Chapter One
The rain had a habit of washing nothing clean.
Corvane's streets glimmered like cracked mirrors, catching flashes of red and blue from far-off sirens. Rhea Cortez moved through them like a shadow with a limp, one hand pressed tight against her side. The warmth under her palm was thick and sticky, seeping through the torn seam of her jacket. She didn't look down; she didn't have to. Blood was blood—hers, somebody else's, it all dried the same way.
The job was supposed to be simple.
A pickup. A message. A warning.
Instead, it turned into a shootout behind a shuttered liquor store. Two of her crew were gone—one dragged, one left. Rhea hadn't stayed to find out which.
Now she pushed through the back alleys, boots slapping against puddles that smelled like oil. Every few steps she stopped to listen. Corvane at night was full of the small sounds of people surviving: tires sliding through puddles, metal doors groaning shut, a drunk shouting to no one. Somewhere above, a sign buzzed and flickered VALE SHIPPING CO.—Luciana's name written in light over half the docks.
Rhea's breath misted white. Her ribs ached. But the thought of facing Luciana hurt more than the wound.
She reached the gates of the compound just before midnight. Two guards stood under a dripping awning, rifles slung loose. They straightened when they saw her.
"Jesus, Cortez," one of them muttered. "You look like hell."
"Long drive," she said, voice rough. She stepped past before they could ask more.
Inside, the air smelled of metal, perfume, and rain. The warehouse lights cast everything in yellow haze—crates, wet footprints, shadows moving quick. At the far end, behind a desk of dark glass, Luciana Vale waited. She always looked like she belonged somewhere better: tailored suit, hair pinned, eyes sharp enough to cut silence.
Rhea stopped a few feet away, tried to stand straight.
"It went bad," she said.
Luciana's gaze didn't flinch. "Who's left?"
"Just me."
The quiet that followed was heavier than the storm outside.
Luciana rose slowly, heels clicking across the floor until she stood close enough for Rhea to smell her perfume—smoke and citrus, like fire pretending to be calm.
"You were supposed to send a message," Luciana said. "Instead, you brought me a ghost town."
Rhea clenched her jaw. "It was a setup. Someone tipped them off."
Luciana studied her face as if looking for the lie. Then, softer, "You should've called."
"No time," Rhea murmured. "They were already there."
Luciana reached out, brushed a strand of wet hair from Rhea's cheek. The gesture was careful, deliberate, too kind for this place. "You need stitches," she said. "Come upstairs."
Rhea hesitated. "I can do it myself."
"I know you can," Luciana replied. "But I didn't ask."
The elevator ride up was silent except for the hum of old cables. Rhea leaned against the wall, dizzy from blood loss. Luciana stood beside her, arms folded, eyes fixed on the rising numbers. When the doors opened, warm light spilled into a room that didn't belong to a crime boss—it belonged to someone who loved control: glass, books, a bar cart lined with expensive whiskey.
Luciana motioned to the couch. "Sit."
Rhea obeyed. She peeled off her jacket, winced as Luciana knelt with a first-aid kit. The boss's hands were steady, practiced.
"Next time," Luciana said quietly, cleaning the wound, "don't make me wonder if you're coming back."
Rhea tried to smile. "Didn't know you wondered."
Luciana met her eyes. "I don't like losing assets."
There was the sting—the reminder that loyalty here was currency, and she was just another investment. But when Luciana's fingers lingered a moment too long on her skin, Rhea felt something shift beneath the weight of every rule she'd learned.
Outside, thunder rolled over Corvane. Inside, neither spoke.
Luciana taped the last strip of gauze and stood. "Get some rest," she said. "Tomorrow we find out who sold us out."
Rhea nodded, but as she watched Luciana turn away, something unspoken hung between them—something dangerous, inevitable, and already burning.
The rain kept falling, steady and endless, as if the city itself was waiting for the fire to start.