𝟸𝟻. "... 𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛"

I never do anything without a reason.

Without a goal or a reward.

Everything in this world is orchestrated, and whoever you think is pulling the strings depends on how you think.

I like to think anyone could be orchestrating-because anyone could take the power.

The bright light from the streetlamps shimmered on the car's side mirror as I applied my gloss. It took him long enough.

I leaned away from the mirror and glanced out the tinted window. Four black luxury vehicles pulled up in front of the hotel entrance, their engines humming in unison.

Hotel Obsidian.

That confirmed it.

I reached for the binoculars beside me and adjusted the focus, zeroing in on the men stepping out of the first few cars. Black suits, clean-cut. Not just security-enforcers. Their movements were calculated, synchronized, and rehearsed to perfection.

Then came the Rolls-Royce at the center. The real deal.

I gripped the binoculars tighter as one of the men pulled open the back door, my pulse steady, my breathing controlled. But it wasn't him.

Instead, it was the man who was always by his side. His second-in-command.

Which made me wonder what happened to Adrian. He used to be the right hand man.

And then, just as the thought crossed my mind, he stepped out.

I zoomed in. His movements were effortless, polished. A simple tug at his suit jacket, a few murmured words to his right-hand man, a sweeping glance across the area.

And then-his eyes locked with mine.

A fraction of a second. Nothing more.

But I knew he didn't saw me.

Yet, just as quickly, he looked away and continued his conversation before heading into the building.

I dropped the binoculars, resting my elbow on the window as I reached for my duffel bag. Since I lost my dagger, my options were limited-guns, knives, and, of course, the chopsticks securing my hair in a tight bun.

I twisted the twin buns higher, sliding the sticks through with precise ease.

Then I exhaled. Time to work.

I stepped out of the car, the cold night air wrapping around me like an old companion. My boots barely made a sound against the pavement as I adjusted my bag over my shoulder, slipping the small pistol into my waistband.

As I walked past the parked cars, the two men posted outside barely glanced my way.

I wasn't a threat.

Yet.

The hotel lobby was pristine, modern, sterile. I stepped in, my eyes scanning for security cameras. Four in total. I mentally mapped out the angles.

At the front desk, a woman stood talking to a male receptionist.

Perfect.

The moment he spotted me, he started wrapping up his conversation. The woman left, and I strode forward, resting my hands on the polished counter.

"Mr. Ferrari checked in a few minutes ago. I need the key card and room number." My voice was smooth, controlled.

The receptionist blinked. "I'm sorry, miss, but I can't disclose that information without a valid-"

I sighed, tilting my head. "Do you know who I am?"

His breath hitched. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitation creeping in.

Then it clicked.

His eyes snapped back to me. "Miss Vega."

"Can I get my request now?"

A beat of silence, then rapid typing. Within seconds, he handed me what I needed.

I took the card, my lips curving slightly before I turned and made my way to the elevator.

The moment I stepped inside, I glanced at the card. Penthouse.

Of course.

The doors slid shut, and I exhaled, adjusting my stance. My curiosity was burning through me, but curiosity alone wasn't enough-I needed results.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

The hallway was quiet, except for the soft sound of a trolley rolling down the left side. A hotel maid in a crisp white uniform.

She glanced at me. I glanced back.

Neither of us spoke.

Then I turned left again-and security.

The hallway was flooded with security.

Men in black. Too many.

They watched me as I approached the restricted area. One of them stepped forward, blocking my path. "Turn around."

I smirked, tilting my head slightly. "Is Ferrari in?"

His brows knit together. "Turn around."

My hand shot up. The blade was out before he could blink.

I stabbed it through his throat. A choked gurgle. His hands clawed at his neck as blood seeped between his fingers.

Chaos.

The others snapped to attention. Guns raised.

I twisted, grabbing the fallen man's weapon, slamming it against the face of another before shooting two more with the silencer.

One lunged at me-I pivoted, dodging, then drove my chopstick through his stomach.

His eyes widened. Shock. Pain. Realization.

"Don't worry," I whispered. "The poison will take you fast."

He dropped.

I stepped over his body, trashed the empty gun, and pulled out my shotgun, silencer attached.

Sliding the key card into the door, I braced myself. Click.

The door cracked open-and bullets ripped through the air.

I dove. The sofa took the hits as I slid behind it. They weren't amateurs. Silence. Then my turn.

I rose, firing off quick shots, taking two out before another lunged at me. I twisted, stabbed, and wrenched the stick free.

More footsteps. Heavy. Rushed. Backup.

I ducked behind a pillar as more men poured in. I had minutes.

Breath steady, I sprinted forward, shoving into a side room. A man inside barely had time to react before I slammed him against the wall, blade to his throat.

No hesitation.

I stabbed.His body slid to the floor. Blood soaked my once-white top.

I exhaled sharply, annoyed. Stepping past him, I faced the final door. Locked.

I shoved against it. Nothing. Then-click, the lock disengaged. Slowly, the door creaked open.

