

ZANE:
I sit here in my study while the golden light of the setting sun plays against the walls, but all I see is that damned painting of my father. It's a mockery, really. This stoic figure staring back at me, a man revered for fighting against the very evils that robbed me of my mother. Where was he when I needed him the most?
Growing up in a mansion of opulence, my childhood was marred by the overwhelming void left by my mother's death. My father, while battling the darkness of this world, left me floundering in a sea of luxury that suffocated me. But I've transformed that rage and emptiness into purpose. When I turned 25, I made the choice. I joined the FBI, taking on the persona of an undercover Mafia leader—a role steeped in danger, but one I embraced with a hellfire of determination.
I'm not just playing in the shadows anymore; I'm fighting back against those who hunt innocent women and children, believing they can toy with lives as if this were a game. They're fucking monsters—men who think they're invincible, wrapped in their arrogance. I'll be damned if I stand by and watch another family suffer because of their twisted desires. Here I am, engulfed in this life of shadows, but I'm fueled by an insatiable anger and an unwavering resolve.
"You think you're fucking untouchable, don't you?" I mutter, my fingers clutching the edge of my desk as if it can ground me amidst the chaos. "You think you can sell fear and pain like it's a fucking commodity?"
I've become the wolf in their midst, gaining their trust while feeding them the fury that simmers inside me. I won't rest until I've dismantled their empire from within. For every woman they've stolen, every life they've shattered, I will unleash hell. My mother's death is my catalyst; it drives me onward, burning like a brand on my soul.
Sometimes, I stare at that painting and wonder if my father knows the life I've chosen, the battles I wage in his name, but distinct from his noble ideals. I'm no longer the boy looking for validation; I'm the angry man hell-bent on justice. I'll carve out a future where innocent lives won't hang in the balance, where no one suffers the way my mother did.
Let them come for me—the hunters of the innocent. I'll be waiting. Behind every smile and every handshake, my blade is drawn, my fury ready to strike. I refuse to let my family's tragedy repeat itself.
I might be sitting here, anger coursing through me like a raging river, but make no mistake—this is just the beginning.
My thoughts drift deeper into the shadows when my phone slices through the stillness, a jarring reminder of the reality I can't escape. My heart quickens, a familiar pulse that signals trouble ahead. It's my boss on the line, his voice steady but sharp.
"Zane, we've got a new case. You're needed right away."
I lean back in my chair, the weight of the world shifting once again. What now? I brace myself, mentally preparing for the chaos about to ensue. "What's the situation?"
"We've received intel about a mob boss moving significant shipments of drugs through the city. He's also tied to the recent string of kidnappings. We suspect he's involved in human trafficking as well."
My blood boils at the thought. Monsters, all of them. "I'm on it. Who's the target?"
"A man known as Marco 'The Hammer' DeLuca. You need to gain his trust. We'll set up a meet for tonight."
The streets are drenched in twilight as I pull up to the warehouse—an ominous structure shrouded in secrecy. An air of danger hangs heavy; shadows dance under the flickering lights, echoing the threats waiting to unleash themselves. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I step out of my car, the cold night wrapping around me like a shroud.
Dressed sharply in tailored clothes that disguise my true intentions, I enter the warehouse, masking the danger that lurks beneath. The murmurs of men—the low rumble of power and significance—reach my ears, and I approach like a ghost in the night.
Marco sits at the head of a table, surrounded by muscle and menacing looks. His reputation precedes him—known for ruthlessness and cunning, his sharp glare could slice through steel. "You're the new guy?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Yeah. The kind of guy who gets things done," I reply, my voice steady, masking the storm brewing inside. I can see it now; the stakes are high, and the danger palpable. If I'm not careful, this could lead to a bloodbath.
Moments later, the room erupts into chaos. My instincts scream a warning; I barely have time to react as the sound of gunfire ignites the air. Bullets fly, shattering glass and splintering wood. The air thickens with smoke and fear.
"Get down!" I shout to a couple of guys who are frozen in shock. I move quickly, positioning myself behind a pillar, my heart racing. This wasn't just a simple meeting; this is war.
As I pick off a couple of goons who come charging toward me, I pivot just in time, catching a flash of movement in my peripheral. A sharp pain explodes in my leg—my body reacts involuntarily, a howl ripping from my throat. A bullet. God damn it!
No time to linger. I push through the pain, adrenaline numbing the throbbing chaos in my leg. My focus sharpens; I need an escape, and fast. I spot a window—a way out—too many bodies piled up around me, but there's no turning back now.
With shots ringing in my ears, I leap out, rolling onto the ground outside. My heart thunders violently against my chest as I scramble to my feet, the world spinning around me. I know where to go. There's only one place that's close enough—Alisa's house.
I sprint, ignoring the pain radiating from my leg, each step sending agony coursing through me, but I push it down. Alisa. She'll help me,maybe. But counting how I almost raped her,oh well. My mind races with thoughts of safety and familiarity, her presence a safe heaven amidst the chaos.
As I approach her house, the light spilling from the windows casts a glow in the darkness—a surreal contrast to the violence I just escaped. I bang on her first story window as adrenaline surges. "Alisa! Open up!"
I can already hear the footsteps approaching; I don't have time to waste. As she opens the window, confusion flashes across her face.
The sound of sirens echo around the corner, and I glance back toward the street, knowing the danger isn't far behind. This is the fight, the chaos, and I'm right in the middle of it—yet all I can think about is getting to her safely.
Alisa stands there, disbelief etched across her face, and I can't blame her. I've shown up on her doorstep—bleeding and desperate—after everything that happened between us. She doesn't want me here, and her eyes are a storm of confusion and anger.
"Zane, what the hell are you doing here?" she snaps, her voice sharp as a blade. The doorframe seems like a barrier, a wall of her frustration keeping me at arm's length. With every passing second, the sound of approaching sirens grows louder, but all I can see is the fury in her eyes.
"Alisa, I don't have time for this!" I shoot back, my tone threading the line between urgency and frustration. She knows what's at stake, yet her anger blinds her to the truth of the situation.
"You think you can just waltz back in here? After everything? I want nothing to do with it."
Her words strike harder than any gunshot. I can feel the walls closing in, the heat of the moment pressing down around us. I take a step forward, my bad leg protesting as the pain wrestles against the adrenaline.
"Can you shut the fuck up and be a good girl for once? This isn't about us; I'm in danger, and so are you."
"Don't you dare! You think you can play the hero while you're bleeding all over my house?" she fires back, her voice trembling with a mix of emotion—fear, anger, and something deeper.
Fuck this,I need to teach this girl a lesson not to talk to me like that. But let's not die first.