CHAPTER 3 EVELYNS NETWORK UNDER SIEGE #2
Tommy walked backward ahead of him, gun trained on the rooftop. "They’re circling," he called.
Maya’s grip on Evelyn’s arm tightened. "You called him," she whispered. "You said his name."
Evelyn remembered the phone trembling in her hand, the number she’d dialed on instinct. Tommy. Please.
A new rule: names had weight here.
And Tommy had come when she said his.
Evelyn Crane stepped over a shattered IV stand, the crunch of broken glass loud under her boots.
The clinic's front desk had been reduced to kindling, patient files scattered like confetti across the blood-smeared tile.
Gabriel Shaw crouched beside an overturned gurney, running his fingers along a deep gouge in the metal frame.
"Claws," he said, holding up his hand. Three parallel grooves scored his glove. "Not human."
Tommy Caruso kicked aside a chunk of drywall, his gun still drawn. "You sure this was Dario's crew?"
Evelyn didn't answer. She picked up a half-burned ledger, the edges charred where someone had tried to torch it.
The ink had run, but she could still make out the entries.
"They were treating shifters here. Look—lycanthropy suppressants, silver nitrate injections."
She tossed the ledger to Gabriel. "Your people?"
He flipped a page. "Not ours. The Ferrara pack doesn't use human doctors."
A muffled groan came from behind the wreckage of an exam room door. Tommy was on it in three strides, shoving the debris aside with his shoulder. A man in a lab coat lay pinned under a filing cabinet, his leg bent at a sickening angle. Blood flecked his lips when he coughed.
Evelyn knelt beside him. "Who did this?"
The doctor's hand clamped around her wrist with surprising strength. "Vitale," he rasped. "Said we were... contaminating the bloodlines." His grip tightened. "They took the girl. The hybrid."
Gabriel went very still. "What girl?"
But the doctor's eyes had already rolled back, his last breath rattling out between clenched teeth. Tommy checked his pulse, then shook his head. Evelyn stood, wiping her hands on her jeans.
"We need to move," Gabriel said. "If Dario's hunting hybrids—"
"I know." Evelyn pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over the contact she'd sworn she wouldn't use again. The screen cracked under her grip. "Tommy, call your crew. Tell them we're going to need firepower."
Gabriel caught her arm. "You can't bring Moretti soldiers into a shifter fight. The Accord—"
"Fuck the Accord." She yanked free. "Dario broke it first."
The new rule-clue: Hybrids exist, and someone's hunting them.
Evelyn’s phone buzzed before she could dial, the screen flashing with an incoming call from a blocked number. She hesitated, then swiped to answer. A distorted voice crackled through the speaker.
"You’re too late, Crane."
Gabriel’s nostrils flared, his shoulders tensing. Tommy mouthed who the hell is that? but Evelyn silenced him with a sharp gesture.
"Who is this?"
The voice ignored her. "Dario doesn’t want witnesses. Especially not a Crane sniffing around his business." A wet, guttural laugh. "You should’ve stayed in your tower."
The line went dead. Evelyn lowered the phone, her jaw tight. Gabriel was already moving toward the clinic’s back exit, his boots kicking up dust from the demolished drywall.
"Trap?" Tommy asked, thumbing the safety off his gun.
"Obviously." Evelyn pocketed her phone and followed Gabriel, her fingers brushing the hilt of the knife sheathed at her hip.
The hallway was a graveyard of overturned equipment, the flickering fluorescents casting jagged shadows.
A trail of smeared blood led to a shattered window, the glass glittering like teeth in the dim light.
Gabriel crouched by the sill, his fingers tracing a fresh scratch in the frame. "They went this way. Recently." He inhaled deeply, his pupils dilating. "Four of them. One’s injured."
Tommy peered out the window. "And the girl?"
"Alive. For now." Gabriel’s voice was low, edged with something feral. "Dario wouldn’t waste a hybrid. Not if he thinks she’s valuable."
Evelyn’s stomach twisted. "Then we find her before he figures out how to use her." She vaulted through the window, landing lightly on the fire escape outside. The alley below reeked of garbage and wet asphalt, the distant wail of sirens cutting through the night.
Gabriel dropped down beside her, his movements silent. "You realize this is exactly what they want. You, chasing shadows."
"I don’t care." Evelyn started down the rusted stairs, her boots ringing against the metal. "You want to walk away, Shaw? Now’s your chance."
He caught up in two strides, his grip on her elbow firm but not unkind. "You don’t get to martyr yourself alone."
Tommy landed behind them with a grunt, his gun sweeping the alley. "Romantic as this is, we’ve got company."
