The plan was clear. Our destination was a myth, a fortress in the Alps. But we were still in a stolen, twenty-year-old Volvo with two police officers who knew our faces. We were vulnerable.
"We can't drive this to Switzerland," Nyx said flatly, her eyes scanning the road. "We're in a stolen car that's already been reported. We'll hit a checkpoint in less than ten kilometers outside the city. We're an easy target."
"So we need a new car," I replied, my mind racing. "And we need new identities. Elias is in Zurich. We're here. We need to reach Dante's local backup."
Nyx glanced at me in the rearview mirror, a small, impressed smile on her lips. "I was waiting for you to say that. The boss's 'Ghost Protocol' wasn't just about digital safety. He believed in old-world assets. Gold, diamonds, and cash. He has 'storm cellars'—hidden locations—in seven major European cities. There's one here."
"Where?"
"A self-storage unit in the Uccle district. Unit 333. Same as the Fafnir box. He liked patterns. It's our only chance."
We drove in a winding, unpredictable route through the city, doubling back twice to make sure we weren't being followed by the police or, worse, the Syndicate. Aria, in the back, had stopped crying. The new hope had calmed her panic. She watched the city pass, her expression hard and cold, her Moretti blood finally boiling.
The storage facility was a dull, gray building, blending in with several others. It was a place for people to hide their valuables. It was perfect.
Nyx, using a key from her go-bag, a master key for all of Dante's hidden spots, led us to a quiet corridor. Unit 333. She unlocked the heavy lock and lifted the creaking metal door.
The small, ten-by-ten-foot space was the result of Dante's paranoia. It was a minimalist survival kit. On a metal shelf sat a large, hard-shell Pelican case, a heavy duffel bag, and a silver briefcase.
Nyx opened the briefcase. It was filled with neat, vacuum-sealed stacks of currency—Euros, Swiss Francs, and US Dollars. "Cash," she said, her voice filled with reverence. "We have money again."
Aria opened the duffel bag. Inside were three new, clean-looking fake passports along with matching driver's licenses. One for me, one for her, and one for Nyx, all with believable identities. Beside them were three encrypted, military-grade burner phones, still in their boxes. We were no longer Isabella, Aria, and Nyx. We were now ghosts.
I opened the large, black Pelican case. My breath caught. Inside, nestled in custom foam, were three new 9mm pistols, a dozen magazines, a compact medical kit, several blocks of C-4, and a high-end laptop. This wasn't just a storm cellar. It was a supply chest.
We had money. We had new identities. We had weapons. We had a destination. We were no longer three terrified women. We were an operation.
"Okay," Nyx said with a new confidence in her voice. "Let's ditch this old Volvo and find our real ride." She pulled out a small, blank key fob for an unknown car. "Elias said the new vehicle is in the outer lot. A clean, registered Audi A6. Fast, anonymous, and untraceable."
We gathered our new lives. I slung a non-descript black backpack over my shoulder, the ledger safely inside, its weight a familiar comfort. We rolled down the metal door, leaving our old, desperate selves behind.
We walked into the main parking lot, scanning the rows of cars. Nyx clicked the fob.
A cheerful chirp echoed from the far end of the lot, and the headlights of a dark gray Audi A6 wagon flashed. Our ride.
But as the lights flashed, they revealed a vehicle parked beside it, blocking its exit.
A black, armored G-Wagon.
It was identical to the ones that had hunted us at the cathedral. Its engine was off. It sat there, a silent, black predator, waiting.
We froze. Nyx's hand, holding the key fob, began to shake. This wasn't a coincidence. It wasn't just bad luck.
The new boss hadn't merely been sweeping the city. He had been watching Dante's known spots. He anticipated our every move. He let us find our hope, our cash, and our weapons, only to trap us here.
The new boss wasn't just playing chess. He was playing our game. And he was already one step ahead.