Chapter Fifty Nine

Chapter Fifty Nine

Henry’s POV

The night air bit at my skin as Felicia and I stepped out of the garage toward Ramirez’s cruiser, her hand still locked in mine. The cop’s stern gaze tracked us, his notepad ready, but before he could open his mouth, a low rumble cut through the quiet—a car engine, too close, too fast.

I froze, my gut twisting. Headlights flared around the corner, blinding us as a black SUV screeched into the lot, tires smoking. Ramirez shouted something—“Get down!”—but instinct kicked in first. I yanked Felicia behind me, shoving her toward the garage door as the SUV’s window rolled down.

A muzzle flashed. Gunshots cracked the air, sharp and relentless, bullets pinging off the brick wall. I hit the ground, pulling Felicia with me, my arm over her head as glass shattered somewhere nearby. Tommy and the guys dove for cover, cursing, while Ramirez drew his piece, barking into his radio: “Shots fired! Backup, now!”

The SUV peeled out as fast as it’d come, tires squealing, leaving a haze of burnt rubber and silence that rang in my ears. My heart slammed against my ribs, Felicia’s ragged breathing hot against my neck. “You okay?” I rasped, rolling off her to check.

She nodded, wide-eyed, her hands trembling as she clutched my jacket. “Yeah—you?”

“Fine,” I lied, adrenaline masking the sting in my grazed arm. I hauled her up, scanning the lot. Ramirez was already on his feet, gun still drawn, shouting orders to his team. Tommy, Jake, and Rico emerged from behind the van, faces hard.

“What the hell was that?” Jake growled, kicking a shard of glass.

“Them,” I said, my voice tight. “The crew. They’re done waiting.”

Felicia’s grip on me tightened, her eyes flashing with fear and fury. “They’re coming for you now? After everything?”

I nodded, the weight of it crashing down. “Dante was just the warmup. This is the real debt calling.”

Ramirez stormed over, his face a mask of controlled rage. “You wanna explain that, Markov? Who’s shooting at my crime scene?”

I met his stare, my jaw clenching. “Old business. People I used to run with. They don’t like loose ends.”

He holstered his gun, stepping closer. “Mafia? You’re telling me this is organized?”

“Something like that,” I said, keeping it vague. No point dragging him in deeper—cops couldn’t touch these guys, not without more than a gut feeling and a drive-by.

Ramirez cursed, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re a damn magnet for trouble. Both of you—inside, now. We’re not done talking.”

But before we could move, my phone buzzed in my pocket, sharp and insistent. I pulled it out, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. My stomach dropped. Felicia saw it too, her breath hitching.

“Answer it,” she whispered, her voice shaky but firm.

I hit accept, putting it on speaker. A voice came through—gravelly, familiar, one I’d hoped to never hear again. “Henry. You’re late.”

Vito. The crew’s enforcer, a slab of a man with a temper like a lit fuse. I swallowed, keeping my tone steady. “Thought I’d earned a breather after tonight.”

He laughed, a dry, ugly sound. “No breaks ’til the job’s done. You owe us, kid. That cash drop—tomorrow, midnight, pier 17. Bring it, or we take it out of her.”

Felicia stiffened beside me, her nails digging into my arm. “Who?” I snapped, though I already knew.

“Your girl,” Vito said, his voice dripping with menace. “Or maybe that junkie sister of yours, if we find her first.”

The line went dead, and the world tilted. I stared at the phone, my blood roaring in my ears. Felicia grabbed my face, forcing me to look at her. “Henry, breathe. We’ll handle this.”

“Handle it?” I choked out, pulling away. “They’re coming for you—for Sophia—and it’s my fault. I dragged you into this—”

“Stop!” she shouted, her voice cutting through my spiral. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I chose this—chose you. And I’m not letting them win.”

Her words hit hard, but the guilt wouldn’t budge. I turned away, pacing, my hands fisting in my hair. Sophia was out there—God knows where—high or scared or both, and now Felicia was a target too. All because I couldn’t cut the cord clean.

