Brass & Blood
In the shadows of 1920s Chicago, love is a liability—and betrayal is currency.
Jack Moretti wears a badge no one can see. Deep undercover in the Marino crime empire, he's become the very thing he swore to destroy. As the city drowns in bootleg liquor and blood money, Jack earns the trust of killers—until he's trusted too much.
Then he meets Eva Marino, the Don's daughter—cunning, bruised by power, and dangerously captivating. Their love begins as a lie, but soon, it's the only truth Jack has left.
But when the bodies pile up and secrets unravel, Jack faces an impossible choice: betray the woman who holds his heart, or the oath that built his soul. Either way, someone will die.
In a world where every promise is poisoned and no one gets out clean, only one truth remains:
Everything comes at a cost. And some debts are paid in brass… and blood.
CHARACTER PROFILES:
Name: Jack Moretti
Age: 31
Occupation: Undercover Detective – Chicago Police Department
Cover Identity: Luca "Lucky" Marino, low-level enforcer turned trusted lieutenant in the Marino crime family
Appearance:
Lean but hardened; six-foot, sharp jawline
Dark hair always slicked back, stubble that never quite becomes a beard
Wears tailored suits, shoulder holster, and the quiet eyes of a man who's seen too much
A silver cigarette case—gift from his late brother—is always in his breast pocket
Backstory:
Born and raised in a rough Italian neighborhood on the South Side, Jack grew up watching friends fall into crime while he clawed his way into the police academy. After his brother was gunned down in a gangland crossfire, Jack made it his mission to dismantle the syndicates from the inside. But years of playing the part have blurred the lines between who he was and who he's become.
Personality:
Quiet, calculating, and fiercely observant
Struggles with dual loyalty—wears guilt like a second skin
Has a dry, deadpan sense of humor used to deflect intimacy
Romantic at heart, but buried deep beneath a hardened surface
Not afraid to kill if it protects his cover or someone he loves
Strengths:
Razor-sharp intuition
Skilled with firearms, close combat, and street-level tactics
Quick-thinking and fluent in the language of criminals and cops alike
Emotionally resilient (or so he believes)
Flaws:
Deep-rooted anger masked as discipline
Blurred identity: sometimes believes the lies he tells
Vulnerable to emotional attachments—especially to Eva Marino
Suffers insomnia, occasional drinking problem
Arc:
Jack begins as a man on a mission, believing in justice above all. But the deeper he falls into the Marino family—and into Eva—the more compromised his moral compass becomes. As betrayal strikes from every angle, Jack must decide who he really is: the cop who vowed to destroy the mob, or the man who found love and meaning in its darkest corner.
Name: Eva Marino
Age: 27
Occupation: Club Owner, Money Mover, Daughter of Don Salvatore Marino
Public Image: The glamorous, untouchable face of The Gilded Vine, the family's speakeasy
Private Role: Handles the family's "clean books" and hush money—far more involved in the family's operations than her father lets on
Appearance:
Striking beauty with vintage edge: auburn curls, deep-set hazel eyes, and red lips that rarely smile without meaning
Wears elegant, high-slit dresses, long gloves, and heels sharp enough to stab
Carries a pearl-handled Derringer in her garter; keeps a cigarette holder even though she doesn't smoke
Backstory:
Born into power but never given it, Eva grew up watching her father build an empire on blood while shielding her from its darkest corners. But she was listening. After her mother died mysteriously when Eva was fifteen, she learned the family's secrets through whispers and shadows—and never forgot a word.
Though she appears loyal to her father, she has her own plans. She's tired of being protected. She wants control.
Personality:
Intelligent, emotionally guarded, and dangerously perceptive
Knows how to manipulate men in power without letting them know they're being played
Fiercely loyal to those she chooses—but slow to trust
Hates being underestimated, and uses that to her advantage
Burdened by moral ambiguity: she's done things she can't forgive herself for
Strengths:
Sharp mind for business and people
Expert at reading motives and spotting lies
Controls a key part of the family's cash flow and secrets
Can keep her cool in a crisis—and fire a gun if needed
Flaws:
Deep-rooted anger toward her father and the world he controls
Vulnerable to love—especially when it comes unexpectedly
Carries guilt over a past betrayal that she believes cost someone their life
Wants power, but is afraid of becoming exactly like the men who wield it
Arc:
Eva begins as a woman who plays the game from the sidelines, manipulating without being seen. But as Jack enters her world and the façade starts to crack, she's forced to face what she truly wants: revenge, freedom, or something softer—and far more dangerous—than either.
