Chapter 76 – Before Dawn Breaks
The fire was out before the first hint of pale light touched the snow outside. Kairo stamped the last embers flat beneath his boot, the hiss fading into the cold.
"Take only what you can carry at a run," he told Elira without looking up. "Everything else stays."
She already had her satchel over one shoulder, the leather worn from travel. "Where?"
He didn't answer immediately. He was mapping again — she could see it in the way his gaze drifted to nothing, as if the walls around them had already fallen away.
"Northwest," he finally said. "We cut across the service road into San Dovaro. Quiet town. Enough noise to disappear in, but not enough eyes to report us quick."
The old man watched from the corner, his weathered hands curled around a chipped mug. "Vale's people will sweep San Dovaro before midday."
"I'm counting on it," Kairo said.
The old man's brows rose, but he didn't argue. He'd seen enough in the last twelve hours to know Kairo's risks were rarely taken without a purpose.
The air outside was brittle with cold, the snow firm underfoot where the night frost had set it. They moved quickly, keeping low until the cabin was swallowed by trees.
"You didn't tell him why San Dovaro," Elira said as they took a narrow path between the pines.
"He didn't need to know," Kairo replied. "You do."
She waited, matching his stride.
"Vale keeps a handler there," Kairo continued. "Name's Ferranti. Controls the supply routes between the southern ports and the rail lines. If we take Ferranti off the board, Vale loses a week's worth of shipments."
"And?"
"And he pulls his men back to protect what's left. Buys us space."
Her lips curved in a faint, humorless smile. "You call that space. Most people would call it blood in the water."
"That's the only space worth having," he said.
By mid-morning, the trees thinned into the edge of the service road — a strip of cracked asphalt half-buried in frost. They moved parallel to it, careful to keep to the brush until the rooftops of San Dovaro showed beyond a low ridge.
It wasn't much of a town — two main streets crossed in an X, lined with shuttered shops and weather-worn signs. The air carried the tang of diesel and faint woodsmoke.
From their vantage point, Kairo scanned the narrow lanes, noting the placement of delivery trucks, the handful of pedestrians, the idle figures leaning in doorways with cigarettes.
"Vale's men?" Elira asked.
"Two on the east corner, one outside the café. Ferranti will be inside the warehouse near the rail spur."
She didn't ask how he knew. He had the look of someone who'd walked into a hundred towns just like this, reading them in minutes the way other men read headlines.
They didn't go in together. Kairo gave her a set of instructions in low, clipped tones. "You take the café. Sit where you can see the street. If anything moves toward the warehouse that I didn't send, you leave. Head south."
Her jaw tightened. "You think I'll run."
"I think you'll live," he said. "And right now, that's more important than pride."
She didn't answer, but the look she gave him lingered as she turned toward the town.
The warehouse was a long, low structure of corrugated metal, its siding dulled to a patchwork of rust and grime. A single loading door stood half-open, breath clouds of cold air curling from within.
Kairo approached from the side alley, his steps slow, casual — the kind of walk that made you look like you belonged there.
Inside, Ferranti was exactly where Kairo expected — bent over a ledger on a battered desk, his coat still on, hat pulled low. Two men flanked the far wall, rifles slung but eyes sharp.
"Kairo Voletti," Ferranti said without looking up. "They said you were in the mountains."
"They were right," Kairo said. "Now I'm here."
Ferranti finally lifted his gaze. The man's eyes were pale and small, like chips of glass. "If you came to make trouble, Vale will—"
"Vale will find his shipments gone," Kairo cut in. "By the time he hears about this, you'll be in a hole no one can find."
The guards shifted, but Kairo didn't glance at them. His attention stayed locked on Ferranti, the stillness in his body the kind that made lesser men uneasy.
"You've got three trucks on the south route," Kairo said. "I know their drivers. I know the drop points. You have two choices — you shut them down yourself, or I shut them down and you with them."
Ferranti stared for a moment, weighing. "You're alone."
Kairo's mouth curved faintly. "Am I?"
Outside, across the street, Elira sat at the café window. Her coffee had gone cold, but her eyes were sharp on the lane.
Two men she hadn't seen before stepped out from between buildings, moving toward the warehouse. She slid her hand into her coat pocket, fingers curling around the compact pistol Kairo had given her.
The signal had been clear — if they weren't his, she left.
She didn't leave.
Instead, she rose, dropping a few coins on the table, and stepped into the street. The two men noticed her before she reached them. One smirked. The other's eyes narrowed.
"You lost?" the smirking one asked.
She stopped just short of them, her voice even. "No. But you are."
The pistol came up fast, small enough to hide in her palm until the last second. Her first shot took the smirker in the thigh. The second made the other drop to his knees, gasping.
Inside, the sound of the shots made Ferranti's men swing toward the door. That was all the distraction Kairo needed.
By the time they turned back, his pistol was leveled — one shot, then another, clean and quiet in the cold air. Both men hit the ground before they could fire.
Ferranti had frozen, one hand halfway to the drawer in his desk.
"Don't," Kairo said softly.
Ferranti's hand dropped.
When Kairo and Elira met in the alley five minutes later, she was breathing hard, the small pistol still warm in her hand.
"I told you to leave," he said.
"I told you I wasn't running," she replied.
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Kairo took the pistol from her, tucking it into his coat.
"Next time," he said, "aim higher."
Her lips curved. "Next time, give me a bigger gun."
They moved together toward the edge of town, the snow crunching under their boots. Behind them, San Dovaro began to wake to the sound of sirens.