Chapter 20 – Tiziano
I stand at the edge of the sidewalk with my machete in one hand, pistol in the other.
Vespera’s on my left—blade tucked at her hip, eyes scanning every shadow like she’s already made peace with what’s coming.
This isn’t a standoff.
This is a warning.
And we’re the ones giving it.
Across the street, Alfeo’s crew fans out. Six of them. Maybe more behind the buildings.
They try not to look like muscle. But they’re too coordinated, too relaxed in a way only killers can fake.
They came expecting blood.
They’ll get it.
“You sure they’re not just flexing?” Tomas says from behind me. His voice is low, teeth tight.
“They don’t bring a lieutenant just to scare,” I reply.
I see the guy step forward.
Built like a cement block. Bald. Jaw square. Knife on his belt that’s probably gutted more than it’s sliced.
His name’s Dax. Alfeo’s second-in-command.
He looks me over, then turns to Vespera like I’m background noise.
“You don’t belong to him,” he says. “You were marked weeks ago.”
Vespera’s lip curls. “And I unmarked myself.”
He chuckles. “That’s not how this works.”
I step forward.
“Yeah?” I say. “Tell that to the men I left floating in the swamp.”
Dax meets my eyes. No fear. But there’s something else behind it—restraint. They haven’t gotten the order to move yet. They’re waiting. Probably for Alfeo’s call.
Good.
Gives me time to kill the first wave clean.
“She’s not yours to protect, Valtieri,” he sneers. “She was claimed.”
I cock my head.
“So was I.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
So I do.
I move fast.
One breath, and I’m already on him. My machete swings wide.
He blocks with a forearm—metal plate sewn into the jacket sleeve. Clever.
But I pivot. Step inside his reach. Elbow to his ribs. He grunts. I bring the machete down into his gut.
The plate doesn’t cover his stomach.
Steel sinks in.
He grabs my shoulder, strong, trying to hold me there. I twist the blade.
His mouth opens.
No scream.
Just the sound of breath leaking out.
I yank the blade free. He stumbles, hands clutching the mess where his stomach used to be.
Intestines spill onto the sidewalk like thick rope.
Vespera steps beside me. Not to stop me.
To shield my right.
Another guy rushes.
She’s faster.
Her blade flashes.
She doesn’t slash—she thrusts, right under the ribcage.
He collapses against the hood of a parked car.
Screaming erupts from the street.
Locals scatter.
Windows slam.
A man runs out from Alfeo’s side—young, fast, gun raised.
I shoot him once in the neck.
He spins, hits the ground hard.
Another behind him hesitates.
I shoot him, too.
Two down. Three left.
They start to retreat—half-hearted, like maybe they weren’t told this could go sideways.
I raise my voice. “You think you scare us?”
Vespera steps forward, blood running down her arm.
“We bury what scares us,” she shouts.
The remaining three scatter.
The street falls quiet again.
Neon buzzes.
Somewhere, a dog barks.
I breathe heavily.
Look down at the blood on my blade. My boots. My hands.
Vespera stands beside me, chin high, chest rising and falling fast.
Her eyes meet mine.
“You good?” she asks.
I nod.
She points to the one still alive, crawling away on one arm.
“Want me to finish him?”
I wipe my blade on the back of Dax’s jacket. “Nah. Let him crawl. Let him tell the others.”
She nods.
Tomas steps out from the bar, gun still raised. “We done?”
“For now,” I say.
I look up.
People watch us from behind curtains. They always do.
But no one opens their doors.
That’s smart.
Because this isn’t over.
It’s only starting.
The lieutenant drops hard.
He doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t groan.
Just folds into the pavement like all that muscle was for nothing.
Blood pools around him. Thick and steaming in the heat. It runs fast down the slope of the curb, joining rainwater and broken glass, disappearing into the storm drain like it never mattered.
The rest of Alfeo’s men—what’s left—freeze.
One breath.
Two.
Then they scatter.
