*"Shadows Without Names" – Unknown POV*
The scent of expensive cigars drifted through the air, clinging to the velvet walls of the private lounge like guilt.
He sat alone, legs crossed, a crystal glass of aged whiskey in his hand, eyes locked on a wall of monitors. Each screen flickered with live footage — street cams, surveillance feeds, news reports.
And one image frozen on a paused frame: Kael bleeding in a café booth.
He smiled.
"Well done," he murmured to himself, his voice low and composed.
The door creaked open behind him.
"You went through with it," a voice said.
He didn't look back. "You sound surprised."
"I am. Moretti didn't approve this. You know how he is with—"
"Control?" He chuckled. "That old bastard's losing his grip. He plays chess while the world plays war."
The man stepped further into the room — one of the underbosses, loyal to Moretti but smart enough to be afraid now. "What if Aurora finds out? You hit her *interest.*"
"Kael isn't hers. Not yet. And even if he was, she's too proud to admit it."
"But she'll retaliate."
"She already is," he replied, lifting a tablet and swiping across footage of Aurora's convoy moving through the city, like a queen ready for execution.
"I'm counting on it."
He finally turned, revealing a man in his late fifties. Refined. Crisp. Clean-cut with dead eyes and no trace of regret. The kind of man who once took oaths for justice and now sold it to the highest bidder.
"Every queen has her weakness," he said. "And Aurora's is bleeding in a cabin right now."
He stood and walked slowly toward a massive map of the city pinned to the wall, dotted with red and black pins.
"Kael is dangerous," he said flatly. "Not because he's righteous. But because he's loyal. Loyal men don't break."
He circled Kael's name on the map.
"They die. Or they destroy you."
The underboss shifted uneasily. "What's the next move?"
A smirk. "We let Aurora protect him. For now. Let her play the savior. Let her think she's winning. And when she's lulled into comfort... we take them both."
He drained the last of his whiskey.
"Besides, it's time we remind Moretti who really runs the city."
---
(Continued)
Kael's POV – "The Enemy's Armor"
The safe house smelled like dust and antiseptic.
Kael lay on the worn leather couch, his shoulder freshly stitched, the dull ache pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Elias had left an hour ago to secure the flash drives and wipe surveillance trails. The silence that remained was deafening.
He stared up at the ceiling, the cracks forming jagged lines like veins. Every breath felt like it scraped against the truth he didn't want to admit.
He couldn't win this war alone.
Not anymore.
The evidence he carried — documents, wire transfers, shipment logs, even the footage Elias pulled — was enough to level cartels, put police commissioners in handcuffs, and bury Moretti and his empire in legal hell. But none of it mattered if he ended up in a morgue before the case reached court.
And they were coming for him — harder, smarter.
They'd already tried twice. Next time, they'd make sure there wasn't a "next time."
He needed protection. Resources. Eyes everywhere.
And Aurora.
He hated how her name even crossed his mind like that. But it did — not with fear, but with undeniable gravity.
Aurora Vale.
The mafia queen he should've never met. The woman who saved his life… twice. The one who looked at him like she could see through the law and still find something worth saving.
He sat up slowly, wincing, then reached for the burner phone Elias left him. The lock screen reflected his tired face — blood still crusted near his hairline, dark circles beneath his eyes, resolve carved deep into every sharp line.
His thumb hovered over the contacts. There was only one name saved in the phone.
Aurora.
Not as a friend.
Not as a partner.
As leverage.
"I don't trust her," he muttered under his breath, but his hand didn't lower the phone.
He didn't have to trust her. He had to use her.
He pressed his fingers to his temples, thoughts spiraling.
What if she was the only one who could actually shield him from this? Not just physically. Strategically.
She had her claws in the underworld. She could feed him intel, ferry him through blind zones, hand him names he didn't even know he needed. She had the reach he didn't. The ruthlessness.
He had the law. She had the power. Maybe together, they could burn every lie in this city to the ground.
He hated the idea of needing her.
But he hated the idea of dying for nothing even more.
I use her… she uses me. He could live with that. For now.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then her voice, smooth and sharp like silk wrapped around a blade:
"I was wondering how long you'd last before calling me."
Kael swallowed.
"We need to talk."
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*Elias's POV – "Proof of Shadows"*
The safe house Elias ducked into was small, remote, and silent — the kind of place you didn't find unless you were already meant to be there.
He dropped the hard drive on the table, pulling off his jacket as he sat in front of the dusty old laptop. His fingers moved with muscle memory — plugging in, bypassing the OS security, decrypting layers of camera footage.
The footage from the café Kael was shot in had been tampered with.
What the cops saw was chaos: a man in a hoodie walking in, raising a gun, and disappearing into a crowd. But Elias had tapped the original feed directly from a backup source no one else knew about.
He clicked play.
The café's grainy footage rolled forward. The door opened.
Kael entered. Ordered coffee. Sat by the window. He looked tired — paranoid.
Another man entered. Hoodie. Gun. That part matched.
But the second angle — the one from behind the espresso machine — told a different story.
Elias slowed the footage down.
The shooter didn't scan the café like he was searching. He walked straight to Kael's booth. No hesitation. No confusion.
*He knew exactly who Kael was. Exactly where he'd be.*
Elias zoomed in, freezing the frame. The shooter looked up just before raising the gun… and his face, partially visible in the mirror behind the barista station, clicked something in Elias's memory.
He wasn't a gang member. He wasn't a random street thug.
He was one of the men from Moretti's private security detail.
*Shit.*
Elias closed his eyes for a second, heart thudding.
This wasn't just a cartel hit. This was sanctioned. Internal.
He clicked to the next frame and noticed something even worse — another man at the back of the café, just exiting. Clean suit. Ear-piece. Walkie. He wasn't panicked like the rest of the patrons.
He was watching.
Elias played the footage again, this time from a different angle.
The suited man walked out five seconds before the gunman opened fire.
A signal.
It was coordinated.
He scrubbed back through the timeline, fingers trembling now. And then, he caught it — a face outside, watching from a black SUV parked across the street.
He froze the frame.
The driver wasn't just anyone.
*It was one of the city commissioners' men.*
Not just Moretti's people. City officials.
*Someone high up not only knew this hit was coming — they ordered it.*
And they failed.
He backed away from the screen, adrenaline flooding his body like ice. He had to tell Kael. He had to get this to someone he could trust.
But his phone buzzed before he could move.
Unknown number. Text only.
> "Nice footage, detective. Keep digging and you'll be next."
Elias stared at the message, the chill in his spine settling like lead.
He wasn't just in deep anymore.
He was drowning.
---