Chapter 122 Fiorella
My reflection in the mirror was calm enough, but I could still feel the lingering remnants of Rocco's kiss before, the residue of warmth he left behind when he departed. It was odd, the way his presence continued to linger after the room dropped into silence.
I tied back my hair, brushing the strands from my face, and fastened the clasp on my blouse. The morning would be mundane. Silent. Concentrated. But even as I buttoned my shirt, I felt the undertone of tension humming beneath the day, like a warning stitched into the silence.
Downstairs, Leo was already at the dining table, sleeves rolled up, phone in one hand and tablet in the other. He glanced up the moment I entered, standing slightly before gesturing to a seat.
"Morning, signorina," he said, his tone crisp but with a hint of familiarity. "Been reviewing the shipments last night. All accounted for, at least on paper."
I poured a cup of coffee and collapsed into the chair opposite him. "On paper usually means something's missing."
"Not yet," he said, pushing a croissant in front of me. "But I don't want it that the last shipment took longer than usual to get through customs. Could be nothing, but it's worth looking into."
I tore off a piece of pastry, nodding distractedly. "We'll head to the North headquarters warehouses in the morning. I need to go over the inventory myself."
Leo typed in some notes on his tablet. "We'll start at the south dock building. The Baltic shipment weapons should be stored there."
"Good," I grumbled, sipping coffee. "And don't forget to bring the registry logs with you. I don't want any discrepancies this time."
"Si, signorina." He paused, regarding me. "How's Rocco?"
I hadn't seen that coming, though I knew why he was asking. I tried a weak smile, but it didn't really make it to my eyes. "Focused. Furious. Trying not to let it get to him."
"Typical Rocco," Leo grumbled half to himself, and I couldn't help the low laugh that escaped.
Breakfast passed in somber conversation, the kind where every sentence carried with it a shadow of what had not been said. Before we left, the sun had taken over the clouds completely, white and clear, sparkling off the dark cars at the gates.
The ride to the first warehouse was uneventful. The streets were half-asleep, traffic just beginning to rev, the hum of motors and the ring of distant horns mixing into a steady rhythm. I watched the city flash by through the tinted glass, known, but restless. My city. My kingdom. And today, it felt as if something in its cadence was off.
When we arrived at the first place , there were guards already present. They had crisp uniforms, stood up straight, but tension in the shoulders wasn't missed on my part.
"Is everything here?" I stopped in front, stepping out before they could open my door.
"Yes, signorina. We've double-checked the manifest."
Leo followed me as we stepped into the warehouse. The acrid odor of oil and cold metal clung to the air, combined with the dead hum of the fluorescent lighting. Rows of stacked crates lined the side of the building,each tagged with serial codes and stamped seals that guaranteed their authenticity.
I allowed my hand to run along one of the crates, the chilled wood against my fingertips. "Open it."
One of the men hurried over and opened it up with a crowbar. The top creaked open, and inside, there were black, sleek rifles wrapped in foam to protect them.
"Condition?" I asked.
"Perfect," Leo said on a swift look. "No meddling."
I nodded. "Seal it up again. We'll move on to the next location."
As we departed, I glanced again over the rows of crates. All was fine, still, something about the quiet was troubling me. Too easy. Too clean. The last time things had been this spotless, someone had been setting us up to fail.
The trip to the second warehouse was briefer, the highway running through the fringes where the industrial zone tapered off into empty lots and gravel streets. Dust trailed behind the convoy as we headed to the site, a huge metal shed, half shadow and half rust.
Leo glanced over the papers as we came in. "This one has the second shipment, lower volume, higher value. Mostly compacted weapons and tactical gear."
I came out first, the sound of gravel crunching beneath my feet biting into the quiet. The wind carried the faint flavor of fuel and sea salt, a scent that stuck to this side of town.
Inside, the air was heavy, light dulled. Workers walked down aisles, marking stock, putting crates on shelves. Everything was fine, usual. But again, the quiet was too deep, too absolute.
Leo handed me the clipboard. "We've got roughly twenty more units to check. You want to begin at the back?"
I nodded, scanning down the list. "Let's get this done in a hurry. I'd like to check in with Rocco before lunch."
We strolled down one of the aisles, the clinking of metal in rhythmic sequence all around us. My heels clicked softly on the concrete. I scanned one crate, then another, the seals, the cross-checking serial numbers. All was well.
Then the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
I did not stir. The air changed. It was weak at first, the acrid smell of smoke seeping in under the antiseptic warehouse air.
"Leo," I whispered.
He looked up from the end of the aisle far away. "What's going on?"
"Do you smell that?"
He snorted in the air, his face contorting in a split second. "Yeah. Shit. Where is it coming from?"
I didn't get a chance to reply before a damped explosion tore apart the back of the building.
The shockwave slapped, a blast of heat and noise, slapped down at the ground beneath us with a shudder. Crates overturned, lights blew. Alarms screamed, red strobes flashing to life as smoke began pouring through the air.
"Get Out!" Leo shouted, already pulling my arm.
Operators spilled, screaming at each other, trying to reach the doors while fire roared along the ceiling, devouring metal and dark both. The air was hot, choking, blinding.
“Go!" he yelled again, pulling me towards the front door, but I hesitated, half-turned to look at the fire creeping into the room with a ferocity it shouldn't. Too quick. Too deliberate.
This wasn't an accident.
The fire lashed at my face as the next blast ripped through the side wall, shards of metal and wood raining like debris from a storm. Leo shoved me in front of him, shielding me from the blow as alarms wailed and flames engulfed all they touched.
We tumbled out into the open air just as the roof was caving in on us. The blast knocked us off our feet with a wave of heat crashing past, sending us stumbling around on the ground. My warehouse was a blazing pillar of fire.
My chest heaved as I coughed the smoke from my lungs, the acrid taste of ash in my mouth. My ears rang, but I could still hear the gruff, insistent voice of Leo somewhere to the left of me.
"Are you hurt?"
I shook my head once more, fighting to answer. My eyes were stuck on the fire, on the devastation, the orange tongues rising into the blue morning sky.
Sirens screamed in the distance. The ground still shook beneath my fingers.
And beneath all the noise and the fire and the bitter smoke, there was one thought that pounded loud and bright in my brain.
This was not just a warning.
This was a declaration.
Something had been set up.
Someone wanted me to watch it burn.