I inhaled, fingers tightening on the gun as I stepped forward. The room was eerily quiet, dark, the air thick with smoke.

He was in here, waiting. I paused, scanning, feeling his presence before he could make a move. I turned fast.

The pin buried itself deep in his neck.

Silence. His silver eyes locked onto mine.

No fear. No anger. Just acceptance.

➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣

TRAVIS'S P.O.V

"The Committee is waiting."

I hissed, shooting him a sharp look. He got the message and shut the hell up. The car rolled smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city lights bleeding into the windows in long, distorted streaks. My fingers tapped against my knee as I stared out, lost in thought.

"Boss, I do not want to interfere, but..."

I turned back to him slowly. "But you will anyway."

He hesitated but pushed on. "You've refused my investigation into the matter. Cassian's death is sending ripples through our world, and we have to contain it."

"It's under control."

"Is it?" he countered.

The car came to an abrupt stop, but I didn't break eye contact. His words lingered between us, heavy with unspoken doubt.

"Should I remind you once again who you work for?" I said, voice low.

His jaw tightened. He tore his gaze from mine and turned to the window. That's what I thought.

The door opened, and he stepped out. I let out a slow breath before following, the night air biting against my skin, sharp and grounding. The city was loud but eerily distant, as though the world around me was muffled. My instincts twisted in my gut-a feeling I had learned never to ignore.

I turned to Silvano. "Increase security in the hall."

He gave a curt nod before we headed into the building. I didn't need to say more.

I already knew why Cassian was dead. His death wasn't just a message-it was a warning. And I knew exactly who it was meant for. She wanted to remind me that she still existed. That she could still reach me, even here.

A voice cut through my thoughts.

"Good evening, Mr. Ferrari."

I glanced at the receptionist. The moment our eyes met, his smile faltered, and he quickly lowered his head. I didn't bother responding.

The elevator ride was silent, except for the distant hum of the city below. The moment the doors slid open, I walked into the penthouse, shrugging off my blazer and dropping it onto the couch.

"Mr. Ferrari."

I let out a slow breath before looking up. Harrison stood a few feet away, holding a black envelope.

"I have what you asked for," he said, handing it over.

I took it without a word, walking past him and up the stairs to my study. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I pulled out the documents and flipped through them.

She had been in Italy.

A humorless chuckle left my lips. Italy. My city. She knew I wouldn't look for here there. That was the last place I'd expect her to be. The one question I couldn't answer was what the hell she'd been doing for all these years.

There were multiple pictures of her now, crisp and clear. And yet, when I was desperate to find her, she was nothing but a ghost.

My grip on the file tightened.

RedCo.

She worked at RedCo now-an international branch, no less.

What was she playing at?

I turned back to the window, scanning the documents again. The information was detailed but empty. A trail of breadcrumbs leading nowhere. It was almost like she wanted me to know where she was but not what she was doing.

A noise snapped me out of my thoughts.

A sharp bang.

Then another.

"Boss," Silvano's voice came from behind me. His tone was clipped, controlled, but I caught the urgency beneath it.

"We've been infiltrated."

I didn't move. Didn't react.

Third time this week.

I walked into the study and settled behind the desk. Silvano turned the screen toward me, showing the security feed from the hall.

She was fast. Precise. Taking out trained men like it was nothing. I lit a cigar, placing it between my lips as I watched.

"Boss, she's in, she's weaving through security-"

"Let her."

Silvano froze, shooting me a look. "Boss, I could stop her."

I exhaled a cloud of smoke, eyes still fixed on the screen. She was already down the stairs, slicing through my men like they didn't matter. Like this was nothing but another mission to her.

I was mesmerized. Intrigued.

Not even moving a muscle, even though I knew she was coming for me. I knew she'd come. I just didn't think she'd come this soon.

"Boss," Silvano said again, his voice lower now.

"Cease the fire," I ordered. "Leave with the rest. I'll handle her."

Silvano's expression hardened. "Who is she?"

I didn't answer right away.

Instead, I glanced at him, my expression unreadable. "If I'm not back in two hours, do what needs to be done."

"This is insane-"

"Leave. Now."

The emergency doors slid open, and he hesitated for only a second before stepping through. The doors slammed shut behind him.

I leaned back, pressing my thumb against the edge of my cigar, letting the ember die out.

I was playing with fire.

But her fire was one I was familiar with.

And I wasn't afraid of getting burned.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, followed by the sound of bodies hitting the ground. The final groan of a dying man.

She was here.

I turned off the light, stepping toward the window and tapping the button to unlock the door. It slid open, and the air shifted.

She stepped inside.

For a second, neither of us moved.

She had changed. No longer the girl I once knew. No longer the woman I once searched for. But there was still something there-something in her stance, in the way she held the gunlike it was an extension of herself.

I took a slow step forward.

She moved before I could react. In a second, the cold bite of a pin pressed into my neck.

A smirk curled at my lips.

It seemed like, no matter how much time passed...

Whenever we were this close, she was always stabbing me.

To be continued...