CHAPTER 19 – Leona
Dawn breaks over Port Hollow, painting the skyline in shades of fire. I watch the sunrise from our bedroom window, tracking the gradual illumination of a city at war. Marcus sleeps behind me, his breathing deep and even—the untroubled rest of a man who knows exactly who he is.
I've been awake for hours. Not from nightmares or guilt as I'd expected, but from a strange, humming energy coursing through my veins. Sleep feels unnecessary. Wasteful, even.
Last night I killed a man. Slit his throat and watched him bleed out. Then I nearly left Marcus, believing him capable of trading me away like currency.
Today I feel nothing but clarity.
My reflection in the glass is sharper somehow, as if the act of taking a life has brought everything into focus. The woman staring back at me isn't the forensic analyst who meticulously cataloged others' violence. She's become the violence.
And she wears it well.
"You didn't sleep." Marcus's voice reaches me from the bed, alert despite having just awakened.
"Wasn't tired."
It looks like he's going to ask more questions but he doesn't.
"Get dressed. Meeting in thirty minutes."
"What meeting?"
"War council. Wear something authoritative."
He leaves me standing by the window, puzzling over his final instruction.
In the closet, I bypass dresses and anything overtly feminine. If Marcus wants authoritative, I'll give him authoritative. Black tailored slacks. Crisp white button-down. Leather ankle boots with just enough heel. My hair pulled back into a severe knot at the nape of my neck.
The woman in the mirror looks dangerous.
***
The strategy room occupies the secure floor below the penthouse—a space I've seen only in passing until now. Steel-reinforced walls. No windows. A large table dominates the center, surrounded by chairs currently filled with Marcus's top lieutenants.
Gabriel sits at Marcus's right hand, his expression unreadable as always.
Across from him is Ramos, head of security, his massive frame dwarfing the chair.
Three others I recognize but don't know by name—all men who've spent decades in Marcus's service.
All wearing nearly identical expressions of guarded surprise as I enter.
Marcus stands at the head of the table, his posture commanding without effort. He doesn't explain my presence or introduce me. He simply gestures to the empty chair at his left. Opposite Gabriel.
I take the seat, feeling the weight of their assessment. These men have killed, tortured, built and destroyed empires alongside Marcus Drake. And now I'm sitting among them as if I belong.
Perhaps I do.
"The Delgados have retreated to three primary strongholds." Marcus activates a digital map on the table's surface, glowing red markers indicating enemy territory. "The marina district. The west side processing center. And their primary compound in the North Hills."
Gabriel leans forward. "Our intelligence suggests Santiago is operating from the marina. It's their most defensible position, with multiple escape routes by water."
"Then that's where we hit first." Marcus's finger traces a route through the holographic display. "Cut off the head, the body dies."
"Santiago's paranoid." Ramos taps a marker near the water's edge. "Triple security. Rotating patrols. We've lost three men just trying to get close enough for recon."
"He'll be expecting a frontal assault," Gabriel adds. "Probably has the entire perimeter wired with explosives."
The men continue discussing approach vectors, security weaknesses, tactical advantages. I listen, absorbing their language, noting the ruthless efficiency with which they plan what will undoubtedly be a bloodbath.
Something catches my attention. A detail in their proposed route.
"That won't work." My voice cuts through their discussion, drawing every eye to me.
Marcus simply raises an eyebrow.
I lean forward, pointing to the eastern approach they've outlined.
"This construction site. It appears to offer cover, but if you check the city planning records, it's been abandoned for months due to sinkholes under the foundation.
The ground won't support the weight of vehicles or even multiple personnel. It's a trap waiting to happen."
Silence falls over the table. I can feel Gabriel's gaze boring into me, evaluating this unexpected input.
"And how exactly would you know that?" The question comes from one of the lieutenants I don't know by name—a hawk-faced man with cold eyes.
"Because I worked on body recovery there six months ago." I hold his stare. "Two construction workers fell through the false surface. The building inspector who approved the site was found in the harbor a week later. It wasn't an accident."
Marcus's mouth twitches—the closest he comes to smiling in these settings. "Rodriguez."
The hawk-faced man looks to Marcus. "Sir?"
"Verify Leona’s intel."
Rodriguez pulls out his tablet, fingers moving rapidly over the screen. After a moment, his expression tightens. "She's right. The site was condemned. Ground instability. Work stopped in April."
Marcus nods, then turns to me. "Got any alternatives?"
Without hesitation, I point to a different approach. "Here. The old cannery. Disused but structurally sound. Clear sight lines to the marina's eastern entrance. Three viable exit routes."
