Black Network のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

The taxi’s wipers shrieked across the glass, barely fighting the downpour. Lina tossed a handful of soaked bills at the seat and rolled out before the car even stopped.The estate was a ghost town. Most of the muscle had been pulled to scrub the blood at the clinic, leaving a security hole that practically invited her in. She scaled the perimeter wall and hugged the shadows of the west corridor until she reached the heavy oak door of the study.She slipped inside. No lights. Guided by the mental map she’d burned into her brain during house arrest, she went straight for the desk. She jammed a blade into the hidden seam of the wood, prying it open with a sharp crack. In the silence, it sounded like a gunshot. She snagged the hardware key—a cold, heavy piece of metal.She flipped her burner and dialed."Jesus, Rossi! I was about to call the morgue," Noah Kim’s voice crackled through the static, underscored by the frantic clack of mechanical keys."Save the eulogy, Noah. I’m in," Lina his

Valentina Moretti descended the final steps. The room was a concrete ribcage lined with acoustic foam, designed to swallow sound and secrets. In the center, a single stainless steel table held a hard-wired, encrypted phone. She didn't bother with the lights; the phone’s display cast a sickly blue glow across her sharp features.She punched a twelve-digit sequence."The night sky over Nova City is glowing, Valentina," Kenji Takahashi’s voice crackled. In the background, ice clinked against a crystal glass. "Dominic’s logistics hub is a burning skeleton. Hell of a fireworks show.""He spent too much time thinking a tailored suit was fireproof," Valentina said, pulling out a metal chair. She sat, her nails drumming a steady, predator’s rhythm on the steel."I assumed you’d be upstairs with the rest of the family, oiling your rifles for the counter-strike.""The boys are upstairs playing soldier," Valentina’s voice was flat, freezing. "I’m down here cleaning up the balance sheet."A two-s

The quartet shifted into a sharp, jagged rhythm. Dominic’s hand stayed glued to the small of Lina’s back—not a caress, but a leash. He was anchoring her, steering her through the sea of tuxedos like a prize he'd just claimed."Chin up," Dominic murmured, his jaw barely moving. "I’m looking at the floor because I’m trying not to vomit on your shoes," Lina snapped. The corset’s boning dug into her solar plexus, making every breath a chore. "Your grip is leaving marks.""Good. Maybe they’ll remind you who owns the lease."He swung her toward a cocktail table where Commissioner Davis Blankenship stood."Dominic," Davis said with a lazy nod. His eyes drifted to Lina, slick with professional indifference. "And the prodigal reporter. The guys outside are losing their minds. They thought you were at the bottom of the river.""The Commissioner has a vivid imagination," Lina said, her voice dripping with acid. "Too bad it doesn't extend to finding those missing labor records at the East Pier."

"Restroom," Lina said, her hand momentarily grazing Dominic’s sleeve.Dominic didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on the senator, his voice a cold blade. "Two minutes, Lina. If you aren't back, I’ll assume you’ve developed a sudden interest in the plumbing. You won't like the plumber I send to find you."He whistled—a low, sharp sound—and a guard in a charcoal suit detached from the shadows.The guard trailed her, his footsteps a heavy rhythm against the marble. Outside the lounge, he crossed his arms. "Two minutes starts now, Rossi. Don't make me come in there.""The dress has eighty-four hooks, you moron," Lina snapped, pushing through the frosted glass. "Unless you’re offering to help, stay on your side of the door."Inside, the air smelled of industrial jasmine. Lina bolted the stall door and ripped the paper from her corset. Her skin was damp with sweat.Sector 4. Grid 9. Sub-level C.Her heart skipped. She didn't need a map. Three years ago, she’d dug into the Palace’s building

Lina threw her weight into it until the heavy pane groaned, yielding to a rush of freezing, salt-damp air.She leaned against the granite railing, the wet stone biting into her palms. The door moved. A shadow cut through the tinted reflection on the glass.Lina didn’t turn. She watched the bruise-colored silk drift into view. "It smells like copper in there," the woman said. Her voice was a razor on velvet."It smells like money and overpriced poultry," Lina countered, her voice just shaky enough to notice."Give it twenty minutes." Jane Sweet stepped to the railing, leaving exactly three feet of dead air between them. Her bare arms hit the wet stone without a flinch. "Once the lead starts flying, the duck gets a metallic aftertaste."Lina turned, scanning that lethal, motionless profile. "You change skins fast. Last week you were wearing a waitress apron.""I dress for the job. And you?" Jane’s eyes tracked the traffic below. "You look like a woman realizing emerald silk doesn't dou