A figure detached itself from the darkness near the dumpster—a man in a leather jacket, his face half-hidden under a hood. The glint of a silver blade flashed in his hand.
Gabriel stepped forward, his growl reverberating in his chest. "Ferrara?"
The man shook his head, raising the knife. "Vitale sends his regards."
Then the shadows behind him moved, and Evelyn realized they weren’t alone.
The door to the safehouse burst open before Tommy could lower his gun. Maya Torres stood framed in the doorway, her dark hair slick with rain, a manila folder clutched in her left hand. The knuckles of her right were split—fresh blood smeared across the back of her hand.
"Intel," she said, tossing the folder onto the scarred kitchen table. It slid to a stop inches from Dario's elbow. "Linking the attacks to Ferrara's remnants."
Evelyn stepped forward before Dario could react, flipping the folder open.
Surveillance photos spilled out—grainy shots of men in nondescript jackets moving through the docks, a timestamp from last night.
One image showed a face she recognized: one of Luca Ferrara's lieutenants, dead three months ago if the rumors were true.
"Bullshit," Tommy said, jamming his gun back into its holster. "Ferrara's people got wiped out when we took the docks."
Maya wiped her bloody hand on her jeans. "Not all of them." She tapped a photo of a warehouse schematic with a red circle drawn around the loading bay. "They're using the old Moretti routes. Your routes, Vitale. That's how they're moving the guns."
Dario didn't touch the photos. His voice stayed low, measured. "Who gave you this?"
"Doesn't matter." Maya's jaw tightened. "What matters is they're hitting your shipments because they know you'll retaliate. They want you to bleed the wrong people."
Gabriel leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "And you just happened to show up with this now?"
Maya's gaze cut to him. "I don't work for you, Shaw. I'm here because Ferrara's idiots tried to intercept me on the way in." She held up her injured hand. "They're not merely after Moretti. They're cleaning house."
A muscle jumped in Dario's temple. Evelyn recognized the sign—suppressed fury, calculations spinning behind his eyes.
Tommy snatched up one of the photos. "This is the old cannery off Pier 12. We haven't used that drop in years."
"Exactly." Maya's voice was flat. "Which means someone gave them the layout."
The implication hung in the air like smoke. Evelyn's fingers curled against the edge of the table. Someone inside Moretti was feeding intel to Ferrara's remnants.
Dario finally moved, straightening from his lean against the wall. "Tommy. Secure the perimeter. If Torres was followed, we've got five minutes before this place is compromised."
Tommy was already moving toward the door, hand on his gun. "On it."
Gabriel pushed off the counter. "We need to—"
"We don't need to do anything," Dario interrupted. His gaze locked onto Evelyn. "You're calling Caruso. Now."
Evelyn didn't flinch. "You don't get to give me orders."
"No," Dario agreed. "But I do get to point out that if Ferrara's people are using Moretti routes, they're two steps ahead of whatever you're planning." He nodded at the folder. "That's not intel. That's bait."
Maya exhaled sharply. "And you just left it on the table."
The realization hit Evelyn half a second before the first window shattered.
Glass rained down as the room erupted into motion. Tommy lunged for the door. Gabriel shoved Evelyn behind the overturned couch. Dario didn't move—just turned his head toward the broken window, his expression chillingly calm.
"Torres," he said, without looking at her. "How many did you count?"
Maya's hand was already on her gun. "Three outside. One on the roof."
Dario's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Wrong."
The second window exploded inward.
Evelyn hit the floor as gunfire tore through the safehouse. She fumbled for her phone, thumb already dialing Tommy's number. The call connected on the first ring.
"Caruso," she snapped. "We need extraction. Now."
Over the gunfire, she heard Dario say, very softly, "They're not here for me."
Then the door burst off its hinges.
The gunfire stuttered to a halt, leaving the safehouse ringing with silence.
Evelyn pressed her back against the overturned table, phone still clutched in her hand.
Across the room, Gabriel Shaw crouched beside the shattered window, his fingers flexing around the grip of his pistol.
Blood streaked his temple from where flying glass had caught him.
"We need to dissolve the network," Gabriel said, voice low but carrying. "Temporarily. Cut all links before they trace the breach back to us."
Dario didn't look at him. He was watching the door, the splintered frame, the way the hinges had torn free like they'd been made of paper. "They're not tracing anything," he said. "They already know where we are."
Evelyn's thumb hovered over the call button. "Tommy's two minutes out."
Gabriel turned sharply. "That's exactly the problem. Every connection is a vulnerability right now. If they're monitoring our comms—"
"Then they already heard you arguing for a full retreat," Evelyn snapped. She hit dial. The line connected instantly. "Tommy. Now."