Gabriel studies the location, then gives a reluctant nod. "It could work. Needs verification, but the position is strategically sound."
"Do it." Marcus turns to Ramos. "Send a team. Full assessment."
The meeting continues, the men adjusting their plans around my input. No one questions my presence again, though I catch sidelong glances, re-evaluations happening in real time.
When Marcus outlines the final assault teams, Gabriel clears his throat. "What is Mrs. Drake's role in this operation?"
All eyes turn to Marcus, then to me.
"Advisory." Marcus's tone brooks no argument. "For now."
Gabriel opens his mouth as if to object, then thinks better of it. The others shift uncomfortably, but no one speaks.
"Dismissed." Marcus waits until the room empties before turning to me. "Good job, Leona."
"They don't trust me."
He moves to a private bar in the corner, pouring two glasses of whiskey. "They will eventually."
"And my role," I accept the offered glass. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're not ready for field operations." He leans against the table beside me. "Yet."
"And when will I be ready?"
His eyes hold mine, weighing how much to reveal. "When you can kill without needing my permission."
***
Marcus's behavior has changed. Not obviously—he's still controlled, still commanding. But there's a new quality to his observation, a calculation I haven't seen before.
He watches me like someone assessing not just an asset, but a successor.
In the evening, I find him in his office, surveillance feeds from across the city illuminating his face in shifting patterns of light and shadow. He doesn't look up when I enter, but his posture changes slightly—awareness without interruption.
"The cannery location checked out." He slides a tablet toward me. "Ramos's team found a clear infiltration route. The operation is set for tomorrow night."
I scan the report, noting the details, the precision of their planning. "You're leading it personally."
"Yes."
"I want to come."
Now he looks up, eyes narrowing slightly. "No."
"I can help."
"You can die." His voice remains even, but an edge creeps in. "Santiago would consider capturing you a greater victory than killing me."
"I can handle myself."
"You slit one man's throat in a controlled environment." He stands, moving around the desk. "That doesn't prepare you for combat."
"Then train me."
A flicker of surprise crosses his features. "You're serious."
"Completely." I step closer, refusing to be intimidated by his height, his presence. "I'm tired of being a liability."
"You're not a liability."
"Then prove it. Let me be what you've been shaping me to become."
His eyes search mine, looking for uncertainty. Finding neither, he nods once. "Training starts tomorrow. Six a.m.. But you still don't come on this operation."
"The next one, then."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "We'll see."
That night, he doesn't come to bed. I find him in his study, working. When I bring him coffee at midnight, he accepts it without looking up.
"You should sleep." I stand behind his chair, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. "Even warlords need rest."
"Not tonight." He leans back slightly, the first acknowledgment of my touch. "Too much at stake."
"The marina operation?"
"That. And other things."
"What other things?"
He tilts his head back to look at me. "Your brother has resurfaced."
My breath catches. "Where?"
"Miami. One of our contacts spotted him at a private airfield yesterday." He watches my reaction carefully. "He's moving north."
"He's coming here."
I know my brother. If he's heading north from Miami, there's only one destination that makes sense.
"Most likely." Marcus turns back to his screens. "The question is why now. Why risk exposure when the Delgados are on high alert."
"Because he has something they want."
"He always had something they wanted." Marcus pulls up a grainy surveillance photo on one of the monitors. "The question is what he wants."
The image shows Cody—bearded, thinner than I remember, but unmistakably my brother—stepping off a small private plane. He's carrying a metal briefcase, handcuffed to his wrist.
"The codes." I lean closer, studying the image. "That has to be it."
"Yes. But why bring them back here? Why not access the accounts from somewhere safe and hidden?"
The answer comes to me with sudden clarity. "Because he can't use them. Not without help."
Marcus turns to face me fully. "What?"
"Cody's smart, but he's not a financial genius. If these are sophisticated banking systems, he'd need someone with access. Someone who can navigate the transfers without triggering alerts."
"Someone like Sandro Russo." Marcus's expression darkens. "My financial director."
If Cody is coming to Port Hollow to seek out Sandro, it means the threat isn't just from the Delgados anymore. It's from within Marcus's own organization.
"Your world is fracturing." I state the obvious, watching his face for reaction.
"War does that." He closes the surveillance file.
"What will you do?"
"Spring the trap." He stands, suddenly looming over me. "Let your brother come. Let Sandro think he can betray me. Let the Delgados believe they're winning."
"And then?"
His smile is cold enough to freeze blood. "And then I remind everyone exactly why I rule this city."