Tommy jogged over, his crowbar still in hand. “Heard that. Pier 17’s a death trap—wide open, no cover. They’re setting you up.”

“I know,” I said, my voice hoarse. “But I don’t have a choice. They’ll kill her if I don’t show.”

“Then we go in heavy,” Jake said, cracking his knuckles. “All of us. Turn their trap into ours.”

Rico nodded, his bat tapping his leg. “We’ve got your back, man. Always have.”

I looked at them—my brothers, not by blood but by bond—and then at Felicia, her eyes blazing with that fire I loved. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Not you. Not this time. I can’t lose anyone else.”

“Bullshit,” Felicia snapped, stepping in front of me. “You don’t get to play martyr. We’re doing this together, or not at all.”

Her defiance cracked something in me, and I grabbed her, pulling her into a kiss—rough, desperate, full of everything I couldn’t say. She kissed me back, fierce and unyielding, her hands gripping my shirt like she’d never let go. When we broke apart, breathless, I pressed my forehead to hers. “Okay,” I whispered. “Together.”

Ramirez cleared his throat behind us, his voice dry. “Touching, but you’re still in my custody ’til I get answers. Inside—now.”

We followed him back to the garage, the crew trailing us. My mind raced, piecing together a plan. Pier 17 at midnight—less than 24 hours to prep. We’d need the cash—fake or real, didn’t matter—and a way to flip the ambush. Tommy could rig something—explosives, maybe, like the old days. Jake and Rico could flank, keep the exits hot. Felicia… she’d hate it, but I’d keep her back, safe.

Inside, Ramirez grilled us, his pen scratching as I fed him half-truths—enough to keep him off our backs, not enough to sink us. Felicia stayed quiet, her hand on my knee under the table, a steady anchor.

When he finally let us go, the sky was graying with dawn. Tommy drove us to his place—a rundown duplex with a couch and a spare room. “Crash here,” he said. “We’ll plan at noon.”

Felicia collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion carving lines into her face. I sat beside her, pulling her against me. “I’m sorry,” I said again, quieter this time. “For Sophia, for this—”

“Shh,” she murmured, her head on my chest. “We’ll find her. We’ll finish this. Just… don’t shut me out.”

I nodded, my throat tight, and held her as she drifted off. But sleep wouldn’t come for me. My mind churned—Vito’s threat, Sophia’s disappearance, the job I couldn’t dodge. The crew had me by the throat, and every move I made tightened the noose.

I slipped out from under Felicia, grabbing my phone. A text from an old contact—Benny, a lowlife who owed me—popped up: “Heard your sister’s in deep. Saw her at the docks, strung out. Sorry, man.”

My heart stopped. The docks—close to pier 17. Too close. I typed back, “Where exactly? Now.” No reply came, but it didn’t matter. I had a lead.

I glanced at Felicia, sleeping fitfully, then at the clock—6 a.m. Six hours ’til we planned, eighteen ’til the drop. I could find Sophia, get her safe, and be back before Felicia woke.

I scribbled a note—“Gone to check something. Back soon. Love you.”—and grabbed my keys, slipping out into the dawn. The docks were a maze of crates and shadows, the air thick with salt and rot. I moved fast, my gun tucked in my waistband, every nerve on edge.

A figure stumbled ahead—thin, unsteady, hair tangled. My breath caught. “Sophia?”

She turned, her face gaunt, eyes glassy. “Henry?” she slurred, swaying.

I ran to her, catching her as she fell. “I’ve got you,” I said, my voice breaking. “You’re safe now.”

But then headlights flared behind us, and tires crunched gravel. A voice—Vito’s—cut through the quiet: “Nice family reunion. Too bad it’s short.”

I spun, shoving Sophia behind me, my gun up. The SUV from the garage loomed, doors opening, shadows stepping out.

We weren’t ready. And they weren’t waiting.