Chapter 61 - I'm Not Losing You

The black SUV skidded to a stop outside the smoldering compound on the outskirts of Palermo. The smoke was still fresh, curling into the night sky like a dying serpent. Flames licked the broken skeleton of what had once been a trafficking hub, now there was nothing more than scorched earth and silence.

Massimo stepped out, his boots crunching over glass and soot, eyes scanning the wreckage. Talana followed, her pistol still warm, blood spatter staining the sleeve of her coat. She didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

“What did you find?” she asked Lorenzo as he approached, shirt torn, a gash on his cheek.

“One tried to run. We caught him. He’s tied up in the truck. Doesn’t stop talking.”

Gianna appeared behind him, calmer than she should’ve been, her hand subconsciously brushing her abdomen. She and Lorenzo shared a brief glance, then their gazes shifted to Massimo.

“Where are De Marco and Donatello?” Massimo demanded.

Lorenzo’s jaw clenched. “Gone before we arrived. They left someone behind to burn the place and take the fall.”

Talana swore under her breath. “Bloody cowards.”

“They’re ghosts,” Lorenzo muttered. “But ghosts bleed too.”

Massimo turned, eyes flashing. “Not tonight they don’t. They can run, but we will we hunt them down.”

He moved to the back of the truck. The captured man, mid-thirties, twitchy, reeking of gasoline, was slouched, bruised, but alive. Massimo crouched in front of him, face a calm storm.

“Where did they go?” he asked softly.

The man laughed, a dry rattle. “You’re too late. They’re already gone.”

Massimo smiled, slow and cold. “Good. Because if you’d said they were still here, I’d have been disappointed. That would’ve meant this ended tonight.”

He motioned to Lorenzo, who yanked the man from the truck and threw him onto the ground.

Talana stepped closer, her boots stopping just beside the man’s head. “Tell us where they’re headed.”

“I don’t know!” he spat. “They didn’t tell me nothin'.”

“You lit the match,” Gianna interrupted, voice like ice. “You think that makes you innocent?”

Massimo pulled out his blade, the same one he'd used in Naples when they carved truth out of a traitor.

“Talk,” he said, “or I’ll carve your tongue out and deliver it to De Marco with a note that says try harder.”

The man’s defiance crumbled. “Alright! Alright, already. They're headed to Naples! They have a warehouse near the docks, the old trade route. Shipment’s due in two nights, they have more girls, guns, and some new players.”

“Who?” Talana snapped.

“Cartel. From Mexico. They’re merging business, Donatello wants to expand before he disappears.”

Massimo’s eyes darkened. “Disappears?”

The man swallowed. “Donatello's retiring. Handing over everything to De Marco after the deal. He wants to vanish. Live like a ghost.”

“Not if I find him first,” Talana said, her voice a blade.

Massimo stood, handed the blade to Lorenzo. “Finish the cleanup.”

As Lorenzo dragged the man away, Talana turned toward Massimo. “They’re slipping through our fingers.”

“Not for long,” he said, walking toward her. “This ends with both their hearts in the dirt.”

She stepped into him, blood-streaked and beautiful, her hand splayed over his chest.

“You’ll kill them,” she said. “I’ll help.”

His lips brushed hers, raw and desperate. A kiss not of peace but of promise. “We end them together.”

Suddenly, Gianna’s voice rang out from across the clearing. “We’ve got movement!”

A black motorcycle screeched across the far edge of the ruined compound, tires spitting gravel as it disappeared into the forest trail.

Massimo swore. “That’s no courier.”

Lorenzo was already moving. “Scout, maybe. Or a loose end.”

Massimo turned to Talana. “Get in the car. We’re not done yet.”

As they raced back into the SUV, the tension was thick, every second stolen, every lead one heartbeat from vanishing, but beneath it all, the fire between Talana and Massimo refused to dim. He gripped the wheel; she gripped her pistol.

She glanced at him. “When we find De Marco—”

“We don’t talk,” he finished. “We don’t warn. We end it.”

Then: a crackle from the radio. Lorenzo’s voice. “Massimo, we’ve got a problem. Two of our men are dead near the docks. Message carved into one of them.”

Massimo grabbed the mic. “What does it say?”

Lorenzo’s pause was long. Too long. Then: "She dies next.”

Talana froze. Gianna’s face turned to stone.

Massimo’s voice dropped to a growl. “What did you just say?”

“Message was burned into the skin. De Marco’s handwriting.”

Talana’s hand found Massimo’s arm. “They’re coming for me.”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “They’re running from us. That was desperation. Not confidence.”

Talana shook her head. “It was a challenge.”

Lorenzo’s voice again, sharp, clipped. “Wait, scratch that, we’ve got heat signatures. Multiple bodies approaching from the west. Armed. It’s a trap—!”

