Location: Bellini Bros. Pasta Warehouse, 11:49 PM
The surveillance van reeked of oregano, stress, and microwave lasagna. Ryan Bruce, crouched between a tangle of wires and an upside-down bag of cheese puffs, peered through high-tech binoculars at the warehouse across the street.
"Why does this van smell like an Olive Garden exploded?" Agent Stokes grumbled, chewing the corner of a cold granola bar with rage. "This is a stakeout, not a snack buffet."
Ryan, adjusting the volume dial on his earpiece (and accidentally activating a flamethrower in his shoe), muttered, "Wrong switch—again. Emily, you copy?"
Across from him, Emily Bruce—cool, confident, and somehow not breaking a sweat despite wearing an all-black infiltration suit and three kids' barrettes in her hair—nodded. "Copy. And if you torch the floor again, I'm driving the van next time."
In the back seat, a tablet flickered. A pop-up from HollyBruce12 appeared:
"Dad, security feed looped. You owe us three cupcakes and an extra 20 minutes of Roblox."
Ryan smiled. "Never outsource parenting. Unless your kid's a tech prodigy."
12:03 AM – Operation Fusilli Commences
The trio split. Stokes wheeled in a dolly labeled "Extra Parm" to the front entrance, putting on his worst Italian accent. Ryan and Emily slipped through a side door behind the building, where the smell of expired ricotta hit like tear gas.
Inside, dozens of Castini's thugs shuffled crates of "pasta" into delivery trucks. The label read Bellini Bros. Best Penne, but the contents were less carb-heavy and more...bullet-packed.
"Why is there an entire rocket launcher inside this spaghetti box?" Emily whispered, eyes wide.
Ryan shrugged. "Mafia innovation. The carbs are a cover. Literally."
Suddenly—ZZZZT!
Red lasers shot across the hallway. A motion-triggered grid flared to life. Ryan dove into a forward roll, bounced off a ravioli crate, and landed upside down in a vat of marinara.
Emily calmly stepped forward, unplugged the laser's power cord, and stepped over Ryan, now dripping sauce. "Smooth."
Ryan spit out a basil leaf. "Tactical marinara. Confuses their scent dogs."
12:17 AM – The Freezer Fight
In the depths of the warehouse, Emily spotted a suspicious briefcase tucked beneath a crate marked GLUTEN-FREE FETTUCCINE. As she reached for it—
SLAM!
A cleaver-wielding goon trapped her inside the walk-in freezer.
"You shouldn't snoop, lady," the thug sneered.
Emily raised an eyebrow. "You shouldn't threaten a mom who hasn't had coffee since noon."
She lunged—but slipped on a stray tortellini.
Before the thug could strike, the freezer door burst open.
SPLAT!
A can of crushed tomatoes flew through the air, striking the thug right between the eyes. Ryan dove in, tackled him into the cold cuts, and wrapped a salami around his wrists.
"Ryan!" Emily gasped.
He pulled her to her feet. The mist of dry ice swirled around them. Her face was flushed, her lips trembling from the cold... or maybe not.
Without hesitation, he kissed her.
It was quick. Warm. Absolutely ridiculous, considering a frozen meatball rolled between their feet.
She grinned. "You really know how to thaw a girl out."
12:30 AM – The Exit Plan
With the briefcase in hand, they bolted through the warehouse, dodging flour bags and angry mafia men with sauce-stained shirts. Outside, Stokes revved the van's engine.
"Did you get the intel or just make out in a freezer?" he barked.
Ryan tossed him the briefcase. "Both. We're professionals."
They sped off into the night.
Rooftop Nearby – The Real Problem
Under the moonlight, Bella Castini watched them escape. Her leopard-print coat flapped in the wind, and beside her, a hacker in a wolf mask tapped furiously at a laptop.
"Let them run," she purred. "The game just started."
On Ryan's ONYX CORE wristband, a sudden glitch rippled across the screen.
The Glitch Wolf emblem returned—howling in static—before displaying a chilling message:
HE'S COMING HOME.
Ryan stared at it, eyes narrowing.
"Who the hell is he?"
Emily slid closer, gripping his hand. "Let's find out. Together."
[TO BE CONTINUED...]