Chapter 4

The crimson glow of the terminal pulsed against the walls, counting down the seconds they had left before the perimeter was breached.

"They found the car," Valerie said, her voice dropping into her default, icy tactical cadence. She stood up, leaving the vulnerability of the floor behind, and moved toward the hidden armory wall. She slapped her palm against a biometric scanner, and a hidden panel slid open, revealing racks of black-market rifles, tactical gear, and neatly stacked magazines. "The tracker must have had a hidden secondary relay. We have maybe three minutes."

Alessia braced her good arm against the table, forcing herself to stand. The fresh stitches in her shoulder throbbed with a white-hot intensity, but her eyes were entirely clear. The vulnerable woman from the safehouse floor was gone. The Iron Queen was back.

"They won't just bring a standard hit squad," Alessia said, walking over to the armory rack with a steady, commanding stride. She looked at the weapons, her eyes tracking the hardware until they settled on a lightweight, tactical submachine gun. She picked it up with her right hand, checking the chamber with an ease that proved she was no stranger to violence. "If my underboss partnered with the rival syndicates, they will want to erase this entire block. They can't let me get back to the Moretti Council."

"Then we make sure they don't get the chance," Valerie replied. She tossed a spare tactical vest to Alessia, who caught it seamlessly, grunting as she strapped it over her injured shoulder.

Valerie loaded a heavy drum magazine into her own rifle, her mind spinning through the layout of the safehouse. It was an old textile warehouse, heavily reinforced from the inside, but a concentrated assault would eventually breach the iron doors.

"There’s an old industrial freight elevator at the back," Valerie explained, pointing to a steel cage behind a stack of crates. "It leads to the underground sewer network that empties into the harbor. If we can hold them at the front doors for two minutes, the elevator will reset to this floor, and we can vanish."

"I don't run," Alessia said, her voice sharp, a dangerous edge cutting through her words. "I am a Moretti. We do not flee from rats."

Valerie stepped into Alessia's space, her gaze intense. She reached out, her hand resting on the vest over Alessia’s chest, feeling the rapid, fierce beat of the Queen's heart. "This isn't running, Alia. This is surviving so you can burn their world down tomorrow. Let me help you do that."

Alessia stared at her, the use of her lounge alias softening her gaze for just a fraction of a second. She placed her hand over Valerie's. "Two minutes. Then we burn them."

A violent boom rocked the front of the warehouse.

The heavy iron door groaned, the steel bolts twisting as a thermal breaching charge detonated on the outside. A cloud of dust and plaster rained down from the ceiling.

"Get behind the concrete pillar!" Valerie shouted, dropping low behind a heavy steel workbench.

The door blew inward, torn off its hinges by a second explosion. Through the smoke, a line of heavily armed mercenary forces rushed into the room, their weapon lights cutting through the dark like searchlights.

Valerie didn't hesitate. She squeezed the trigger, her rifle barking as she laid down a devastating wall of suppressive fire. Two mercenaries dropped instantly, their armor no match for her specialized rounds.

From across the room, Alessia moved with terrifying precision. Despite her injured shoulder, she used the concrete pillar for support, firing short, controlled bursts that systematically picked off the flankers trying to circle Valerie's position. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. The Queen’s tactical awareness perfectly complemented the Assassin’s lethal execution. It was a beautiful, chaotic dance of survival.

"The elevator is here!" Valerie yelled over the deafening roar of gunfire as the heavy steel chains of the freight cage rattled to a halt behind them.

"Go!" Alessia shouted, firing a final burst to pin down the remaining attackers near the doorway.

They scrambled backward toward the steel cage. Valerie pulled a heavy, metallic cylinder from her belt—a high-intensity phosphorus incendiary charge. She primed the timer and threw it directly into the center of the safehouse, onto the racks of ammunition she had intentionally left exposed.

They lunged into the elevator cage, and Valerie slammed the manual iron lever down.

As the cage began its slow, jarring descent into the dark earth, the safehouse above them erupted into a brilliant, blinding inferno. The shockwave rattled the elevator cables, showering them in sparks and heat, cutting off the hunters entirely.

In the dim, flickering light of the descending cage, Alessia slid her back down the steel wall, catching her breath. Valerie dropped her rifle, sinking down right beside her.

Wounded, breathless, and surrounded by the smell of smoke, Alessia slowly turned her head. She didn't look at the elevator, or the fire above. She looked at Valerie. Slowly, she reached across the gap between them, her fingers interlocking tightly with the assassin's.

"Where does this tunnel lead?" Alessia asked softly.

"To the docks," Valerie replied, squeezing her hand. "And then wherever you want to go to take back your throne."

Alessia leaned her head against Valerie’s shoulder, her voice a low, fierce promise. "Then let's go kill the past."