Gathering Allies

Victor's expression remained impassive, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "This isn't your business, Reis," the man continued, tightening his grip on the woman's arm until she winced. "Walk away while you still can."

"It is now," Victor replied, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable threat.

The woman seized the momentary distraction, driving her knee hard into her captor's groin. He doubled over with a curse, but didn't release her. Another enforcer backhanded her across the face, splitting her lip further.

"Enough," Victor said, the single word carrying more menace than a shouted threat.

The leader laughed. "You've forgotten your place, American. This isn't your city anymore. Here, you're nothing but a ghost. A rumor."

A ghost. Victor liked that.

Victor's response was not in words but in action. He moved with a speed that belied his recent injuries, closing the distance in two strides. His first strike shattered the nearest man's wrist, the bones breaking with an audible crack. As the man howled in pain, Victor followed through with a precise elbow to the throat that left him gasping on the ground.

Jordan sighed dramatically before launching himself at the second enforcer. "Like old times, eh boss?" he called out as he tackled the man into a stack of wooden crates while Victor wondered what the hell Jordan was saying. The crash echoed through the alley as Jordan landed a series of punishing blows.

The woman, now free from the distracted leader's grasp, didn't waste her opportunity. She snatched a fallen knife from the ground and slashed at the third man's reaching arm, drawing a line of blood across his expensive suit.

"You'll die for that, puttana!" he snarled, lunging for her throat.

Victor intercepted him mid-lunge, catching the man's outstretched arm and twisting it behind his back with practiced ease. The enforcer's face contorted in pain as Victor easily forced him to his knees, skills he learnt from his early years in the street.

"Tell your boss," Victor whispered, his tone almost conversational despite the violence of his grip, "that his men should learn to recognize a losing battle." Then he slammed the man's head against the brick wall with enough force to ensure he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

As the echo of the impact faded, an eerie quiet settled over the alley. The woman stood with her back still against the wall, the bloodied knife clutched tightly in her hand. Her eyes darted between Victor and Jordan, wary but calculating.

"You could've walked away," she said in perfect English though her Italian accent remained, as she dabbed at her split lip with the back of her hand.

Victor straightened his jacket calmly. "Could have but I didn't."

Jordan brushed debris from his clothes, eyeing the woman suspiciously. "Boss has a thing for dramatic entrances. And exits. Usually involving someone's blood."

The woman's gaze settled on Victor, assessing him openly. "You're him, aren't you? The American they've been whispering about in the bars. The one who's making the Contis nervous." When Victor didn't respond, she added, "I'm Maria."

"Victor Reis," he replied, extending his hand as if they were meeting at a business conference rather than over the unconscious bodies of three enforcers. "And this is Jordan."

Maria hesitated, then took his hand. Her grip was firm despite her obvious pain. "I suppose I owe you one, Victor Reis."

Victor held her gaze steadily. "Loyalty, Maria. That's what I need."

She withdrew her hand, lifting her chin defiantly. "And what makes you think I have any to spare? Especially for a stranger?"

"The same thing that made you stand up to three of Conti's top men," Victor answered, his eyes never leaving hers. "You don't break. You don't bend. And neither do I."

Maria studied him for a long moment, as if trying to read the truth behind his words. Finally, a small, dangerous smile curved her lips. "Then you have it. My loyalty."

Jordan rolled his eyes. "Great. Another stray with a death wish. Just what we fucking needed."

Victor ignored him, focusing entirely on Maria. "Those men – what did they want from you?" he asked, his tone making it clear he expected a truthful answer.

Maria's expression hardened. "Information. I tend bar at one of Conti's clubs on the waterfront. Three nights ago, I overheard the don's son talking about a shipment. Something big coming in that wasn't going through the usual channels."

"What kind of shipment?" Victor pressed.

"Weapons. Military grade, from what I could gather. Enough to start a small war." She touched her bruised cheek. "I think they noticed me listening. I ran, but they caught up with me tonight."

Victor exchanged a meaningful look with Jordan, who raised an eyebrow. "Interesting timing," Jordan mused. "Someone's preparing for battle."

"You can't go back to wherever you're staying," Victor told Maria. "They'll have men watching it."

She laughed bitterly. "I figured that out on my own, thanks. I was planning to steal a car and drive north until I hit Switzerland."

Victor made his decision in that moment. "You'll come with us. For now."

"Just like that?" Maria asked, suspicion flaring in her eyes. "You don't know me. I could be setting you up."

"I know enough," Victor replied calmly. "And you know who I am – or at least, what's left of who I was. The question is, are you willing to bet on a fallen king?"

Maria's eyes flickered to the unconscious men on the ground, then back to Victor's steady gaze. She nodded slowly. "I've made worse bets in my life."

As they prepared to leave the alley, Jordan fell into step beside Victor. "Boss, we just met this woman. For all we know, this could be an elaborate trap," he muttered, keeping his voice low.

Victor watched Maria as she walked ahead of them, noting the watchful way she scanned their surroundings despite her injuries. "She's a survivor, Jordan. Just like us."

"And if she's playing us?" Jordan persisted. "If she's one of Conti's after all?"

Victor's eyes hardened to flint. "Then she'll learn firsthand why betraying me is always a fatal mistake." The cold certainty in his voice made Jordan glad, not for the first time, that he had chosen the right side in the aftermath of Victor's fall.

As they disappeared into the streets, they left behind only the unconscious forms of Conti's men – and the first whispers of a legend reborn from the ashes of betrayal.

Ghost.