~~ Liach POV ~~
My chest is burning. Each inhale slices through me like glass. I can't even run properly. How am I supposed to manage that with this busted left hand, snapped like a chicken wing and dangling uselessly at my side. Even pressing my side, where that fucker stabbed me, is a luxury.
Every movement, every step hurts. Blood keeps running down my thigh—like someone turns on a damn faucet on my side. My dress is soaked. Dammit I'm losing too much blood. And those Sinveer dogs are still on my heels. The echoes of their voices and footsteps splashing in puddles, are getting closer. Those bastards. They really won't give up, would they? Guess almost killing their precious boss isn't exactly a friendly hello. Screw them.
If Sinveer De Luna, head of the first Italian mafia family among the five major families, dies, it will be big news and a blow others can't take and some will gladly embrace. In any case, I've got to shake off these rats. I push forward, stumbling through the dark alley.
As I turn sharply—my knees buckle, my broken arm slamming against a dumpster, and a scream threatens to spill out but I bite hard on my lip, swallowing the scream. Fuck! My head is spinning. I can't get caught. Not here, Elias is waiting. So fucking keep moving, Liach, don't stop, you can't die here.
I stagger back, sliding through the narrow passage to the next alley, my heels scraping against the wet concrete. Even as the pain keeps sipping in, I turn left, then right. I won't stop. I can't stop now because if I slow down… I die.
I know Sinveer De Luna is still breathing. The look on his face when the blade first went in—was shock then anger. He isn't supposed to survive that, not the stab, certainly not the second one, definitely not me. But he survives.
He is strong, I'll give him that. Not a pussy for a Don, which explains my failure. I never fail, I've never failed before. I always finish my job.
I guess not this time.
Papa is going to kill me, literally. Gabriel Cisco, my papa. Don and head of the second family, the most ruthless man I know, the underworld boss, owner of the most extensive cybercrime and intelligence trade, blackmail network, hacking, and assassination empire, and me at the center of it all.
Failure wasn't in papa's vocabulary. Not from strangers, and certainly not from his own blood. Uselessness equals death. Life held no value for papa, not even his children's. Certainly not Mama, whom he'd drowned with his own hands. But that's not what scares me the most.
What truly terrified me, beyond papa himself. Is Elias's life.
Before papa's gaze will even flicker to my direction, it would settle on my little brother. Elias. My reason to breathe. The only light in this shadowed world. Mama's last gift.
Papa can't see him, he can't touch him. I'll do anything to keep his eyes off that child, even if he calls me right now to die here on this godforsaken street with Sinveer's men putting bullets in my spine. I would.
I take another sharp turn, my lungs threaten to ignite, my breath ragged, my heart beating like it's seconds from stopping. My vision keeps blurring, I shake my head, trying to focus on the brick wall along my path, using it as a guide.
Pressing the earpiece in my ear, hidden under this disguised face. "I'm close," I say in a voice that I can barely even hear.
A voice crackles back, "On standby. Three blocks up north at the pinned location, we are waiting. Five minutes from your spot."
Damnit. Five minutes feels like an eternity right now.
I duck into another alley, moving with every precision since I've scouted this area before. Just a few more turns.
Just hold on, Liach. Elias is waiting for you.
And then, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, I see it—the SUV. You just need one last stretch, Liach, you can do it. I try to focus my gaze, solely on the vehicle as I stagger toward it, blood dripping from my cracked head and side.
The rear door bursts open even before I reach it, and Dave jumps out, his brow furrowed, face alarmed and filled with concern, as he rushes towards me.
"Shit! Liach, what happened?"
My knees give out, threatening to send me crashing to the ground. Before I can fall, Dave wraps his arms around me, catching most of my weight.
At that moment everything spins. I don't speak. I can't speak. Not when I'm tightly clenching my jaw against the rising pain within me.
He guides me into the SUV, I collapse onto the cool leather seat with a groan that I can no longer suppress. The doors slam shut, sealing me inside this temporary safety. The engine rumbles to life, as it took us out of this hell I just escaped from.
"Liach, your arm—fuck…it's broken. Stay still." Dave's voice is tight with worry, close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. He rips open the med kit, the frantic rustling of supplies echoing through the tense silence in the car. His fingers tremble as he probes my shattered limb, his touch surprisingly gentle amidst the urgency.
"Bandage. Pressure," he mutters, his brow furrowed as he concentrates on me, speaking more to himself than anyone else. "Why didn't you call for back-up—? Fuck, you're bleeding too much…" His voice cracks with a raw fear that mirrors my own.
From the seat directly across from me, another voice cuts through the air, deep and cold as steel. Antonio.
Second-in-command under me for the mission. Always watchful. Always critical. His gaze is like a physical weight, dissecting my battered form.
"What happened?" he demanded, his eyes narrowed with no hint of concern.
Not like I was expecting any.
"Status on De Luna. Is he dead? Answer me.," he presses further.
My breath hitches, a pained gasp that rattles in my chest. I try to speak, to form the words of my failure, but my throat feels constricted. The image of Sinveer's face – the initial shock morphing into a terrifying rage – flashes behind my eyelids.
"Not now, Antonio," Dave snaps, his attention still fixed on staunching the flow of blood from my side. He doesn't even look up at Antonio. "She's barely breathing. Shut the hell up until we get to the manor."
"We need answers," Antonio insists, his voice filled with impatience. "The boss will want a full report the moment we arrive—"
Antonio is acting like this because he thinks he should've led this mission. That a child like me isn't cut out for this. But Papa made me the leader. Me, to carry out the assassination.
"She'll give it to him," Dave retorts, his tone laced with a protectiveness that surprises even me. "Not you."
A tense silence descends on the SUV. Only the hum of the tires against the asphalt and the sickening hiss of blood soaking through the makeshift bandages Dave is applying fill the air.
There were two other figures in the car who were silent, their expressions unreadable. Marco, the hulking man, wordlessly hands Dave more gauze. Lena, sharp-eyed and intelligent, passes me a bottle of water. Two of the Cisco soldiers. My hands tremble so violently I can't even lift it. Dave takes it from her, gently tilting it to my lips. The cool liquid burns down my parched throat, quenching my taste.
I slump further into the leather seat, the world a hazy blur of pain and fear. My pulse thuds weakly in my ears, a fragile drumbeat against the encroaching darkness coming for me soon. The echo of my soon to be reality. Failure. Shame. Papa's cold, emotionless eyes. Or maybe my brother's soft smile snuff out, a memory I cling to like a lifeline. One that can vanish with a snap of papa's fingers. Because of my failure. Or, if I'm granted mercy, punishment. One that will be severe and brutal. Papa doesn't raise weaklings. He breaks them and remakes them in his image—or he discards them altogether, like broken toys.
He told me once, as he gestured to the sprawling estate, "Your use is only what I say it is. And if you're not useful, you're gone. Just like your sister."
I was twelve, when he shot her for insubordination. The memory still claws at the edges of my sanity.
Although, I'm eighteen now. I am still fighting, clawing, bleeding to stay alive, not for myself, but for the fragile light.
I glance at Dave. He's still focused on my wounds, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips pressed into a thin, worried line. His hands press firmly against my side, trying to stem the bleeding, but I can feel the warmth seeping through the layers of fabric. He can't stop what's coming.
Papa's going to call any minute now. The comm in the SUV will crackle to life or he will be waiting like a storm for me at the manor, and I don't know if I'll survive what happens next.
Elias, hiding behind my legs when papa speaks, flashes in my mind.
I have to be strong.
I have to protect him.
Even if it costs me everything.