When she finds out who Jack really is, her choice may burn the empire to the ground.
---
Name: Don Salvatore "Sal" Marino
Age: 58
Occupation: Boss of the Marino Crime Family
Public Image: Charismatic businessman and "community benefactor"
True Role: Ruthless mafia patriarch who built his empire through blood, fear, and absolute control
Appearance:
Silver hair combed back with precision; eyes like black glass
Always impeccably dressed—dark three-piece suits, gold pocket watch, and an ivory-handled cane he doesn't need
His calm voice and steady gaze unsettle even the toughest of men
Backstory:
Born the son of Sicilian immigrants, Salvatore clawed his way up from a shoeshine boy in the Bronx to one of the most feared men in Chicago. Every corner he owns, every judge in his pocket, and every rival buried beneath the city is the result of cold calculation.
He once loved deeply—Eva's mother—but her death changed him. Now, he sees emotions as weaknesses, loyalty as a currency, and his daughter as a piece of his legacy he can't fully control.
Personality:
Charismatic, cold, and surgically precise in both words and violence
Treats betrayal like a disease: he removes it before it spreads
Believes in loyalty, family, and tradition—but on his terms
Keeps his enemies close, but his daughter even closer
Strengths:
Master manipulator with unmatched street and political influence
Decades of survival in a brutal world have made him nearly untouchable
Commands loyalty through fear and respect—sometimes love
Understands people's weaknesses better than they do
Flaws:
Obsessive need for control, especially over Eva
Underestimates the emotional complexity of those closest to him
Paranoia disguised as caution
Has grown so used to masks that he may no longer know who he is without them
Arc:
Don Marino is at the height of his power, but it's slipping—rival factions grow bold, his daughter is slipping from his grasp, and someone in his inner circle is not who they claim to be.
As Jack infiltrates his empire and Eva begins to question her place in it, Salvatore faces the one thing he never prepared for: betrayal from within his bloodline—and a reckoning with the ghosts he buried long ago.
---
Title: Brass & Blood
In a city built on silence, one man's lie could bring it all down.
---
ACT I: The Setup — "A Badge Beneath the Smoke"
Opening Image:
Chicago, 1927. Streets steam with corruption. A speakeasy band plays while blood is mopped off the floor out back.
Introduction to Jack Moretti:
A hard-edged undercover cop, Jack has spent the last year infiltrating the Marino crime family. He's earned a reputation as "Luca Marino"—a tough, loyal enforcer with a mysterious past. The only people who know his real identity: his police handler and himself.
Meet Don Salvatore Marino:
Charismatic, brutal, and untouchable. He treats Jack like family, but beneath the smile lies suspicion.
Meet Eva Marino:
Smart, elegant, and fiercely independent. She runs the family's speakeasy and secretly controls its money laundering. Jack meets her during a job—and sparks fly. But she's off-limits. The boss's daughter is a line you don't cross.
Inciting Incident:
Jack witnesses a brutal execution of a rival gang member and is forced to participate to maintain cover. His hands are no longer clean. It rattles him—but binds him to the family even more.
Romantic Spark:
Jack and Eva share a private moment during a late-night whiskey delivery gone wrong. Her charm is layered with sadness. He's intrigued. She's suspicious—but drawn in.
---
ACT II: The Descent — "Smoke in the Mirror"
Rising Tension:
Jack rises in the family ranks. The Don begins grooming him as a possible heir. Eva resents it—and grows closer to Jack as a result. She sees the loyalty in him. He sees the steel in her.
Midpoint Twist (False Victory):
Jack and Eva fall in love. They share a kiss during a citywide blackout. For a moment, everything feels real. Jack begins to dream of saving her and escaping together. He delays his final police report—he's too close now.
