Section 50
Fire
Lucky
Fire eats fast.
I always thought that was something people said for effect—like time flies or it all happens so quickly. The kind of thing you don’t really believe until you’re standing there watching something real burn.
Red goes up like it’s been waiting for it.
Like it knows.
The flames catch along the bar first—alcohol fumes doing half the work—then climb greedy fingers up the walls where Frank stripped everything down. The fire breathes life into it again.
I lean against the hood of a car across the street, rain soaking through my shirt, blood drying tight across my skin in places I don’t want to think about yet.
Everything hurts.
My ribs especially. Every breath feels like something inside me is trying to rearrange itself without permission.
Still better than the moment I—
I stop that thought before it finishes.
Gia stands a few feet away from me. She hasn’t moved much since we stepped out. Rain slicks her hair back from her face, darkens the collar of her coat. The firelight hits her from across the street, painting her in orange and gold like a mythical creature.
She doesn’t flinch when the first window blows.
Glass shatters outward in a spray of sparks and heat, the sound sharp enough to make a couple of Dante’s guys duck on instinct.
But she watches like she’s memorizing it.
Dante pulls up a minute later.
His people are already moving—blocking off the street, redirecting traffic, setting up the kind of controlled chaos that makes things disappear before anyone official can get a clean look at them.
He steps out, takes in the scene in one sweep.
His gaze lands on Gia.
“Timing?” he asks.
“Contained,” she replies.
Dante nods once, like that’s all he needs. His eyes flick to me.
I must look like hell.
“Medics are two minutes out.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
He doesn’t respond to that either.
Smart man.
Dante gives a few more orders, low and precise. His people move like burning down a club at eight in the morning is just another line item on the schedule.
Sirens start in the distance. Dante glances toward the sound, then back to Gia.
“You have five,” he says.
She nods.
Dante gets in the SUV and pulls away, and the street feels bigger. Emptier.
It’s just us now. And the thing we just did.
I push off the car slowly, because everything in my body protests when I move too fast.
The rain has picked up, mixing with the smoke, turning the air into something thick and metallic.
The fire roars. Wood cracking. Glass breaking. Something inside collapsing with a low, heavy groan.
I only knew Red for a short time, but even I can tell this isn’t just a building to her.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
The words are out before I can stop them.
Gia doesn’t turn.
“You shouldn’t have gone,” she replies.
I let out a breath that hurts.
“Yeah,” I say. “Well.”
Another window blows out. Flames curl through the opening, dark billows of smoke reaching for the rain clouds.
I shake my head.
“You walked into a trap,” I say.
She tilts her head just enough that I can see the line of her jaw.
“I walked into my club.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant.”
Of course she does and still says it anyway.
I take a step closer, but keep a respectful distance. I’m not suicidal.
“My moral compass may be a fidget spinner at this point, but… You knew he was baiting you,” I say. “You knew that going in.”
“Yes.”
“And you came anyway.”
“I did.”
I laugh once.
It comes out rough.
“Great plan,” I mutter. “Really solid. Walk into a room full of guns because—what? Principle?”
“Because it was necessary.”
“Necessary for who?”
The word tastes wrong.
I run a hand through my hair, wince when I hit a spot on the back of my head that still feels like it’s ringing. My fingers are stained red before the rain washes it away.
“You don’t get to call it that,” I say. “Not when it’s me tied to the chair.”
Her shoulders go still.
“Careful,” she says quietly.
“Why?” I shoot back. “You gonna shoot me?”
Her eyes lock on mine, gaze cold despite the flames reflecting.
“You’re alive,” she says. “That suggests I made the correct decision.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No,” she agrees. “It isn’t.”
The fire pops behind her, sending a wave of heat across the street.
I barely feel it.
“Would you have let me die?”
The question I’ve been circling since I woke up tied to that chair with Frank smiling at me like I was already a memory.
The question I already know the answer to.
But I need to hear it anyway.
Gia doesn’t answer right away.
Of course she doesn’t—she measures the cost of every word like it’s currency.
Rain runs down her face, catching in the hollow of her throat. Her hands are loose at her sides, but I can see the tension in her fingers.
She’s not as unaffected as she wants me to believe.
Good.
The sirens are closer now, a minute away, tops.
Still, she takes her time.
“…I tried.”
It hits harder than anything Frank’s guys did. I’m standing here because she failed.
I look away from her, back at the fire.
The roof starts to sag inward.
One of the support beams gives with a crack that echoes down the street.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I know.”
We stand there for a second.
Two.
I rub at my wrists where the rope cut in earlier. The skin is torn, raw.
“Next time,” I say, because apparently I’ve decided tonight is the night I say all the things I shouldn’t, “maybe don’t test that.”
“There won’t be a next time,” she replies immediately.
“Right,” I say. “Because this went so smoothly.”
Her mouth tightens.
I huff out something that might be a laugh.
“Yeah,” I say. “That was the problem.”
“It was,” she says, completely serious.
I shake my head.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re insubordinate.”
“Didn’t realize I was still employed,” I mutter.
She steps closer.
Just one step.
“You are,” she says.
The firelight flickers across her face, softening nothing.
She means it.
“Lucky,” she says, quieter now.
She doesn’t finish the sentence—doesn’t even start it, really. Just my name.
That’s all I get.
That’s all she’s willing to give.
I get it. I’ve always gotten it, even when I pretend I don’t.
“Yeah,” I say.
Behind us, something inside Red collapses fully.
The roof caves in with a roar, sending a shower of sparks into the sky.
For a second, it looks like the whole place is breathing fire.
Then it settles.
Burns lower.
Controlled destruction.
Like everything else tonight.
Sirens turn the corner at the end of the street. Gia moves away from the fire first.
“Come on,” she says.
I follow.
My body protests, and she instinctively slows her pace for me. That might be the most dangerous thing that’s happened all night.