The radio cut out. Massimo slammed the brake.

Talana’s heart pounded. “Lorenzo—?”

Nothing. Massimo shifted the car into reverse. “Hold on.”

Behind them, through the trees, gunfire ripped into the night.

And from the forest’s edge, shadows poured out like wolves. Armed. Silent. Masked.

Massimo didn’t wait. He slammed the SUV into reverse as bullets raked the tree line, tearing through bark and glass. Talana ducked, glass shattering beside her head. Gianna screamed from the back as Lorenzo’s voice finally crackled back over the comm.

“Ambush, four, maybe five of them! They came out of nowhere!”

“Fall back!” Massimo ordered. “We’re pulling you out!”

Talana raised her head, fury twisting her expression. “No. We hold them here.”

Massimo glanced at her, jaw clenched. “We’re not losing you.” Then in a second breath, more intimate, "I'm not losing angel, I'm not."

“I’m not hiding.” She chambered a fresh round. “I’m done being the hunted.”

Massimo didn’t argue. He veered the SUV sideways, creating a makeshift barrier, then slammed open the door. “Then we fight.”

They moved like shadows in sync, he and Talana, side by side, guns drawn, eyes burning. The forest erupted in chaos. Muzzle flashes lit up the dark, screams cracked like whips, and bodies fell.

Talana dropped one man with a shot to the throat. Another aimed for Gianna, until Lorenzo’s blade flew through the night, burying itself in the man’s spine. Lorenzo emerged from the trees, covered in blood, breathing like a storm.

“They’re not cartel,” he said. “They’re hired militia. Donatello’s old contacts.”

Gianna fired again. “Then he’s trying to clean house.”

“Or send a message,” Talana growled.

Massimo stepped over a body, scanning for movement. “They’re testing our strength before the shipment hits Naples.”

Gianna’s voice shook. “You think they’re trying to see how much we’re willing to risk?”

“No,” Talana said darkly. “They’re trying to see what they can take from me.”

Suddenly, a sniper shot rang out, sharp and precise. It tore through Lorenzo’s arm, sending him spinning to the ground.

“LORENZO!” Gianna screamed, scrambling toward him.

Massimo grabbed Talana and yanked her behind the SUV. “Sniper! Rooftop, west side—!”

Talana broke away, rolled, and fired blindly into the trees. Then she saw him, a glint of a scope, the silhouette of a man crawling along the ridge of the compound’s ruined roof.

Massimo was already sprinting forward. Gunfire snapped around him. Talana covered him, bullets flying, every instinct razor-sharp.

Massimo leapt up the rubble, tackled the sniper, and drove a blade into his throat.

Silence returned like a suffocating blanket.

Lorenzo groaned, blood seeping through his jacket. Gianna was already at his side, hands trembling as she applied pressure.

Talana knelt beside them, voice urgent. “Hold on, Lorenzo. You’re not dying on me now.”

He managed a tight, bloodied smile. “That’s not the plan.”

Massimo radioed in to Sanchiano’s team, "We need extraction now."

As they waited, Talana stood, breathing hard, eyes scanning the field of bodies. Burned trees. Fallen soldiers. And above it all, the sense that they were still one step behind.

“They’re not trying to kill us,” she muttered. “Not yet. They want us fractured.”

“Classic Donatello,” Massimo spat. “He isolates, then crushes.”

Talana turned toward him. “So what do we do?”

He looked at her like she was fire incarnate. “We go to Naples. We don’t wait for their game. We set our own board.”

A shadow moved beyond the trees. Massimo raised his gun, but it was too late. A small, black drone buzzed overhead, blinking red, circling them like a vulture.

Talana’s breath hitched. “It’s recording.”

They all stared up, silent, bracing. Then the drone stopped, hovered, and played a voice through a hidden speaker. It was De Marco.

“Such a beautiful reunion. All that blood for nothing. You really think this ends in your favor?”

Talana’s knuckles went white.

“You saved a few girls. Cute. Burned a few warehouses. Impressive. But I built this business, Talana. I watched your mother bleed. I watched you cry as a child. I know your fear. And when the sun rises, I will own it.”

The drone exploded in a puff of smoke and ash.

Silence. Then a soft beep. Massimo pulled a burner phone from his pocket. Only a handful of people had this number.

One text: The first girl dies at midnight. Try and find her. – D.

Talana stared at the screen, her stomach plummeting.

Gianna gasped. “They’re going to start killing the girls.”

“No,” Talana whispered. “They’re going to kill me. Piece by piece.”

Massimo looked at her, all softness gone. “Not while I’m breathing.”

But the darkness had shifted. The war had changed shape. And far away, in a private room lined with steel and cruelty, De Marco watched another screen. He smiled. Then turned to the chained girl screaming in the corner.

Midnight was coming and blood would follow.