Power Struggles Emerge:
A rival mob family (The Valentis) tries to strike at the Marinos. Jack is ordered to eliminate the Valenti heir. He succeeds—but not before learning the Valentis were also being investigated… by the same police unit he works for.
Secrets Start to Fracture:
Eva discovers documents Jack hid—evidence of wiretaps and surveillance. She begins to suspect. Jack's handler pressures him to finish the job. Jack is torn. Eva asks him: "Who are you, really?" He doesn't answer.
---
ACT III: The Fall — "Brass & Blood"
The Betrayal Revealed:
Eva confronts Jack—he confesses the truth. She's shattered. She feels used, humiliated. But worse—exposed. Her father suspects something is off. The Don begins closing in on both of them.
Final Blow:
The Don has Jack brought in under false pretenses. He offers him a choice: prove loyalty by killing a suspected informant (his own handler, captured)... or die.
Jack refuses. Gunfire erupts. Jack escapes—but barely. He's wounded. The handler dies. His cover is blown. He becomes a fugitive from both sides.
Eva's Choice:
Eva must choose: protect her father and his empire… or burn it down to save Jack—and herself. She delivers key ledgers and documents to the press anonymously, exposing the family's entire network.
Climactic Scene:
A shootout at The Gilded Vine. Jack returns for Eva. The Don tries to flee but is killed—not by Jack, but by one of his own men, betrayed by years of broken promises.
Resolution:
Jack and Eva disappear into the smoke of a burning Chicago. Their names vanish from the headlines, but whispers remain.
Final Image:
Years later, in a quiet European town, a jazz tune plays in the distance. A scarred man watches a woman run a small bar. They never speak of Chicago. But they never forget it either.
---
ACT I – Setup (Chapters 1–6)
Tone: Slow burn, atmospheric, building tension
1. "The Gilded Vine"
Jack arrives at the Marino speakeasy.
Introduced as Luca "Lucky" Marino—respected enforcer.
He's ordered to handle a rival's intrusion. Brutality follows.
First glimpse of Eva—watching from the balcony.
2. "Smoke and Mirrors"
Jack reports secretly to his police handler. He's exhausted and conflicted.
Flashback: Jack's brother's death in a gang shootout.
Tension introduced: Jack must push deeper into the Marino inner circle.
3. "The Don's Table"
Jack is invited to dine with Don Salvatore.
The Don gives a chilling speech about loyalty.
Eva attends, deflecting attention with sarcasm and wine.
4. "Whispers in Silk"
Jack and Eva have their first conversation. She's sharp, guarded.
He admires her control. She sees through his facade—partially.
5. "Red Hands"
A brutal errand: Jack must help dump a body of a suspected informant.
He begins questioning how far he's willing to go.
Police handler pressures him to get closer to the Don's business dealings.
6. "A Kiss in Code"
Jack flirts with Eva again during a chaotic night at the club.
They nearly kiss. She stops it—"You're not what you seem."
Jack is officially promoted to a trusted lieutenant.
---
ACT II – Rising Conflict (Chapters 7–15)
Tone: Taut, romantic, spiraling
7. "Black Ledger"
Jack discovers a secret ledger implicating powerful figures—judges, cops, priests.
Eva warns him: "That book is death."
8. "Blood Heir"
Jack is ordered to eliminate a Valenti heir. He hesitates—then pulls the trigger.
He sees a photo on the man: his brother once knew him.
Guilt hits hard.
9. "Storm Night"
Jack and Eva are trapped in the club during a thunderstorm.
They talk about their mothers.
They kiss. It turns into something more. They sleep together.
10. "Two Lies"
Jack wakes and confesses nothing. Eva confesses she once tried to run the family behind her father's back—and someone died.
Trust deepens, but cracks are forming.
11. "Orders from the Chair"
The Don offers Jack the family's northern operations.
Eva is furious. "He's testing you. Or testing me."
12. "The Hidden Room"
Eva sneaks into Jack's apartment and finds hidden documents—his real identity.
She doesn't confront him—yet. But she starts watching him differently.
13. "Broken Oaths"
Jack is forced to kill a man he believes might be innocent.
His handler tells him: "We pull you out in 48 hours."
