Chapter 5

Today was my last operation as Dominic's second-in-command, and Valentina's first as the new liaison running point on the deal.

In the back office of the warehouse, I was checking the Glock holstered beneath my blazer when the door clicked open behind me. Valentina stepped in, heels sharp against the concrete.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her gaze dragging over me like an appraisal. "Five years by his side, and he still won't let anyone know you exist. Must sting — being the woman Dominic Russo keeps locked in the dark."

I adjusted my cuffs and said nothing.

"Want to know what he told me at the speakeasy that night?" Her red mouth curled upward. "He said the years he spent running with me were the best of his life."

My fingers stilled on the cufflink. The metal bit into the pad of my thumb.

"You've put in the hours, I'll give you that." She moved closer, perfume preceding her like a warning. "His soldier by day. His little distraction at night. But you must've figured it out by now — every move he pulls in bed, every trick that makes you gasp? I trained him."

"If that's what you want him to hear, say it to his face." I turned to meet her eyes. "Or does this routine only work on an audience of one?"

Her smile cracked. Clearly she hadn't rehearsed a version where I hit back.

"Sera, holding onto a man who doesn't want you — doesn't that humiliate you?" Her voice went low, intimate, like she was sharing a secret. "Deep down you know his heart never left me. You were just something to fill the gap."

She took another step forward. "The jewelry he gave you? Styles I passed on. The penthouse? I picked out the furniture before you ever set foot in it. Even the man himself — I had him first. And we both know no one fits him the way I do."

I studied her calmly. Something had shifted inside me — a numbness that settled in the moment I'd heard her voice moaning through my phone speaker. She wanted tears. She wanted me to shatter so she could step over the pieces. But my heart had already gone cold. Dead roots don't bloom, no matter how much poison you pour on them.

"If you two are such a perfect match," I said evenly, "then I wish you a very happy reunion."

I held her gaze for one more second — just long enough to watch the triumph drain from her face — then turned and pushed through the door into the corridor.

Late afternoon sun slanted through the warehouse's high windows, catching the dust motes and turning them gold. I stepped into the light and felt its warmth settle across my shoulders like a hand.

Starting today, my life would look exactly like this — bright, and entirely my own.

In the operations room, Dominic was reviewing the logistics for tonight's exchange — a major arms handoff at the docks. We fell into our usual rhythm, the coordination as precise and wordless as the last five years.

"South entrance — Marco and two men. Sealed at eleven."

"Confirmed."

"Cargo arrives by the north pier. Salazar's people bring the payment."

"Verified."

Every call-and-response tonight carried a goodbye he couldn't hear. As the SUVs rolled out of the compound and Manhattan's skyline shrank in the side mirrors, I watched it go, knowing this was the last time I'd ride at his right hand.

After tonight, I'd be the one giving orders. Running my own crew. Answering to no one but myself.

We arrived at the waterfront just past eleven. The deal was straightforward — product for cash, two families shaking hands under the silent cranes. Dominic took point. I flanked left. Valentina, in her new role, handled the diplomatic introductions with Salazar's representative.

"Dominic." She called his name like honey over gravel, though her eyes cut deliberately toward me.

Then everything went sideways.

A car backfired two blocks east — or maybe it was a shot; in this neighborhood, the difference was academic. Salazar's men flinched. Hands went to holsters. In the chaos of that split second, one of the cargo crates on the forklift behind us lurched free of its straps and toppled.

Time stretched. I saw Dominic's arm shoot out — not toward me, but toward Valentina. He pulled her against his chest and spun them both clear. The crate's steel corner caught my right shoulder on the way down, a sickening crack of impact that sent white-hot pain flooding down my arm. I staggered but stayed upright, eyes already scanning for the source of the noise, assessing the threat.

"Boss!" Marco sprinted over, reaching for my arm.

I glanced at Dominic — still shielding Valentina, one hand cradling the back of her head — and looked away without expression. "Secure the perimeter first. Get Salazar's people calm before this turns into a firefight."

Marco hesitated, then moved.

When the chaos settled, I turned toward the fallen crate and the snapped cargo strap dangling from the forklift. "Who was responsible for securing this load?"

Valentina extracted herself from Dominic's arms, smoothing her blouse. Her eyes flickered. "That was — my team handled the staging. The strap must have been defective."

I rotated my throbbing shoulder, keeping my voice level and cold. "A defective strap at a live exchange? If that crate had fallen on one of Salazar's men, we'd be at war right now. This is basic."

"Sera." Dominic's voice cut in, brow drawn tight. "It was an accident. There's no need to come down on her like that."

The words landed like a fist to the sternum. Three months ago, when one of the new soldiers forgot to sweep a meeting point for bugs, Dominic had held him against a wall by the throat and delivered a fifteen-minute lecture on operational discipline that left the kid shaking for a week.

"In this line of work, there are no accidents," he'd said then. "Only negligence, and the people who die because of it."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Smiled bitterly, and walked away.

Back in the SUV, the silence between us was suffocating. He started to speak twice before managing: "About what happened back there — I'm sorry. Valentina was standing right next to me. It was reflex."

"Forget it." I stared through the windshield at the dark water beyond the docks. The whole situation struck me as grotesquely absurd. "This was my last job with you anyway."

His jaw locked. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Is this about the crate?"

I turned from the window and shook my head slowly. "No."

He watched my profile for a long moment, then softened his tone the way he always did when he thought I needed managing. "Valentina's been out of the game for five years. She needs time to get back up to speed. You could afford to cut her some slack."

And there it was. The final stone dropped onto the last fragile thing I'd been carrying.

My shoulder was still screaming, but the real damage was somewhere deeper — in the understanding that the woman who'd made the mistake got his protection, while the one bleeding got told she was being too harsh.

I said nothing for the rest of the drive. The pain radiating through my shoulder felt like punctuation — a hard, clean period at the end of a sentence five years long.

Some roads, it turns out, were always meant to be walked alone.