Chapter 31
Olivia
There’s a difference between knowing you’re a target—
And hearing it confirmed.
It changes the way everything feels.
The air. The space. The weight of every decision that comes after.
Because now it’s not theoretical.
It’s not strategy.
It’s real.
“They’re coming back.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, but they don’t feel like a question. They feel like something already decided.
“Yes.”
Rico doesn't hesitate, and of course he doesn't. There is something about the certainty in him that settles deeper than anything else we've said tonight because there is no illusion between us anymore and no attempt at false reassurance.
He isn't promising me that everything will be fine.
He isn't pretending the danger isn't real.
He's simply accepting what comes next, and somehow that honesty is easier to trust than comfort ever could have been.
“Then we don't miss next time,” I say.
My voice remains steady and controlled, but something underneath it has changed.
There is a sharper edge to my determination now, something that wasn't there before because this stopped being about simply surviving the situation the moment they came looking for me.
I don't want to spend the rest of my life reacting to threats I never asked for.
I want the threat gone, and for the first time, I understand that ending this may require me to step directly into the darkness rather than keep trying to find a way around it.
His gaze holds mine, and something shifts behind his eyes. Recognition, perhaps. Approval, maybe even both.
“No,” he says quietly. “We don't.”
The silence that follows feels different from every silence we've shared before.
It isn't filled with resistance or uncertainty, and neither of us is trying to establish which one of us holds the greater control.
There is simply an understanding between us, quiet and absolute, born from the fact that we've finally stopped working against each other.
For the first time since this began, we're standing on the same side of the line.
We're moving in the same direction.
And whatever waits for us beyond it, we're going there together.
“That means we adjust the plan,” I continue, stepping closer, my mind already working through what just happened. “We don’t repeat the same setup. We don’t assume they’ll come the same way.”
“They won’t,” he agrees.
“Good,” I reply. “Then we stop treating this like a pattern we can predict.”
His brow shifts slightly.
“You think we were?”
“I think you were,” I correct.
A beat.
Then—
“That’s fair.”
I nod once because he's right about the immediate problem.
What worked once won't necessarily work again, especially against someone who managed to escape a controlled perimeter.
He has already seen part of our strategy, which means the advantage of surprise is gone, and if he's as capable as we believe, he'll adapt the moment he realizes we've changed the rules.
“They'll adapt,” I say. “Which means we have to move first.”
“We are,” he replies.
“No,” I counter. “You're reacting faster. That's not the same thing.”
The distinction hangs between us, and for once, he doesn't immediately argue. He watches me instead, allowing the silence to stretch while he considers what I'm saying. That small shift catches my attention because it means he's actually listening rather than simply waiting for his turn to respond.
“What are you suggesting?” he asks.
There it is. The opening I was looking for.
“We stop waiting for them to come to us,” I say. “We force the interaction on our terms.”
“That’s what we're doing.”
“No,” I reply. “You're creating an opportunity and hoping they take it.”
“They will.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
I shake my head, frustration tightening my voice.
“That's where you're wrong. You don't get to assume anything anymore, not after what just happened.
One of them already saw through part of the plan and managed to escape.
That means our information is incomplete, our assumptions have weaknesses, and someone out there knows more about us than we know about them.
We can't build the next move around what we think they'll do. We have to build it around what they cannot afford to ignore.”
Silence follows, and this time I know my words have landed.
He doesn't dismiss them or challenge them immediately because he understands the truth buried inside them.
The first plan worked because we anticipated their behavior.
The next one has to account for the fact that they're anticipating ours.
And that changes everything.
“They got out,” I continue. “Which means they saw enough to adjust. Which means the next move they make isn’t going to look anything like the last one.”
“Yes,” he says.
“So we stop thinking like they’re going to walk into another trap,” I say. “And we start thinking like they’re trying to build one of their own.”
That changes everything.
I see it in his expression.
That shift.
That recalculation.
“Go on,” he says.
“They don’t need to come back the same way,” I continue. “They don’t even need to come back here immediately. They just need to create a situation where you’re forced to move.”
“Using you,” he says.
“Yes.”
The word is simple.
Clear.
Unavoidable.
“Then we control that,” he replies.
“How?” I ask.
“By deciding when and where it happens.”
“That’s still reactive,” I say. “Just earlier.”
Another silence.
Then—
“You have something specific in mind,” he says.
I do.
I’ve been building it since the second Dario said one of them got away.
“We give them something they can’t ignore,” I say.
His gaze sharpens.
“Which is?”
“Access,” I reply.
A beat.
Then—
“They already had that,” he says.
“No,” I counter. “They had a breach. That’s not the same thing as access.”
“Explain.”
I step closer, my focus narrowing, everything else falling away.
“We control the narrative,” I say. “We let them think they’ve created an opportunity instead of walking into one.”
“That’s a risk.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re suggesting we take it.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Then—
“How?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate.
“We move me.”
The words settle into the room with immediate weight because this is the line between what we've been doing and what we're about to do.
Rico's expression doesn't change at first, but I catch the subtle shift behind his eyes as he begins calculating the implications, testing the idea against everything he already knows.
“That wasn't the plan,” he says.
“No,” I agree. “It wasn't.”
“And now it is.”
“Yes.”
Silence stretches between us, longer than before because neither of us is pretending this is a minor adjustment. We're changing the entire approach, abandoning the safety of waiting for them to make the next move and replacing it with something far more deliberate.
“They're expecting you to stay here,” I continue. “Protected, controlled, static.”
“Yes.”
“So we break that expectation. We create movement, but controlled movement. Something they can see, something they can track, and something that gives them a reason to believe they've found an opening.”
“And you think they'll take it.”
“I think they won't be able to resist it.” I hold his gaze. “If I'm the target, if I'm the reason they came here in the first place, then movement becomes leverage. It becomes opportunity, risk, and the possibility they've been waiting for. That's exactly what they need.”
His expression hardens slightly. “You're putting yourself in the open.”
“I already am,” I counter. “The difference is that now it's intentional.”
Another silence settles between us as he considers that. He knows what I'm saying, and I know he understands the danger better than anyone.
“This is different,” he says.
“Yes.”
“It's more dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“And you're still choosing it.”
“Yes.”
There is no hesitation in my answer because I've already made the decision. If this is going to end, we can't keep reacting to every move they make. We have to force them into a position where they have no choice but to reveal themselves.
“We control the environment,” I continue. “We control the timing, and we control the exposure.”
“And if something goes wrong?”
I hold his gaze.
“It doesn't.”
The corner of his mouth almost moves, not quite becoming a smile. “That's not an answer.”
“It’s the only one that matters,” I reply. If I allow myself to focus on everything that could go wrong, then hesitation will take over, and hesitation is more dangerous than fear because it disguises itself as caution. I've spent too much of my life learning that lesson to forget it now.
“We don't get another mistake,” I say quietly.
“No,” he agrees. “We don't.”
He looks toward the corridor for a moment before returning his attention to me. “Dario isn't going to like this.”
“That isn't my concern.”
“It will be.”
“Then he can tell me that himself.”
A beat passes before Rico finally gives a single nod.
“Fine.”
One word, but it carries the weight of a decision already made. There is no reluctance in it and no attempt to pull me back from what I've chosen. He is accepting the change, accepting my terms, and accepting that I am no longer standing behind him while he decides how this ends.
“Then we do it your way,” he says.
I nod once.
“Good.”
Because this time we're not waiting for them to dictate the next move or hoping they'll make the mistake we need. We're going to create the conditions ourselves, control every variable we can, and force them to step into the space we've chosen for them.
No more mistakes.
Not this time.