Chapter 9: The Café Bleeds

They didn't wait.

Nico grabbed his gun from the nightstand, pulled Sienna close, and said only two words: "We run."

She didn't argue.

They tore out of the apartment, Nico's arm always around her, shielding, leading, scanning. The streets were still sleepy, innocent. But Sienna's café—her sanctuary—was already crawling with quiet death.

Two men in suits stood near the entrance. Dark glasses. Hands at their sides, twitching. Another figure leaned against a car across the street, smoking like he had all the time in the world.

But Nico didn't hesitate. "We split."

"I'm not leaving—"

"I'll draw them," he said. "You get to the safehouse Colson marked on the flash drive. It's real. I know the route. Take my bike."

He kissed her, quick and hard. "Go."

She ran. Helmet on. Engine screaming. Her café growing smaller behind her.

Nico strolled toward the door like he was just another customer. One of the suits stepped forward.

"We're closed," Nico said coolly.

The man didn't blink. "You're not on the list."

"I never liked lists."

The man reached under his jacket.

Nico moved first.

Three shots—fast, quiet, deadly. One man down, another slumped. Nico ducked into the alley before the third even dropped his cigarette.

He wasn't running. He was bait.

And they followed.

But he led them exactly where he wanted.

Behind the bakery, near the dumpsters, the shadows closed in. Gunfire cracked once—twice—and then silence.

One body fell.

Not Nico's.

He stepped over the last man, blood on his boots, eyes cold.

Then his burner rang.

He picked up.

A voice he hadn't heard in five years rasped on the line.

"She's not yours, brother. She never was."

Colson.