Chapter 57 The Coordinate
The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and red.
I stood on the North Rampart, the wind whipping my hair across my face. Beside me, Dante stood like a sentinel, his binoculars trained on the winding dirt road that cut through the valley below.
"They're late," he muttered, the tension in his jaw tight enough to snap steel.
"They’ll be here," Lucrezia said. She was standing a few feet away, leaning against the stone parapet with an air of bored elegance. She wore a heavy wool coat over her dress, looking more like she was attending a ski resort than a supply drop.
"My father’s men are never late. They are merely cautious."
Dante lowered the binoculars and glanced at me. The hardness in his eyes softened just a fraction.
"You should go inside," he said. "It’s getting cold."
"I want to see," I said. "I want to see us win something for a change."
Dante didn't argue. He reached out and adjusted the collar of my jacket, pulling it tighter around my neck. His knuckles brushed my skin, warm and rough.
"Stay close to the wall," he instructed. "And if I tell you to get down, you don't ask why. You just drop."
"Yes, sir," I murmured.
He turned back to the horizon.
My pocket buzzed against my hip.
I glanced around. Dante was focused on the road. Lucrezia was checking her nails. Enzo was patrolling the far end of the walkway.
I slipped the burner phone out, shielding the screen with my hand.
I heard rumors of a shooting near the South Wall. I'm panicking, Lilith. Please tell me you aren't near the perimeter.
My heart squeezed. She was terrified. She was sitting somewhere in the city, hearing stories about the war, thinking I was in the line of fire.
I needed to calm her down. I needed her to know I was safe so she wouldn't do something rash.
I typed quickly, my thumb hovering over the keys.
It's quiet. No shooting. I'm at the North Gate waiting for the trucks. We're safe.
I hit send.
I felt a twinge of guilt, a small prickle at the back of my neck for communicating with the outside world while standing next to the man who forbade it. But it was harmless. It was just reassurance.
"There," Dante said sharply.
I looked up.
Three large, canvas-covered trucks were rounding the bend at the bottom of the hill. They were moving fast, kicking up plumes of dust that glowed orange in the setting sun.
"Finally," Lucrezia said, pushing off the wall. "Ammunition. Medical supplies. Fresh food. You see, Dante? The De Luca family keeps its promises."
Dante didn't answer her. He picked up his radio.
"Open the North Gate," he ordered. "Team Alpha, prepare to offload. I want those trucks inside and stripped in ten minutes."
The massive steel gates below us groaned and began to slide open. The trucks accelerated, their engines roaring as they climbed the final stretch of the incline toward the safety of the fortress.
I felt a surge of relief. We were going to be okay. We were going to have food. We were going to have bullets.
The lead truck was fifty yards from the gate.
Then forty.
Then thirty.
My phone buzzed again.
I looked down.
Good.
I frowned. Good?
Before my brain could process the word, the air split open.
It wasn't a gunshot. It was a whistle, a high, shrieking sound that dropped from the sky like a falling star.
"INCOMING!" Dante roared.
He didn't reach for his gun. He reached for me.
His arm hooked around my waist, lifting me off my feet, and he threw us both backward onto the hard stone floor of the rampart.
He covered my body with his, his heavy frame crushing the breath out of me, his hands clamping over my ears.
BOOM.
The world turned white.
The shockwave hit the wall, shaking the stones beneath us. Heat washed over the ramparts, smelling of sulfur and burning diesel. Debris rained down on Dante’s back—pebbles, dust, shards of metal.
I screamed, but I couldn't hear it. My ears were ringing with a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else.
Dante didn't move. He held me pinned to the ground for ten seconds, waiting for a second impact.
When silence finally returned—broken only by the crackle of flames—he pushed himself up.
"Stay down!" he barked at me.
He crawled to the edge of the wall and looked over.
I scrambled up to my knees, shaking, and peered through the gaps in the stone.
The lead truck was gone.
In its place was a twisted, burning skeleton of metal blocking the entrance to the gate. The explosion had gutted it completely. The other two trucks had skidded to a halt behind it, trapped on the narrow road, their drivers scrambling out and running for cover.
Black smoke billowed into the sky, choking the sunset.
"My trucks!" Lucrezia shrieked. She was on her knees nearby, her perfect hair ruined, staring at the inferno. "They destroyed my trucks!"
Dante stood up. He wasn't looking at the fire. He was looking at the hills to the east.
"A mortar," he said. His voice was terrifyingly calm. "Precision strike."
He turned to Enzo, who was wiping blood from a cut on his forehead.
"Get a team out there," Dante ordered. "Secure the other two trucks before they hit them again. Move!"
Enzo ran.
Dante turned to Lucrezia. He grabbed her by the arm, hauling her to her feet.
"How?" he demanded.
"I don't know!" Lucrezia yelled, pulling away. "They were my supplies, Dante! Why would I destroy my own leverage?"
"They knew the time," Dante hissed, stepping closer to her. "And they knew the gate. We switched the drop from South to North an hour ago. Nobody knew that schedule but you and me."
"And the driver!" Lucrezia argued, her eyes wide with shock. "The driver knew!"
"The driver is dead," Dante said, gesturing to the burning wreck. "Rinaldi didn't just guess. He was waiting. He had a mortar team set up on the ridge, aiming at these specific coordinates."
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the rampart like a caged tiger.
"We have a rat," he said. The realization was heavy, sinking into the air like lead. "Someone inside these walls told them exactly when to fire."
I stood frozen against the wall.
My hand was still clutching the phone in my pocket.
I'm at the North Gate waiting for the trucks.
The message I had sent two minutes ago.
Good.
The reply.
The blood drained from my face. My knees felt like water.
It wasn't a leak in the organization. It wasn't Lucrezia. It wasn't the driver.
It was me.
I had given Rinaldi the coordinates. I had told them exactly where to aim.
Dante turned to look at me. His face was streaked with soot, his eyes burning with a mixture of rage and betrayal, not at me, but at the invisible enemy he couldn't find.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice rough.
I shook my head. I couldn't speak. If I opened my mouth, I would vomit.
"Come on," he said, holding out a hand. "We're locking this place down. I'm tearing this fortress apart until I find the person who sent that intel."
I looked at his hand. The hand that had just shielded me from the blast. The hand of the man who had trusted me enough to bring me up here.
I had just destroyed his supplies. I had just killed his men.
I took his hand. It felt like I was shaking hands with the devil, knowing I was the one who had summoned him.
I was the rat.