31. Pietro
Pietro
We don’t get far.
We’re halfway back to the inlet, the Arcadia facility behind us, jungle pressing in like a closing fist, when I hear it—footsteps. Too many. Too smooth.
Valaria freezes beside me.
I pull her behind a tree just as a shadow steps onto the trail. Tall. Camouflaged. Confident.
And then I see his face.
And everything inside me stops.
“Gavrix,” I breathe.
“Hello, brother,” he says.
Valaria stiffens. “Brother?”
I lower my weapon, but only slightly.
Gavrix Cucinotta. My older half-brother. A man who always played chess while the rest of us played cards. Ten years between us. Ex–Royal Operative.
When on duty, he left me alone with the old man who believed in being brutalized to be brutal. I ran away from home. Four years later, he found me on mean the streets.
Presumed dead in a weapons raid six years ago.
“You’re supposed to be?—”
Gavrix doesn’t look at me right away. He keeps his gun trained on Valaria, voice low and cold enough to make even the guards shift uneasily. My own weapon feels like dead weight in my grip.
“Gone?” He smiles, something cold flickering behind his eyes. “I was. Arcadia brought me back.”
He nods to the four agents fanning out behind him. All armed. All silent.
“You’re on the wrong side of this, Pietro.”
“No,” I growl.
His gaze flicks to Valaria. “She belongs here.”
Valaria steps forward, chin high. “I belong to no one.”
“I’m not here to argue,” Gavrix says evenly. “Just to bring you back.”
But then—so subtle it’s almost invisible—Gavrix flicks two fingers against his thigh. Once, twice, then a tap to his belt buckle.
Recognition detonates in my chest.
The signal.
The same one he used when I was a toddler—sending me into the forbidden study to steal our old man’s cigars. A silent code that meant: Play along. Watch me.
I force my jaw to tighten like I’m furious, like I’m seconds from charging him. Every instinct in me is screaming to protect Valaria, but I lock my knees and keep my gun lowered. Gavrix’s eyes flick to mine, steady, promising something I can’t read.
Then everything happens at once.
Gavrix fires—two sharp blasts inches from our feet.
At his barked order— “Secure the perimeter!”—the agents move like a single organism, none foolish enough to question the man whose reputation was built on leaving no dissent alive.
“Get her out,” he hisses, voice rough with something that sounds almost like regret. “Now.”
Gavrix bought us precious seconds. And if we’re lucky, they’ll be enough.
We run.
Through the trees. Toward the cove. Toward the only chance we have left. Bullets zip past, shredding leaves. Gavrix, the expert marksman, misses by inches.
Ahead, a solitary agent plunges from the canopy—fires a tranquilizer dart. A heartbeat too late, a sniper’s crack splits the air. He’s dead before gravity can claim him.
Valaria jerks as the dart pierces her thigh. She lets out a strangled cry. I catch her before she falls—yank the dart free.
Her pupils dilate, her breath ragged. “Don’t…let them?—”
“I won’t,” I swear, lifting her over my shoulder.
We burst onto the sand, and I run. Valaria is awake enough to hold onto my belt as I trudge forward.
Gavrix’s voice cuts through the chaos, calm as death.
“You can’t outrun Arcadia!” he roars. “You think you can save her? You can’t even save yourself!”
No reconnaissance boat to save us. A rowboat floats over clear water.
I lay Valaria gently into the hull. She’s half awake, half asleep.
I fire three rounds into the tree line, just to buy seconds.
Heave the oars. Adrenaline fires up my strength.
Knowing it is too far for me to row.
But I don’t stop. I can’t stop.
An hour passes. Maybe two.
The sun blisters. Burns my eyes.
Valaria sleeps at my feet. Shaded by the narrow bench.
Something black appears on the horizon.
Gaining speed.
“Damn,” I exhale. Row faster.
Knowing I can’t outrun it.
Ready to fight.
Drown whatever sonsabitches are onboard.
Water sprays in sheets. Soaking us.
The reconnaissance boat. The operative helps me with Valaria. I jump aboard.
“Man, why’d you come back?”
“I owe you one. More than one.”
Valaria’s head lolls against my shoulder. She blinks up at me, fighting the chemical pull dragging her under.
“I…I’m not…done,” she slurs, her fingers curling weakly in my shirt.
“Then don’t you dare leave me,” I whisper, one hand clutching the wheel, the other gripping her as if I can hold her tethered to this world by sheer will.
Behind us, Gavrix grows smaller on the shore, still shouting, but his words are lost to the roar of the waves and my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
We carve a path across the black water, and I don’t look back.