Chicago was quiet, deceptively so. The rain had stopped, leaving streets slick and reflective like black glass. But silence never meant safety.
Luca DeRossi and Amara Volkov stood atop a rooftop overlooking Selena Vetrova's hidden stronghold—a converted warehouse on the edge of the industrial district.
"Her men are everywhere," Amara said, scanning through binoculars. "Too many for a frontal assault. We need to divide them."
Luca didn't speak. His gaze was fixed. Calculating. Silent. Predator watching prey.
"Phase one," Amara continued, "we hit the east entrance with explosives. Draw them out. Phase two, we take the west side with snipers."
Luca finally spoke, low and dangerous. "And Phase three?"
Amara's lips curved faintly. "Phase three is her. Alone. You, me… and whoever she sends to protect herself."
He didn't respond. Not with words. His hand brushed hers as he loaded his gun. A spark—almost imperceptible—ran between them. Danger and attraction, both lethal.
Explosions ripped through the east entrance first, sending flames licking toward the night sky. Selena's men poured out, shouting, rifles raised.
Amara moved first, killing two before they could reach cover. Luca followed, shadow and storm, eliminating another pair. Bullets cracked. Sparks flew as steel met steel.
"Focus on her!" Luca shouted over the chaos.
"She's baiting us," Amara replied, eyes scanning. "Wait for the real target."
Then a flare from the west. Another set of attackers, masked, trained, professional. Selena's elite guard.
Amara didn't hesitate. She rolled behind a crate, firing twice. A man fell. Another lunged at her—she pivoted, twisting his arm, breaking it, then knocking him out cold with a single strike to the jaw.
Luca was everywhere, lethal, unstoppable. But even he noticed it: Selena wasn't among them yet. She was watching. Waiting. Smiling.
A sudden kick from behind nearly sent Amara sprawling. Luca was there instantly, grabbing her by the arm. "Stay close!"
She shot him a look. "I can handle myself."
"You don't understand," he growled. "This one… she's worse than anyone we've faced."
The Face-Off
Finally, in the center of the chaos, Selena appeared. Tall, dangerous, black coat flowing in the wind, twin pistols in hand.
"Impressive," she said calmly. "But I expected more… fire."
Luca stepped forward. "This ends tonight."
"You think so?" she said, spinning, firing once at the rooftop edge. Sparks erupted near Luca. Amara dived forward, taking the bullet in her shoulder guard—light, but enough to test her defenses.
"You're playing," she hissed, gripping her gun tighter.
"And you," Luca growled, "will lose."
They circled each other through the rain-slicked debris, predator versus predator. Each shot, each movement, calculated.
Amara ducked another shot. "Luca… she's faster than we expected."
"I know," he said, eyes cold, unwavering. "But she's not smarter."
With synchronized precision, Luca and Amara launched themselves together. He drew her attention, moving like a shadow. She fired, and in that instant, Amara flanked Selena, disarming one of her pistols.
Selena smirked. "Ah… the alliance."
Luca gritted his teeth. "Not an alliance."
"You'll see," Amara said softly, shooting her second pistol.
Selena stumbled back. Just slightly. Enough.
Luca's fist connected with Selena's jaw. She staggered. Amara followed, blade drawn. Two predators, one target, chaos everywhere.
But Selena wasn't finished. A hidden detonator in her hand… she pressed it. The warehouse's northern wall erupted. Debris flew. Smoke and fire consumed the space.
Luca grabbed Amara, pulling her to safety. "Too close!"
Amara's eyes burned. "I like it close."
He didn't respond. Not with words. Only a look. Dark. Dangerous.
Somewhere in the smoke, Selena disappeared.
But Luca and Amara knew one thing:
This war was far from over.
And now… it was personal.