing soot off her cheek, my fingers lingering, not ready to let go. This thing between us isn’t just chemistry, its combustion.
I can feel it. And I know she feels it too.
And right now, it’s all that matters. More than the vengeance we’ve just tasted. More than the blood that’s spilled.
Orange embers are still crackling in the distance, casting silhouettes against the smoldering warehouse in the rearview. The SUV is idling on the edge of the district, quiet and heavy with heat—not just from the wreckage we’re leaving behind, but from something far more dangerous that’s building inside me.
I stay silent at first. I stare through the windshield, heart pounding, fingers tight around the steering wheel. My shirt is soaked with blood and sweat, clinging to my skin. The glow of the flames outside dances across the glass, painting shadows over Calista’s face.
Finally, I turn around. “Take the second car. Leave.”
Ethan stays silent. Cain does too. They exchange a look, nod, and slip out, the door shutting with a soft, final click. Within seconds, the other SUV is gone, tires hissing against gravel.
It’s just us now.
Me and her. Alone. Caged in dark leather and glass.
She shifts beside me, still catching her breath, chest rising and falling fast. Blood streaks her cheek, a smear across her jaw from where she leaned against cover. Her coat’s open, revealing black on black.
I can’t stop watching her.
“You held your own tonight,” I say, my voice low, scraped raw.
She glances at me, unwavering. “You thought I wouldn’t?”
Our eyes lock. Hers still carry the high of violence, sharp and wild. Mine? I don’t know what’s left in them—too much maybe. Too much want. Too much need. Too much pride in the way she fucking handled herself tonight.
“I thought I’d have to drag you out,” I murmur, lips twitching.
She smirks, slow and lethal.
I lean in, my hand sliding along the seat until it’s near the edge of her thigh. My breath brushes her cheek, warm and ragged. Every part of me feels coiled, ready to snap. My cock aches—hard and unforgiving—and all I can think about is her. The blood on her skin. The way she looked holding that gun like she was born to bring hell.
She leans into me, parting her lips like a dare. Her hand rests on my chest, right over my pounding heart. It fucking belongs to her.
“Tomorrow,” I whisper, my voice a growl, “we talk about what comes next.”
But tomorrow feels like another life.
Her face is inches from mine. Her breath mixes with mine, and her thumb drags down the line of blood on my chest. I shudder under it.
“Tomorrow,” I say again, lower this time, darker.
But neither of us moves away.
The heat between us simmers—volatile, impossible to contain. I’m not thinking about strategy anymore. I’m not thinking about the De Corsis or the aftermath. All I want is her. Right here. Right fucking now.
It’s a dangerous balance.
One breath. One word.
And I’ll give in.