Fast. Wide.
No one looks back.
We don’t chase.
We don’t need to.
The message is clear enough.
They thought they could test us. Shake us.
But they came light.
And now they know what we look like when we don’t hold back.
Vespera lowers her knife. Her shoulders drop a notch, but the fire in her eyes doesn't dim.
She turns to me.
Blood splatters her cheek.
Her shirt’s soaked at the waist—someone got close. Too close.
But she’s upright. Unbroken.
Her hand reaches out, grabs my forearm. Tight.
Our blood’s mixed now. Hers on my knuckles. Mine on her sleeve. It glues us together.
“We’re in this,” she says.
Her voice isn’t loud. She doesn’t need it to be.
She just says it like a fact. Like a vow that’s already been carved into the street.
I nod.
That’s all.
No need for a speech.
My hand closes around hers.
It’s slick. Warm. Alive.
She doesn’t let go.
Neither do I.
We stand in the middle of the street, surrounded by the wreckage we just made, and I know we’ve passed the point of no return.
We’re killers now.
Together.
Bound by it.
Forged in it.
Not just because of who we’ve lost. But because of who we are when the world tries to take more than it deserves.
“You good?” she asks again, eyes flicking down to the gash at my side.
“It’ll hold.”
She studies me for a second. Doesn’t press.
Instead, she releases my arm and crouches beside one of the bodies.
The one who tried to shoot her.
She rifles through his pockets. Finds a phone. Tosses it to Tomas, who catches it without blinking.
“Run it,” she says.
Tomas nods, already moving.
I watch her.
The way she doesn’t hesitate anymore.
She doesn’t flinch.
Not even when she wipes her blade on the man’s shirt like it’s just another tool.
“You’ve changed,” I say.
She looks up. “So have you.”
I give a dry laugh. “Yeah. But you wear it better.”
She stands. “We don’t have the luxury of being anything else now.”
She walks back to me.
The blood’s dry around her neckline.
She doesn’t wipe it off.
“Did you ever think it would come to this?” she asks.
“Not like this.”
“Then how?”
I shrug. “Cleaner. Simpler. A deal. A threat. A bullet in the right skull.”
She tilts her head. “Still think that’ll be enough?”
I look down the street.
Windows are still shut, lights flickering. The city is holding its breath.
“No,” I say. “Now I think we burn them out.”
She steps closer.
Close enough that I feel the heat between us again. Not sexual. Not soft.
Just two weapons drawn in the same direction.
Her hand rests on my chest.
Over the raven tattoo. The one that marked me when I chose the Order.
She presses her palm there. Blood sticks to her skin.
“I don’t know what this means for you,” she says. “What the Order will do. What Bianca will try.”
“They’ll come.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
She nods.
I look down at her hand.
“Do you still trust me?” I ask.
“I trust the blood,” she says.
“Mine?”
“Ours.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt.
I lean in.
Not for a kiss.
Just to touch her forehead with mine.
To remind myself we’re both still here.
She closes her eyes.
So do I.
And for a few seconds, nothing moves.
No threats.
No bullets.
No ghosts.
Just breath and blood and the shape of what we’ve become.
When we pull apart, it’s like cutting a wire.
The charge lingers.
But we both know it won’t hold forever.
“We should clean up,” she says.
“Yeah.”
She turns.
I grab one of the dead men by the collar.
Start dragging.
Tomas is already coming back out the front door, holding the phone like it just confessed.
“Encrypted,” he says. “But I can break it.”
“Do it,” Vespera says.
He nods and disappears back inside.
I look at the blood still wet on the pavement.
I know it’ll stain.
But that’s the point.
I kneel by the man I gutted. His eyes are open. Unblinking.
I wipe my blade clean on what’s left of his shirt.
Vespera’s hand is still steady on my forearm.
“We’re deep into this now,” I say, voice low.
She nods.
“Bound by it. Forged in it.”
I meet her eyes.
“And we’re not done yet.”