The Gulfstream touched down at Van Nuys Airport just past midnight. The skies over Los Angeles were overcast, the city lights diffused through the thick marine layer rolling off the coast. Leonardo descended the jet steps in silence, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, the chill air biting gently at his skin.
He hadn't planned to return to LA so soon. The unfolding situation in Rio still demanded his oversight. However, Koko had insisted he leave—her words carried with more urgency than usual.
"You need to be in LA, Leo. Something's moving. The pieces on the board—you need to see it up close."
At first, he resisted. But then, the news came through.
Letty Ortiz. Dead.
The system hadn't warned him. The universe hadn't whispered a word. The moment arrived like thunder with no clouds before it. And for all his power, Leonardo could only watch.
Koko arranged the flight without asking. Alfred packed his bag and handed it to him at the jet's steps.
So, he flew.
Back to the city where it all began.
He hadn't been back in LA since Race Wars. A few months at most—but it felt like another life.
A matte-gray Cadillac Escalade, pre-arranged by Alfred, awaited him at the tarmac. No fanfare. No entourage. Just the weight of the news still pressing against his chest: Letty Ortiz was gone.
He didn't need confirmation to believe it had happened. It was canon. Set in stone. But now, living through it...
It hurt.
Not because they were close. Not because he could've prevented it. But because it was a reminder of how powerless even foreknowledge could be. The system hadn't warned him. The universe hadn't offered a chance to interfere. The timeline marched on with brutal consistency.
He drove himself through the city, avoiding main roads, keeping to side streets he remembered from his first life. The SUV's engine purred beneath him, but his mind was elsewhere.
Downtown LA sparkled on the horizon.
He wasn't here to make waves.
He was here to watch the storm form.
The next day, Leonardo checked into a high-rise apartment under an alias. The building overlooked the LA River and had underground parking—useful for keeping a low profile. The view was nothing special, but the position was ideal. Close enough to observe. Far enough to vanish if needed.
He sat on the balcony with coffee in hand, scanning updates from Koko and Alfred. Rio was stable. Reyes was none the wiser. Aegis Tactical's cover operations continued smoothly. No unexpected flags.
Leonardo took a deep breath and turned his focus to Los Angeles.
Letty's death had tipped the scales. And though he couldn't change the events directly, he could prepare for the consequences.
He wasn't part of Dom and Brian's journey.
But he'd make sure they survived it.
He began his research the old-fashioned way. Newspapers, low-level blogs, street gossip. He pieced together the fragments:
Letty had died in a fiery crash during a race job. Police reported foul play but lacked suspects.
Dom had returned to LA—briefly. Word on the street was he'd visited Letty's grave, then vanished.
Brian O'Conner was back with the FBI, attached to a task force chasing a cartel operator named Arturo Braga.
Leonardo smiled faintly. The pieces were in place.
He moved cautiously.
He visited the scrapyard where Letty's wrecked car was taken. He walked the outskirts of the Toretto house, never crossing into their space. He sat in a diner two blocks from the FBI building, watching Brian from afar.
Brian looked older. Harder.
Guilt would do that.
The week passed like molasses. Leonardo never made contact with Dom or Brian. That wasn't the plan.
His role was observer.
He witnessed the garage raid that nearly blew Brian's cover. He trailed the blue Subaru Brian later drove into an FBI black site. He noted the tail Dom picked up on after interrogating one of Braga's lieutenants.
Leonardo documented everything. Names. Faces. Timelines.
But he remained a shadow.
Then came Gisele.
It started innocuously. A chance encounter at a charity gala hosted by a luxury car brand. Leonardo had infiltrated the guest list under one of his corporate pseudonyms. His goal had been simple: meet the industrial and law enforcement players interested in high-end vehicles connected to smuggling routes.
She appeared in a crimson dress that cut through the crowd like a blade.
Gisele Yashar.
Not yet aligned with Dom. Still working under Braga. Still dangerous.
But brilliant.
She noticed him long before he noticed her.
"You're not on the guest list," she said, sidling up beside him at the rooftop bar.
Leonardo smiled. "Neither are you."
She smirked. "Touché."
They talked.
Casually. Lightly. Carefully.
He didn't push. She didn't pry. But mutual curiosity lingered like perfume in the air.
"Gisele," she finally offered, extending a hand.
He shook it. "Leo."
No last name.
The days that followed saw them cross paths again. Once at a street race in East LA. Once outside a warehouse known for Braga's shipments.
Their conversations grew longer. Her teasing became warmer, less edged. Leonardo kept his secrets close, but she sensed something behind his eyes—a weight she couldn't place, a grief he never named.
One night, they stood together on a rooftop above the city. She offered him a drink.
"To ghost stories," she said.
He raised a brow. "That what you think I am?"
She shrugged. "You move like one. Show up. Disappear. No footprints."
He looked at her, his voice quiet. "I've lived more lives than most. And some stories aren't mine to tell."
She didn't push. She just clinked her glass against his and watched the city lights shimmer.
Something fragile had begun to form between them.
Not yet love.
But the first quiet steps.
Elsewhere, life had not been so kind.
Mia Toretto had returned to the only home she'd ever known, only to find it gutted by silence.
The garage stood still. Dust-covered. Tools untouched.
Her father long gone. Her brother now a fugitive. Letty dead. Brian had disappeared, then returned in a suit—a cop again.
She was alone.
And yet she refused to let it fall apart.
She reopened the garage quietly, working late into the night to restore old engines and fix neighborhood cars. She kept the lights on. Paid the bills. Checked in on old crew members.
She filed endless legal paperwork to keep the house from being seized. Bartered with city inspectors. Smiled at customers even when her hands shook.
Her strength wasn't loud. It was enduring.
Mia held the line when everyone else had vanished.
And Leonardo, watching from the fringes, felt a hollow respect. He didn't approach her—couldn't. It would disrupt too much. But he left small things:
An envelope of cash in the mailbox.
A rare car part placed on the front porch.
A utilities bill marked PAID anonymously.
He never signed his name.
But she always looked out toward the street afterward.
As if she knew.
Leonardo continued monitoring Dom and Brian. He saw them uncover the truth about Letty's supposed murder. He watched as the two men, once enemies, became allies again.
He followed them into Mexico.
Not physically. Through satellite relays. Through radio intercepts Alfred had quietly embedded in federal communications years ago.
He listened as the tunnels collapsed behind Dom's Charger.
He winced when Brian nearly didn't make it out.
He smiled when Braga was caught.
And he stood in silence when Dom was sentenced.
The ending was bittersweet.
He had seen it all coming. He had felt powerless through every beat. But that was the choice he made—to let the timeline breathe. To protect its core.
But he also knew what came next.
He watched the prison bus rumble down a long desert highway.
And he smiled.