2025-09-09 00:08:26
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Red letter day
Cole’s hands shook as Fiona told him the news. The words themselves seemed to hang in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating.“Cole… it’s… it’s my mother,” Fiona whispered, her voice breaking, “Uzumaki… he… he killed her.”Cole’s chest tightened so hard he felt as if someone had wrapped iron chains around his ribs. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms.“No… no, this can’t be happening,” he muttered, voice low, shaking with rage. “He… he’s gone too far. Fiona, he’s crossed every line.”Fiona’s eyes were wet, her body trembling as she leaned against him.“I tried to be careful… I thought I could… I thought I could handle him,” she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. “I didn’t think he’d… I didn’t think he would… kill her.”Cole held her tightly, his lips pressed against her hair. He felt a cold, bitter rage churning inside him, a storm he hadn’t known he could carry.“We’ll make him pay, Fiona. I swear… he will never hurt anyone else you love. Not your gran
The red dress
The night air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and perfume as Fiona stood in front of the mirror. Her reflection looked like someone she didn’t recognize anymore, flawless makeup, red lips, and that scarlet gown that fit her like fire itself. But her eyes… they were hollow.She heard her mother’s voice from behind, soft yet firm.“Fiona, listen to me carefully.”Fiona turned, her hands trembling as she fixed an earring.“If you’re really going to meet him again,” her mother continued, holding up the small wire device, “you need to protect yourself. Record everything. If something happens… if he threatens you again… this could save your life. Or at least give Cole something to work with.”Fiona hesitated. “Mom, what if he finds out?”“Then pray he doesn’t,” her mother said quietly, her eyes filled with fear and strength at once. “But you can’t keep letting him control you like this. You’re not his puppet, Fiona. You’re my daughter and I raised you to fight when cornered.”A tear r
The confession
The rain had begun again, a slow, whispering drizzle that turned the city lights into rivers of gold and red. Cole’s car rolled to a stop in front of the fiona family mansion, its headlights cutting through the fog like twin blades. He sat there for a while, staring at the gates, his jaw tight, the steering wheel slick beneath his hands.The mission had failed. Mendes was gone. Trojan had vanished to lick his wounds. Blake was half-drunk somewhere, muttering about ghosts and burned ledgers.Everything Cole had built for months, gone in smoke and blood.And the only face that came to mind, the only one that could make the world feel human again was Fiona’s.He stepped out of the car and walked through the drizzle, his coat soaking through almost instantly. The guards at the gate recognized him and opened the iron bars without question. As he walked up the marble steps to the entrance, he could already feel that something was wrong.The mansion wasn’t quiet in the comforting way of peac
One step ahead
They had been so sure.Months of graft, the fragile alliance, Trojan’s blackout window, Blake’s false manifests, Mendes’ contacts on Pier 3, every hair on the back of Cole’s neck told him it was the one moment they could unmask Uzumaki. He thought he’d felt the shape of victory in his hands.Instead, the night turned into a test that chewed and spat them out.Cole was standing in the market square, camera lights warming the air, when the first signal came: Trojan’s text, WINDOW OPEN. He felt the old fight-light ignite inside his chest. He was the beacon. He was to be the noise.Across the river, Blake’s men moved with the precision of trained work crews, pushing a container toward the marked berth. Mendes, riding a courier bike, had slipped through back alleys and was supposed to be the ghost that nudged the right handler at exactly the right moment. Everything had been synchronized down to breaths.Then the city screamed.A blast reverberated from the pier not the quiet, clinical con
The shape of the trap
The city had become a chessboard of lights and shadows, and Cole felt every square press under his boots. The alliance with Trojan and Blake sat in his stomach like a bitter thing, necessary, pragmatic, and utterly filthy. He had swallowed worse when lives were at stake, but this one tasted like ash. Still, Mendes’s survival had given him a thread. He would not let that thread be cut.They moved fast after the café meeting, as if speed could turn momentum into safety. Trojan’s people started with network work: jamming Uzumaki’s satellite comms for short windows, seeding false manifests into shipping lanes, and quietly leaking minor rumors to unsettle Uzumaki’s lieutenants. Blake worked the money, realigning taps that could buy a convoy’s silence or fund a dozen operatives. Mendes, out of bed and pale with bandages but sharper than his bruised body suggested, fed them the last of his contacts: a courier named Alek with Pier 3 access, a handler who’d moved A.K.’s paperwork months back.
Moving on
The city was cold that evening, one of those autumn nights when the fog sat heavy on the streets and the wind carried a faint metallic bite. Cole Brady sat in the back booth of an old café, his mind still replaying the gunshot that almost ended John Mendes’s life weeks ago.Mendes, though stable now, still carried a stiffness in his voice, the kind that came from staring death in the face and surviving. The two men were waiting. The message had been short, cautious, and unsigned but Cole knew exactly who had sent it.Trojan.He hadn’t heard that name in a long time. And for good reason.Trojan and Cole had history, ugly, tangled history that went back years. Once allies, then rivals, now something worse: two men who had the same goal but couldn’t stand the sight of each other.Still, Cole had agreed to meet. Because Uzumaki was no longer just a name whispered in backrooms. He was a storm growing stronger by the day, his influence spreading like wildfire through the underworld, reachin
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