The air leaves my lungs. This isn’t a message. It’s an execution. A crude trap designed to kill Lea and anyone who tries to be a hero.
“Blake,” I say into my comm, my voice dangerously calm. “Fall back. All teams. Fall back to the perimeter. Now. That is a direct order.”
I step out of the shadows, holstering my weapon as I walk toward her, my movements measured. Her muffled cries coming through the gag are desperate.
“Shh, Lea. Look at me,” I command, my voice low and even as I drop to my knees before her. “I’m going to get you out of this. Trust me.”
My focus narrows to the device. It’s a simple pressure-plate trigger. If I cut her ropes, her shifting off the chair might complete the circuit. The timer is the only thing holding back the blast. 1:12… 1:11…
I pull my tactical knife. I can’t cut her free. Too risky. Might trigger the bomb. I have to disarm it.
My fingers, steady from years of discipline, probe the device. It’s Moretti’s work, alright. No finesse. Just a block of explosive, a battery, and a simple timer connected to a detonator. Two wires. One red, one blue. A fifty-fifty chance. But Moretti is a creature of brute force. He deals in absolutes. He wouldn’t gamble.
0:45… 0:44…
Her muffled sobs are the only sound besides the frantic beat of my heart. I meet her terrified gaze. “Don’t move,” I say.
I position the edge of my knife against the red wire. My entire world shrinks to this single point of contact. The cold steel, the thin plastic sheath. My hand does not shake.
0:32… 0:31…
I cut the wire.
For a single, eternal second, nothing happens. The timer freezes at 0:29. The red light flickers, then dies.
A breath escapes me. I press my forehead against her knee for just a moment, the wave of relief so powerful it almost brings me down. Then, the fury returns.
I rise, my knife flashing as I slice through the ropes at her wrists and ankles. The moment she is free, I rip the gag fromher mouth. She launches herself into my arms, her body shaking violently, her sobs raw and unrestrained against my neck.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “They came—they tied me up—I thought we were going to die.”
We. The word lands hard. He wasn’t just trying to kill me. He was going to execute her. The last shred of doubt I ever had about her is obliterated. She was never a player. She was a pawn. And Moretti was willing to sacrifice her to get to me.
I pull her close again, one hand cradling the back of her head. “I’ve got you,” I murmur against her temple. “You’re safe now.”
The realization hits me. This terror—this dread that gripped me when I knew she was gone—it wasn’t strategic concern. It was the raw fear of losing someone irreplaceable. Alessandro warned me. But here, fresh from saving her from a shared death, I can no longer lie to myself. I am in love with Lea Song. The admission, even to myself, should feel like surrender. Instead, it feels like clarity.
“Sir.” Blake’s voice breaks the moment. He stands a respectful distance away. “We should move. This location is too exposed.”
I nod, helping Lea to her feet. She sways, and I wrap an arm around her waist. “The car?”
“Waiting at the south entrance.”
We move through the factory, Team Charlie forming a protective circle around us. I keep Lea pressed against my side. The armored SUV waits, engine running. Blake opens the rear door, and I help Lea inside before sliding in beside her.
As the door closes and the vehicle pulls away, I feel the last of the adrenaline ebb, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion and something else: relief.
In the dim light, her face is a study in shadows. I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She leans into my touch. “They took me to that place,” she says, her voice small. “Tied me up. One of them dropped his phone when they were leaving. I knew you’d come for me.”
The phone. Conveniently dropped so Lea could call me, lure me into this trap of a shared death without knowing. The ultimate stroke by Moretti. Kill me and the woman I love in a single act of deception.
“Always,” I tell her, and it’s not a reassurance. It’s a vow.
I give the driver the destination—the lake house. The city is a battlefield now.
The long drive passes in silence, her head resting against my shoulder. I text Alessandro a brief update:Lea recovered. Moretti tried to kill us both. It’s war.His reply is immediate:Burn him down.
