Chapter 89

Chapter 89
Bell’s eyes skim the river of numbers on the monitor, filtering for the anomaly she already knows is there. Lines of code dance in the reflection of her pupils, each one a possible knife in the dark. She sees it—barely a blip—a login from the east wing, not in the normal cadence but staggered, like a runner with a bad leg.

She punches up the security overlay, fingers flying despite the ache that’s crept into her wrists. “Antonio, you in position?”

His reply is a grainy whisper in her ear. “East wing. Two corridors from network hub. I’ve got nothing on thermal but some static.”

Bell’s breath fogs the air in front of her. The command center is a meat locker now, the air conditioning failing as the backdoor attack sucks power from the life support. Still, her mind runs hot. “Keep going. Eyes up.”

Dante stalks the perimeter, scanning for threats with a predator’s patience. He calls out, “They’ve left a trail. Whoever’s on the other end wants us to follow.”

Bell nods, even though he’s not watching. “It’s a trap. But we don’t have a choice.” She flicks her gaze to the main log. “They’re locking us out from the node in the sub-basement. If we don’t get there in five, we lose everything.”

Dante’s voice is flint. “I’m on it.” He signals the techs to stay put, then sprints for the service stairs, his movement so precise it almost looks choreographed.

Luca’s voice cuts in. “I’m coming with.”

Bell doesn’t argue. “Go.”

She pulls up the personnel manifest, tracking every logged badge on site. The names are all familiar—her family, her loyalists, a handful of new hires too fresh to be suspects. Except one. Marcus.

She freezes, then checks the access logs again. Marcus, head of digital security, in the east wing five minutes before the breach. She remembers his wedding, the way he used to bring his daughter to the Christmas parties. The memory feels like someone else’s now.

Her hand drifts to her stomach, unconsciously shielding the life inside. Then she slams the palm on the console, anger taking over.

“Dante. It’s Marcus. He’s the rat.”

Dante’s reply is instant: “He dies for this.”

Luca’s voice is raw. “He was family.”

“Not anymore,” Bell says.

Antonio’s whisper crackles through the comms. “I see movement. Network room ahead. Lights are out. I’ll wait for backup.”

Bell’s voice is low and cold. “No waiting. Move now.”

She watches the feed as Antonio moves, night vision turning the corridor into a landscape of ghosts. At the end, a figure—Marcus—hunched over a terminal, fingers dancing in the glow.

Dante and Luca appear from opposite sides, bracketing the door. They move as a single organism: Dante the scalpel, Luca the hammer. Bell can’t look away. She sees Marcus turn, mouth something, then reach for the red switch on the wall—a last-ditch failsafe.

Bell’s mind clicks. “Wait—he’s wired the room!”

But it’s too late. Marcus hits the switch. The feed goes white, then dead.

The command center goes silent, all the noise sucked out by the sudden absence of power.

Bell stands, bracing herself against the wave of dizziness that hits. She can’t stay here—not while the outcome is uncertain. She leaves the desk, half-stumbling through the maze of dead terminals, out into the hall where the backup lights strobe red and white, painting the walls in a perpetual crime scene.

She meets Antonio at the junction. He’s bleeding from a shallow cut at his temple, but otherwise intact. “He had it rigged,” he says, voice dazed. “Whole room is fried.”

Bell pushes past him, forcing her body down the stairs, pulse hammering in her throat. She can feel every footstep, every tremor in the building’s bones. At the base of the stairwell, she pauses, breathing through the pain.

She rounds the corner, just in time to see Dante and Luca dragging Marcus out of the server room. He’s alive, but only just—blood streaks his shirt, eyes rolling. Dante’s knuckles are red, Luca’s nose is bleeding, and the air smells like burnt ozone.

Bell ignores the chaos. She goes straight for Dante, grabs his forearm with surprising strength. “Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head, but she sees the tremble in his hands.

Luca spits blood onto the floor. “He tried to blow the whole center. Would’ve worked, if you hadn’t called it.”

Dante holds up a flash drive, still warm from Marcus’s hand. “This is what he was after.”

Bell takes it, her own hands shaking. “We’ll deal with the data later. First, we clean up.”

She kneels beside Marcus, meets his ruined gaze. “Why?”

He coughs, blood spattering his lips. “The family’s weak,” he whispers. “You’re weak. The city needs a real leader.”

Bell leans in, her voice the softest thing in the room. “You were family. And you chose to break that.”

He laughs, a wet rattle. “You’ll never be enough.”

She stands, wipes her hands on her skirt. “Watch me,” she says, to no one and everyone at once.

Luca and Dante exchange a look. Something unspoken passes between them, an old pact reforged.

Bell limps back to the command center, the flash drive clutched so tightly her nails break the skin of her palm.

She plugs it into the main terminal, bypasses the dead power with a patch cable and a prayer. The screen flickers, then fills with a flood of data—bank accounts, blueprints, names. The whole Bianchi network, mapped out in perfect detail.

Bell smiles, teeth bared.

She turns to see Dante and Luca flanking her, their bodies blocking the rest of the world.

“Ready?” Dante asks.

Bell nods. “Let’s finish this.”

She sits, pulls the keyboard close, and gets to work. There is no fear in her now, only the cold certainty of purpose.

And behind it, the faintest drumbeat—two heartbeats, in perfect time.