The Unseen Teeth of War

Rain tapped against the bulletproof glass of Gina's private office—sharp, rhythmic, like a warning she couldn't ignore.

She was alone, yet not unobserved. Her team worked silently outside the mirrored hallway, securing the perimeter. She trusted them—most of them—but paranoia was a muscle she exercised daily.

The message had arrived in the dead of night.

A silent ping from an unlisted channel, one of the few left active from Houna's original web. It contained just one word:

"Lansing."

Her hand had clenched instinctively. She hadn't heard that name used in coded alerts since her aunt disappeared off the radar five years ago.

Now, suddenly, the ghost was stirring again. But Gina knew it wasn't Houna who sent the message. It was the system they'd left behind—fragments of the old underworld waking up.

She opened her encrypted screen and read the brief intel dump.

Richard Lansing has begun an inquiry into your file. He has reached out to Silvano. Surveillance spike detected on your Lisbon route and Macau shell.

Her mouth went dry.

So it had begun.

---

Across the continent, in a low-lit wine cellar beneath a Tuscan estate, Don Silvano leaned into the soft glow of his old terminal, still wired with technology no agency had ever fully cracked.

He'd pulled the files himself this time. Not through proxies or dead drops. Gina Michaels deserved no gaps. Because this wasn't just another contract.

This was blood legacy.

He opened the folder marked "Michaels/Laskaris."

Jeremiah Michaels: former federal systems analyst. Known for integrity. Declared dead after a house fire staged by Makarov on Lansing's orders.

Elisa Laskaris-Michaels: sister to Houna. Targeted. Disappeared.

Regina "Gina" Michaels: presumed dead. Reemerged eight years later under altered birth records. First public resurfacing was when she infiltrated a charity event hosted by the Lansing Group—her target: Dave Lansing.

She seduced him. Disarmed him. And disappeared shortly after.

Pregnant.

She vanished off every radar until ten years later, when she returned with a child. Davina.

A girl born in silence. Hidden from both the underworld and the man who fathered her.

Now, that girl had become the thread unraveling every lie.

---

Silvano let out a slow breath. "Well, well. The girl grew teeth."

He picked up the phone.

---

Gina answered on the second buzz. Her voice, low. Alert.

"I take it you're calling with more than pleasantries."

Silvano chuckled. "You've inherited your aunt's spine, Regina."

"What did he ask you?"

"Who you are. Who protects you. How much trouble he's facing if he strikes."

"And what did you tell him?"

"That you're a storm dressed in silk. And that he's already outmatched."

She allowed herself a small smirk, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"He'll move soon," she said. "And he won't come at me directly. He'll test for cracks—people I trust, accounts I hide. My daughter."

"Then seal your doors, girl. The old beast is sniffing again."

Gina ended the call and stared out at the dark city beyond the glass.

She felt it.

The slow turning of a wheel she thought she'd buried long ago. Her father's voice whispered in her head, steady and quiet:

Truth is not armor unless it's wielded with power.

---

In his estate, Richard Lansing sipped his whiskey, eyes trained on the last surveillance image of Gina.

She stood beside her daughter in a secure compound. Her posture was queenly. Her stare unflinching.

He felt something cold move down his spine.

"She doesn't fear me," he muttered.

He turned to his assistant. "Contact Jenny Lawrence's father. Tell him the engagement with Dave needs to be formalized immediately. If I can't break the woman, I'll bury her with the future."

Outside, thunder cracked.

War had found its footing.

And Gina was already sharpening her knives.