Chapter 2 - The Shadows of the PastNicolo grabbed the dropped assault rifle, racking the bolt with his calloused hands as he scrambled flat across the bloody floorboards behind Sophia, taking cover behind the reinforced stainless-steel kitchen doors.
Outside, the white panel van tore away from the curb, its tires screaming against the asphalt, leaving behind four dead mercenaries on the checkered floor of Café Luna.
The sirens of NYPD precinct cruisers began to wail in the distance, but inside the dark, bullet-riddled kitchen, the air was heavy with the smell of copper, ozone, and secrets.
Nicolo stood with his back against the steel counter, his breath coming in short, heavy hitches as he stared at the woman standing beside him.
She had stripped off her stained apron, tossing it onto the floor, revealing a black kevlar holster rig strapped snugly over a fitted dark linen shirt. Her dark hair, which had always hung in messy, hesitant strands, was swept back into a tight, severe knot.
Her posture wasn't that of an underpaid waitress. She stood broad-shouldered, tall, and anchored, her storm-gray eyes sweeping the back alleyway exit through the reinforced glass window with a sovereign, lethal authority.
"Maya Vance..." Nicolo murmured, the name tasting like cold iron on his tongue.
He knew that name.
Every crime family from New York to Chicago knew that name.
Five years ago, Maya Vance was the legendary chief director of The Ghost Unit—an elite, black-ops division of the United States Department of Defense that specialized in dismantling international human trafficking networks and cartels. She had personally brought down sixty-seven syndicate lieutenants across Europe before vanishing without a trace following a rogue strike in Odessa.
"The Ukrainian syndicate," Nicolo realized, his eyes widening in total, speech-bound shock. "The Moretti-Bandi alliance... you weren't hiding from me. You were hiding here."
Maya offered a rare, dark smirk—a look so sharp and handsome it made Nicolo’s chest tighten with an unexpected, fierce heat.
"I wasn't hiding, Nicolo," Maya corrected softly, checking the sight alignment on her sidearm. "I was waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"For Victor Rostova to use your café to track me down," Maya revealed flatly. "And for you to stop complaining about cold espresso."
Nicolo let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh despite the blood on his hands. "You let me mock you for six months?!"
"You were a very convincing cover, Don Bandi," Maya murmured, stepping close to him, her long, calloused fingers gently, reverently adjusting the collar of his ruined suit jacket. "And you have terrible taste in coffee."
Before Nicolo could answer, his phone buzzed violently in his coat pocket.
It was Marco.
Nicolo pressed the screen to his ear. "Marco! Where the hell are you?!"
"Nicolo! Don't go to the docks!" Marco’s frantic voice shrieked through the speaker over the roar of heavy gunfire. "Rostova’s men didn't just attack the café! They've surrounded the Bandi estate in Long Island! They have sixty men on the perimeter!"
May you like
Maya grabbed the phone from Nicolo's hand, pressing her lips close to the receiver.
"Tell your men to hold the main gate, Marco," Maya commanded, her deep voice carrying an absolute, unyielding authority that made Marco freeze on the other end. "Commander Vance is on her way."
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