chapter thirteen
Chapter Thirteen: Smoke Before the Storm
The jet ride to Berlin was silent.
Killian sat across from me, hands clasped tight, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Luca stood near the back cabin, arms folded, watching the skyline as we flew deeper into enemy territory.
This wasn't just another hit. It was personal. Dominic Moretti wasn't just a ghost from Killian's past—he was the last living piece of a legacy both of us were trying to burn.
And the storm that was coming?
It wasn't going to be clean.
"Dominic's facility is in Köpenick," Luca said, pulling up the map on the monitor. "A front for arms imports, but there's a high-rise buried in the records—fortified, underground vault, private security on every floor. Getting in won't be subtle."
Killian didn't blink. "We don't go in subtle."
"We also don't go in blind," Luca added. "We need time. Recon. I have two eyes on the ground already. Let's get to our safe house, gear up, and move from there."
I nodded, though my chest was tight. Berlin wasn't just foreign ground. It was warzone waiting to erupt.
And I wasn't sure we'd all walk out.
---
We touched down just after midnight.
The city was colder than I expected—wind biting, sky smeared with clouds. Our safehouse sat deep in the industrial zone, hidden in an abandoned brewery now rigged with motion detectors and perimeter drones.
The moment we stepped inside, I dropped my duffel and headed straight for the weapons room.
Steel calms me.
Knives. Pistols. Grenades.
I chose a compact Glock and slid it into my thigh holster. Loaded two curved blades on either side of my belt and laced the third inside my boot. Killian followed, watching me silently as I moved.
"You ever been to war?" he asked.
"I'm a woman," I replied. "I've lived in it."
His gaze didn't soften, but something in his shoulders did.
"This won't be surgical," he said. "Dominic's men aren't like Natasha's. They're trained. Loyal. Brutal."
I met his eyes. "So are we."
He stepped closer, stopping just inches from me.
"I won't let him take anything else from me."
I nodded.
"Then we don't give him the chance."
---
The next day was all shadows.
Luca and I scouted Dominic's tower from a rooftop two blocks over. Through binoculars, I counted twelve men on patrol outside, two manned vehicles, and surveillance cameras mounted in every blind corner.
"Access point's under the east loading dock," Luca murmured beside me. "There's a freight elevator that leads to the private floors."
"And the security system?"
"Thermal recognition. You walk in unregistered, and they'll know before you breathe."
"What about masks?"
Luca shook his head. "Doesn't matter. The sensors are coded to specific biometric heat signatures. You need a pass that says 'I belong.'"
I frowned. "So we need someone who does belong."
Luca sighed. "I've got someone… but Killian's not gonna like it."
I glanced at him. "Who?"
"Her name's Ilyana."
I froze.
"You mean that Ilyana? The one who used to run with Dominic before going off-grid?"
"The same," Luca said. "She disappeared three years ago. Now she's resurfaced—and she wants to meet."
My stomach twisted.
"And we trust her?"
"No," Luca said simply. "But we need her."
---
Back at the safehouse, Killian was less diplomatic.
"She's a snake," he spat, voice hard. "She used to lie for my brother, cover his blood trails, smuggle intel across enemy borders. I don't care how long she's been gone—if she's breathing, she's dangerous."
"She's also our only shot," I said. "Luca said she still has level-two access. That gets us into the lower floors."
Killian turned to him. "Set the meet. But I want eyes everywhere."
"Already done," Luca said, tossing a burner phone on the table. "Midnight. Old train station in Kreuzberg. She'll come alone. Allegedly."
Killian didn't look convinced. Neither was I.
But time wasn't our ally.
And trust was already extinct.
---
The train station was a skeleton of rust and brick. Midnight wind howled through its broken windows like a warning. I stood beside Killian, Glock tight in my grip, eyes scanning every dark crevice.
Then she stepped out of the shadows.
Ilyana.
Tall. Slender. Wrapped in a black trench coat and red lipstick that looked like blood. Her eyes were pale blue—cold, calculating.
She smirked.
"Well, well. If it isn't the bastard heir and the broken girl."
Killian didn't blink.
"I should kill you for the way you talk."
"You could try," she said sweetly. "But then you'd never get into that building."
"Why help us?" I asked sharply.
She turned to me, lips curling. "Because I owe Dominic nothing anymore. And I like when the world burns without my fingerprints on it."
"You'll give us the access?"
She reached into her coat—slowly—and pulled out a keycard and a slim metal chip.
"This gets you in," she said. "But it doesn't get you out. His private floors aren't just armored—they're rigged. One wrong step, and the whole place locks down."
Killian took the card but didn't thank her.
"And why do I feel like there's a price?" he asked.
"There is," she said. "Don't die. I want to see the look on his face when you take everything he built and turn it to ash."
She turned and disappeared into the shadows before either of us could respond.
Killian stared at the card in his hand.
"This is it."
---
Back at the safehouse, we packed like it was the last mission.
Because it might be.
Explosives. Comms. Adrenaline syringes. Bulletproof lining.
I stood in front of the mirror, lacing up my boots, when Killian came up behind me.
"You ready?"
I nodded. "As I'll ever be."
He touched my shoulder gently, voice softer than it had been all day.
"I need you to promise something."
"What?"
"If it goes wrong… if I go down first… don't come for me."
I turned to him, sharp. "No."
"Amara—"
"No," I repeated. "I didn't come this far to bury another man I cared about."
He exhaled slowly, pain flickering in his eyes.
"Then don't let me stop you."
I reached up, cupping his jaw.
"You won't."
We kissed—brief, fierce, final.
Because we both knew—
The storm was already waiting.
And smoke always comes before fire