Jack refuses. "Not until I finish this."
14. "The Last Dance"
Eva confronts Jack—"Who are you really?"
Before he can answer, the Don calls him in: "We have a rat. And I think I know who."
15. "The Betrayer's Table"
Jack is dragged before the Don.
His handler is there—beaten, bound. The Don gives Jack a gun: "Prove who you are."
---
ACT III – Climax & Resolution (Chapters 16–22)
Tone: Violent, tragic, cathartic
16. "The Choice"
Jack refuses to kill his handler. Shoots a guard instead.
A firefight breaks out. The handler dies. Jack escapes—barely.
17. "Ashes of Loyalty"
Eva burns the ledger, but secretly sends copies to the press.
The Marino family begins collapsing. Allies turn. Streets erupt.
18. "The Hollow Don"
The Don, betrayed and desperate, tries to flee with his remaining men.
Jack tracks him to the Vine. Eva is already there.
19. "Brass & Blood"
Final confrontation: Jack, Eva, the Don.
Don refuses to surrender. He draws.
Before Jack fires, one of the Don's own men shoots him in the back—betrayed by his own.
20. "Buried Names"
Jack and Eva watch the empire crumble in headlines.
They pack a single suitcase and disappear from Chicago.
21. "Years Later…"
A quiet European bar. A woman pours a drink.
A man at the end of the bar lights a cigarette. They don't speak—but everything is understood.
22. "Last Line"
Jack's voice in internal narration: "We gave everything to the city. It only ever took. So we took back our names—and we left the rest to burn."
---
Chapter One: The Gilded Vine
Chicago, 1927The smoke curled like a noose above the heads of sinners.
The Gilded Vine was packed shoulder to shoulder—whiskey sloshing in cut glass, jazz trumpets slicing through the heat like razors. Laughter spilled from drunken mouths, but no one laughed too hard. Not in a room owned by Salvatore Marino.
Jack Moretti leaned against the bar, one hand nursing a rye, the other resting casually near the Colt under his jacket. To the world, he was Luca Marino—distant cousin, loyal enforcer, and a man not afraid to bloody his knuckles for the family. But under the charm, beneath the suit and alias, his badge felt heavier with every breath.
A pianist pounded out ragtime on a golden baby grand while cigarette girls weaved between tables. The scent of sweat, gin, and gun oil soaked the air.
"He wants to see you," Tony Russo murmured from behind, eyes flicking toward the second floor balcony.
Jack didn't turn. "Don upstairs?"
Tony nodded, thick arms crossed over his chest. "In the study. But first... we got a visitor. Back hallway."
Jack drained his glass and set it down. "Irish?"
Tony smirked. "Wearing green like it's St. Paddy's. Brought two friends."
Jack followed him through the haze, past gamblers hunched over cards and dancers with garters full of dollar bills. They passed through a red curtain into the back hallway, where shadows clung like grease.
Three men waited. The tallest wore a grin that didn't match his eyes.
"Didn't mean to intrude," the Irishman said, hands raised. "Just came to pay respects."
Jack glanced at Tony. "Did they call ahead?"
Tony shook his head.
Jack stepped forward. "Name?"
"Declan O'Shea. Valentis sent me."
Jack smiled without warmth. "Well, Declan, you brought disrespect to the wrong doorstep."
Before the man could reply, Jack drove a fist into his gut. The two others reached for their coats. Tony drew his revolver.
"Hands where I can see 'em," Tony barked.
Jack grabbed Declan by the collar and slammed him against the wall. "You walk in with hands, you leave without legs."
Declan coughed, wheezing. "Message, that's all... Valenti wants to talk."
"Tell Valenti he's already said too much."
Jack pulled open the side door and shoved Declan out into the alley. The man stumbled, slipped on ice, and disappeared into the dark. Jack turned back to the others. "Go with him. Now."
Once the door shut, Tony chuckled. "Still got that South Side welcome, huh?"
Jack adjusted his collar. "Better than a bullet."
Back inside, jazz still played like nothing happened. Jack wiped his knuckles and headed for the stairs.
From the balcony, Eva Marino watched.
