Thirty Two

Beth's POV

Beth silently watched her father's theatrics.

Her expression?

Cool.

Her mind?

Sharp.

Her movements?

Subtle—just eyes and nods used as signals.

Orders.

Silent and efficient.

Her people executed her commands without hesitation.

Nothing fazed her.

They were already in position.

Some surrounded the perimeter.

Others were checking every room, including the party upstairs—

Looking for Federico's 'storage'.

Her ticket for new achievement.

A few were en route to the control room.

To retrieve the CCTV footage.

The one Tony said he'd give her.

She glanced at Tony.

Their eyes met briefly.

But Bernardo had claimed the center stage.

She tuned her father out.

'Yada-yada,' she mocked Bernardo internally.

'Doesn't matter.'

She was waiting for her people's report.

'Now, this is…' she mused.

'..real power.'

She didn't need to move nor lift a finger.

Beth just had to give them a glance—a gesture—and others moved.

For her.

Unlike before.

Before she stepped up the ladder.

Even in the CIA there are types of bullying.

Just because she was orphaned.

Lived all her life through foster houses.

And because she was a woman, they all looked down on her.

She slept her way up sometimes.

Bosses.

Directors.

But that was only 'if' she felt her advancement was slow. 

'Who's laughing now?'

Her gaze swept the ruined restaurant.

Shattered glass.

Broken furniture.

Feathers. 

Smoke. 

Debris. 

Chaos.

Then—him.

She spotted Federico, crawling like a damned worm through blood and shards.

Her eyes gleamed.

They never left him.

He wasn't going anywhere.

Not at that pace.

'You're mine,' she promised darkly. 'Later.'

Then her father's loud voice cut through the noise like a blade.

"That's why you failed to seduce him, huh, Beth?"

She didn't blink.

But inside?

She rolled her eyes.

'Psycho,' she thought.

'I'm not like you.'

She grimaced, remembering what her father did to little Antonia.

'It's sick. Twisted.'

Then her attention drifted to Tony and the others.

Injured.

Bleeding.

Unconscious.

These people were Santa De Leones.

Her blood.

'What a pathetic sight.'

Then came the sound of a slap—Tony.

Her father was releasing all of his pent up rage, striking his own family like it meant nothing.

Beth exhaled softly.

'Tch. I should just leave.'

She tilted her head slightly towards Travis—one of her trusted men—waiting for her order.

She gave him a look—then to the worm.

A signal.

Travis nodded, then relayed the message to someone beside him—a rookie.

Then the rookie moved to cover Federico in her place.

Beth turned and headed toward the front entrance.

Quietly.

Unlike their dramatic flair earlier.

"Any news from the control room?"

She asked Travis—who followed her like a good dog.

"Negative."

She frowned.

'What's the holdup?'

Her hands reached for her skirt pocket, searching for her pack of smokes.

Something glinted.

Her eyes followed it.

And then—Beth saw her.

A woman.

Standing at the beginning of the courtyard.

Dark hair in braids.

Bangs dancing softly in the wind.

Shoulders squared.

Clad in a fitted black suit—like the cat woman's outfit in one of those movies.

In black Louboutin heels.

Finger on the trigger of a combat launcher that was slung on her shoulder.

Thick rubber pad for recoil.

One of her eyes was closed, the other on the weapon's built-in sights. 

Beth's eyes widened.

Her pack of smokes slipped from her hand and hit the pavement.

'Fuck.'

She dove to the side instinctively—

Just as a voice roared inside the restaurant:

"GET DOWN NOW!"

The world dissolved into fire and a deafening roar.

'Who the hell is that?'

Fire and shrapnel tore through the restaurant's front entrance—

Where Beth had stood just seconds ago.

A shockwave slammed into her like an invisible fist.

Hurling her backwards.

Air sucked from her lungs.

Ears rang.

Pain flared.

And yet—through it all—one thought screamed above her mind in the chaos.

'Shit! Federico!'

