42

42

VIVIENNE

"Convoy approaching,” I said. “Matteo, stand by on the detonator. Do not jump the gun. Wait for my mark.”

Through the feed, the Riveras’ convoy crept into the tunnel. Their headlights stabbed at the dark. The lead SUV carried four men inside, their rifles across their laps. The trucks followed heavy behind,dragging their bellyful of cash.

My chest tightened. So much rode on this. If those bills reached the judges, the cops, the politicians—our enemies wouldn’t need guns to cripple us.

The convoy passed the painted marker I’d calculated. My finger hovered over the command key. “Matteo,” I breathed. “Now.”

The explosion ripped through the tunnel like the earth itself had cracked. The ground shook under my feet even from miles away. Smoke and fire burst out, concrete started raining down as the Riveras’ convoy came to a stop. The lead SUV slammed sideways, it was trapped.

“Go,” Lucian barked

Gunfire exploded through my headset. The helmet cams shook as the Demarco men surged forward.

Lucian moved like a demon. Even through the blurry cam, I saw how he cut through the Riveras’ guards—calm, efficient, and merciless. He shot to kill, never wasting a bullet, his commands were snapping over comms like thunder.

“Left flank—push forward!” he roared.

I scanned the feeds, my fingers flying across the tablet. “Negative, hold left. Davide, three Riveras are circling low, they’ll box you in if you move. Stay covered until Vito clears the right side.”

Davide’s disgust bled through the comms. “I don’t take orders from—”

“Do it!” I snapped, louder than I meant. “Or you’ll be a corpse in thirty seconds. Your choice.”

There was silence, then gunfire. Seconds later, one of the Rivera men dropped dead on my screen. Vito grunted into the comms. “Target down. She was right.”

I allowed myself one quick breath of satisfaction. Then back to business.

The firefight turned savage. The Riveras poured from their trucks, spraying rounds blindly into the smoke. Our men fired clean, pinning them down. Still, the machine gun in the second truck gave sparks from the tunnel walls, keeping three of our soldiers pinned.

“Truck two is hot,” I said into comms. “Heavy weapon inside. Don’t push it—use cover fire.”

Lucian’s voice cut through. “I’ve got it.”

His cam blurred as he charged, moving through gunfire. I held my breath. He rolled behind cover, yanked a grenade free, and put it in a perfect arc into the truck.

The blast rocked every feed. My screens flickered. When the smoke cleared, the truck’s gun was silenced. Rivera soldiers sprawled dead across the floor

Lucian’s laughter came low and dark. “That’s how you clip wings, tigress.”

I clenched my fists around the headset. Watching him like this was like watching a storm. Terrifying. Beautiful. Deadly.

Minutes dragged like hours. The tunnel became a slaughterhouse. The Riveras fell, one by one, until only silence remained. The Demarco men stood among bodies. breathing hard but at least they were victorious.

“Clear,” Davide said finally.

“Clear,” echoed Vito.

Relief washed through me. “Good. Sweep the vehicles. Bring me the cash.”

The feeds showed them prying open the trucks. Crates were dragged out, then the lids cracked open. Stacks of bills shone under the tunnel lights,

The men cheered. Even over comms, their victory cries echoed like thunder.

Lucian bent, scooped up a handful of cash, and tossed it toward the firelight. “See, tigress? You bring me war, I bring you spoils.”

But unease tugged at me. Something was off.

I leaned closer to the screen, studying the crisp edges of the bills. It was too clean. I whispered, “Wait. Don’t celebrate yet. Show me a close-up.”

Davide sighed loudly but held one stack to his helmet cam. My eyes narrowed. The texture was wrong. Too stiff. My stomach dropped.

“Rip it,” I ordered.

He hesitated.

“Rip. It.”

With a grunt, he tore the bill in half. The inside was blank. Just paper.

“What the—” Davide swore. “She’s right.”

The cheers died instantly. One by one, the men checked the stacks. The truth spread like poison. Every bundle in those crates, every drop of blood spilled for them—it was fake.

“Counterfeit,” I said, the word tasting like ash. “All of it.”

Lucian froze, his eyes burning as he stared down at the useless stacks. Around him, flames consumed the Rivera convoy

“They played us,” I whispered. My throat felt dry. My father’s warnings rang in my skull: Always check the board. Every move has a hand behind it.

Someone had made us bleed for nothing.

Whoever had fed us the intel—whoever had whispered about this convoy—they’d set us up. The Riveras had dangled bait, and we’d bitten hard.

And for the first time tonight, the victory in my chest turned cold.