Chapter 13: The Devil’s Daughter

Ethan's heart thudded in his chest as he locked eyes with the woman gripping his arm. She was Rachel Voss, Sarah Kane's old partner, a cop with a face etched in scars and determination. Her whisper cut through the damp air, urgent and close. "You don't get it, Ethan. This is a trap. Donati's got men everywhere. We need to move, now."

Before he could answer, a cold voice pierced the darkness. "Too late for that." Ethan spun, pushing Rachel behind him as a figure emerged from the fog. Elena. The red-haired woman from the penthouse stood there, her tailored suit pristine despite the wet night, her smirk sharp as a knife. She wasn't alone. Six of Donati's men flanked her, rifles aimed at Ethan and Rachel, their expressions blank and deadly.

Ethan's hand twitched toward his gun, but Elena raised a finger, halting him. "Don't be stupid, Ethan. You're outnumbered, outgunned, and out of time." Her heels clicked on the slick concrete as she stepped closer, her green eyes glinting with something he couldn't place. "Drop it."

Rachel muttered a curse, her weapon already hitting the ground. Ethan hesitated, then let his 9mm fall, the sound ringing in the heavy silence. His mind scrambled for a way out, but the circle was tight. Donati's men closed in, boots grinding on gravel, blocking every escape.

Elena tilted her head, sizing him up like a hunter eyeing prey. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Breaking into the penthouse, chasing shadows to the docks. But you're caught now." She glanced at Rachel, her smirk fading. "And you brought a friend. How touching."

Rachel's glare was fierce, her voice steady despite the odds. "You're Donati's lapdog, huh? Figures. Sarah always said something stank behind the curtain."

Elena's laugh was soft, chilling. "Sarah got too close and paid for it. You're no smarter, Officer Voss." She nodded to the men. "Take her."

Two goons grabbed Rachel, yanking her forward as she fought their grip. "Ethan, don't let them—" Her words broke off with a grunt as a fist sank into her gut, folding her in half. Ethan lunged, driven by instinct, but a rifle barrel jammed against his chest stopped him cold.

"Easy," Elena said, her tone calm but firm. "You're not the one dying tonight." She turned to the men holding Rachel, her face hardening. "Do it."

"No!" Ethan bellowed, shoving against the gun, but it was too late. A single shot cracked through the air, sharp and final. Rachel crumpled, blood pooling beneath her on the wet ground. Her wide, shocked eyes met Ethan's for a fleeting moment before going blank. He stared, breath ragged, rage and guilt slamming into him like a freight train. Another life gone, another debt to settle.

Elena watched him, unmoved by the killing. "Don't look so shattered, Ethan. She was collateral. You're the prize." She stepped closer, her perfume cutting through the stench of blood, a faint floral note that clashed with the scene. Her men shifted, awaiting orders, but she raised a hand, holding them back.

"Why not me?" Ethan growled, his voice rough with anger. "Why am I still standing?"

Elena slipped a folded piece of paper from her jacket and pressed it into his hand, her fingers grazing his with purpose. "Because I'm not my father's puppet," she said quietly, her gaze locking onto his. "Not entirely. That's a number. Use it when you're ready to play smart instead of dead." She stepped back, her voice dropping. "Now go. Run."

Ethan's head spun, the paper hot against his palm. "What are you—"

"Move!" Elena snapped, cutting him off. She turned to the men, her tone shifting to cold command. "He wasn't here. You saw nothing. Got it?" The goons swapped uneasy looks but nodded, their rifles dipping just enough.

Ethan didn't wait. He bolted, ducking behind crates as his boots slapped the wet ground. Fog engulfed him, his pulse thundering, Rachel's death flashing in his mind. He didn't stop until the docks faded into the distance, slumping against a rusted shipping container to catch his breath. His hands shook as he unfolded the paper. A phone number stared back, written in sharp, precise strokes. No name, no hint. A lifeline from Donati's daughter.

He stared at it, the night's weight crushing down. Rachel was dead, another wound on his soul, and Donati's empire loomed larger than ever. Across the docks, he could still hear the faint murmur of voices—Donati, Moretti, Carver, plotting away, thinking they'd won. Elena's move had bought him time, but he couldn't wait. He needed to know her game.

Ethan fished out his phone, fingers unsteady as he punched in the number. It rang twice before her voice came through, smooth and steady. "Took you long enough," Elena said, a trace of amusement in her tone.

"What's your play?" Ethan demanded, his voice low and jagged. "You just had a cop shot in front of me. Why let me walk?"

Elena's laugh was quiet, controlled. "Carver and Moretti think you're dead, Ethan. A body's on its way to them now, some nobody who looks close enough in the dark. To them, you're no threat anymore. That makes you a ghost, free to move, free to hit. I could even deliver them to you, if you earn it."

Ethan's grip tightened on the phone, his mind racing. "What's the price?"

"My offer's simple," she said, her voice turning cold and clear. "Work for me. Be loyal to me. Moretti and Carver will be yours, handed over nice and neat. You'll have Donati's name behind you, power you can't fathom. But if you refuse, our next meeting ends with you as a real corpse. Choose carefully."

The line went dead, her words hanging in the air like a noose. A deal with Donati's daughter, a shot at Moretti and Carver, but at the cost of everything he was. He slid the phone into his pocket, next to Lily's dog tag, his jaw locked tight. The city stretched out before him, a warzone waiting for his decision.