She hit the ground hard.

The cold concrete was unforgiving.

Smoke thickened.

Her breath choked.

Debris rained down—hot, heavy, biting.

But Beth moved.

Reflexes from years of black ops and dirty missions kicked in.

She tucked. 

Rolled.

Arms shielded her head.

Breathing ragged.

Heart hammering.

Skin and hair burned.

Her clothes were dirtied—torn.

'Shit. This was supposed to be easy.'

Her thoughts spun like blades.

'Get the footage. Find the 'storage' of 'goods'. Bag Federico. And wait for Bernardo to wrap up his revenge.'

Instead?

Everything was falling apart.

And all she could think was—

'These people are full of fucking crazies!'

"Dalton! Travis!" she yelled, her voice hoarse and cracked.

A tense moment—

Then Dalton's voice, strained but alive, answered from behind a pile of rubble.

"I'm here!"

Then he coughed heavily.

"Where's Travis?" she asked.

She looked around, eyes scanning through the smoke and wreckage.

She tried to stand up—but her foot slipped.

Sticky.

She looked down.

Blood.

A hand—detached—adorned with an engagement ring.

'Travis. Shit.'

Then, the sound of heels.

Beth turned.

The woman with the combat launcher.

Their eyes met.

The woman simply raised her brows and walked past.

Calm.

Unbothered.

As if she's looking at a type of dress she didn't like.

She disappeared into the rubbled restaurant.

Beth exhaled.

Once the woman was gone, she rasped to Dalton.

"Control room."

Dalton understood.

He fiddled with his comms.

"Control room, come in."

Static.

Then—

"This is from the control room."

Beth snatched the comm from Dalton, who moved closer to her.

"Status of the footage?"

"Nothing, Ma'am."

"What do you mean nothing?"

A pause.

"It's missing."

Beth's eyes narrowed.

Mind racing.

'Tony!' 

She flung the comm back to Dalton.

"Fuck!"

Her eyes flicked to the destroyed entrance.

"I'm not going back in there."

Then—more footsteps.

A battalion of armed men emerged.

Machine guns.

Rpgs.

Assault rifles. 

Snipers.

A goddamn army.

"Fuck this shit."

Her mind raced.

She turned to Dalton.

"Ask them if they found the storage."

Her voice was sharp.

Urgent.

"Storage update?" Dalton relayed.

Static.

Then:

"Underground parking lot."

"Let's move," Beth ordered.

More of her CIA agents began to stir.

But Beth didn't care.

Her eyes snapped back to the advancing army—towards them.

"Now!" she barked.

Dalton moved.

Others followed.

"Show me the way," she told Dalton.

Dalton guided her towards the other entrance.

All the while, Dalton barked orders into his comms.

Asking for instructions from the control room.

To know where to turn in every hallway, and give them access to the elevator for the underground lot.

Their movements conveyed haste.

They twisted and turned.

Then they went inside an inconspicuous elevator.

They descended—

Beth's mind was now focused on the storage where Federico Luchese stored all his goods. 

Securing it and handing it to the higher ups would likely boost her rank.

Another step on the ladder.

Even if Federico was dead, Beth swore she would drag his body out.

Federico alive, with his storage was worth more, but..

Federico dead and his storage?

'I think I can work it out. A slim chance.'

Her mind was already calculating.

They have reached the underground lot without any incident.

It was wide.

But the storage stood out.

Beth's brows lifted.

Federico's security there was lax—that her team immediately neutralized them.

Swiftly and brutally.

Once the vast concrete space was secured, Beth leaned against a cold concrete pillar.

Waiting for her men to open the storage.

A static.

Then Dalton's voice.

"Ma'am, we've got movement."

Beth raised her brows.

"Don Federico is alive and is now heading here."

Beth smiled.

"Hu-hu," she laughed loudly.

"Lucky."

A beat.

Her eyes on the now opened storage.

"We're still gonna bag the turkey."

**