2025-06-04 16:49:18
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Chapter 43: Kill Order
The abandoned monastery sat on a hill outside Barcelona like a broken tooth against the sky. Santino parked behind crumbling stone walls, his gun checked and ready.Mia was already there. Her car—the same black sedan from the docks waited in the courtyard.Inside, candles flickered in the chapel as she sat in the front pew, still wearing the red dress. The silver briefcase rested beside her."You came," she said without turning around."You have my father's watch.""I have a lot of things that used to be his."
Chapter 42: Dockside Memory
The Barcelona docks stank of fish and diesel fuel as Santino stood at the pier's edge, watching cargo ships drift in the morning fog. The water lapped against concrete pillars below.He pulled out his phone. The photo given to him by Elena on the screen was a man who looked like his father, Ben, standing in a Madrid café. Alive.But Ben was dead. Santino had seen it happen.So who was the man in the photo?He picked up a stone and threw it into the harbor. It disappeared with a soft splash."Thinking deep thoughts?"Santino turned as Zara appro
Chapter 41: Rescue and Doubt
The abandoned textile factory on the outskirts of Barcelona stood like a concrete monument to industrial decay. Santino parked behind a collapsed loading dock, checking his weapons one final time.Zara's intel had been precise: twelve guards, rotating shifts, one exit. Angel was being held in the old foreman's office on the second floor.He moved through the shadows like smoke, years of violence refined into an economy of motion. The first guard dropped silently, Santino's knife finding the gap between vertebrae. The second barely had time to reach for his radio.Inside, the factory floor stretched vast and empty, moonlight filtering through broken skylights. Machinery stood like mechanical skeleton
Chapter 40: Dangerous Desire
The Barcelona hotel room cost more per night than most people made in a month. Mia stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, naked except for his shirt, watching the city sprawl toward the Mediterranean."You're tense," she said without turning around.Santino lay on the silk sheets, studying the curve of her spine, the way his shirt hung just below her thighs. Even now, knowing what he knew, his body responded to her."Long week.""Poor baby." She moved toward the bed like water, graceful and inevitable. "Let me help with that."Her hands found his sho
Chapter 39: Trap Sprung
Pier 7 stank of rotting fish and diesel fuel. Santino parked two blocks away, approaching on foot through the maze of shipping containers. His Glock pressed reassuringly against his ribs.The warehouse stood dark against the lake, its broken windows like dead eyes. A single light burned in the office section.He found Léon tied to a chair, blood crusted around his split lip. Two men flanked him; they were professionals judging by their stance, cheap muscle by their clothes."Took you long enough," the taller one said. He had a Marseille accent and scars on his knuckles. "Your boy here's been telling us stories."Santino kept his hands visible. "What do you want?""Straight to business. I like that." Scar-knuckles smiled. "We want you to kill your boss.""Which one?""Don't play stupid. The old man. El Amore."Léon raised his head with effort. "Boss, don't"The shorter man backhanded him as Léon's chair rocked but didn't tip."Here's the situation," Scar-knuckles continued. "My employ
Chapter 38: Hacker's Bond
The Geneva safehouse smelled like burnt coffee and old cigarettes. Santino watched Zara's fingers dance across three keyboards, screens reflecting in her dark eyes like electric storms.“This code is harder than my grandma’s chin chin. Who made this? Lucifer?”"You never sleep," he said, setting a fresh cup beside her elbow."Sleep is for people without enemies." She took the coffee without looking away from the scrolling code. "You want to hear something funny?""Try me.""I was seventeen when I first hacked a bank. Johannesburg Commercial. I thought I was Robin Hood." She laughed, but it held no humor. "Stole from the rich, give to the poor. I mostly gave it to myself."Santino pulled up a chair. The safehouse was quiet except for the hum of electronics and distant traffic. Outside, Geneva slept peacefully, unaware of the digital war being fought in this cramped room."What happened?""Got caught. Not by the bank but by someone bigger. They offered me a choice: prison or work for th
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