She leaned on the railing, a cigarette holder balanced between two fingers. Her dress shimmered like molten wine. She didn't smile, but her eyes tracked him as he climbed.
"I saw that," she said as he reached the top.
Jack paused. "Didn't know you were looking."
"I always look before someone bleeds on the carpet."
He tried to read her—always dangerous. Eva had a poker face that could break card sharks. Her mouth said nothing. Her eyes said: I know you.
"Nice dress," Jack offered.
She arched a brow. "Don't lie. It's too nice for this dump."
"Then you make it work."
She let out a soft breath, something like a laugh. "Careful, Luca. Flattery's a step away from weakness."
He leaned closer. "And what's honesty?"
"A rare mistake."
Before he could answer, the door to Don Marino's study creaked open.
"He's waiting," Eva said, stepping aside.
The study smelled of leather, cigars, and secrets. Books lined the walls. A decanter of brandy sat untouched. Don Salvatore Marino stood by the window, hands behind his back.
"Luca," he said without turning. "Come in. Close the door."
Jack obeyed.
"You handled the Irish?"
"They won't be back."
"Good." The Don turned. His face was calm, lined like a map of old wars. "You know what I hate most, Luca?"
Jack waited.
"Noise. Noise means loose ends. We don't do noise."
"Understood."
The Don walked to the desk, poured two glasses. "You're doing good work. Better than some blood relatives."
Jack accepted the drink. "Just doing my part."
"No," the Don said, voice low. "You're doing more. You keep this up, you'll have more than just street work."
Jack raised his glass. "To silence."
The Don smiled. "To family."
Back downstairs, Eva watched him descend. Her eyes softened—barely.
Jack passed her without a word, but she followed.
"You scare him off?" she asked, lighting another cigarette.
"Gave him a reason not to come back."
"Funny. That's exactly what I was hoping you'd do... for me."
Jack paused. "For you?"
She stepped closer. "You ever get tired of playing dog for my father, Luca?"
"I don't bite without a reason."
"Then I'll just have to give you one."
And just like that, she vanished into the smoke—leaving Jack with a drink gone warm and the weight of a life that wasn't his, sinking deeper into the floorboards.
He looked down at his hands. They weren't bleeding. But they weren't clean, either.
Somewhere, far away, the badge in his coat felt colder than ever.
---
Chapter 2: Smoke and Silk
The din of La Rosa Nera spilled into the cobbled alley like molasses—slow, heavy, sweet with danger. Jack Moretti lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, watching shadows twist through the club's frosted windows. The jazz was fast tonight, the kind that masked gunshots and whispered deals. He adjusted his collar and stepped inside.
The air clung thick with perfume, cigar smoke, and desperation. Tables lined with velvet and vice teemed with the city's worst: racketeers, gamblers, bootleggers, and more than a few crooked cops. A trumpet wailed above it all, half warning, half invitation.
Jack's badge, tucked deep in his boot, felt like a burning brand. But his smile? Smooth as the whiskey in his borrowed glass. Tonight he wasn't Detective Jack Moretti. He was Johnny Bell, muscle from Jersey with a bloody past and nothing to lose.
"You're late," said a voice like silk over steel.
Eva Marino stood by the bar in a blood-red dress that caught every flicker of candlelight. She didn't smile, but her eyes did—sharp and dark and dangerous. The Don's daughter, the untouchable rose of the Marino family. Jack had heard the stories: how she poisoned a man in Havana, how she talked her way out of a murder charge in Chicago. Some of them were even true.
"I wanted to make an entrance," Jack said, letting the smoke curl lazily from his lips.
"Don't flatter yourself. You're still a nobody."
But she didn't walk away.
Instead, she leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear. "My father doesn't trust you yet. Neither do I."
"Good," Jack said. "Means you're smart."
Eva's smile was a blade. "Then you won't mind bleeding a little."
A moment later, two men appeared behind Jack—bricks in suits. One with a broken nose, the other with dead eyes. He recognized them from the file: Vinnie Romano and Sal "The Knife" Trivelli. Enforcers. Executioners. They grabbed Jack by the arms, rough but professional.
Eva sipped her drink, bored. "Let's see if your story holds up under pressure."
---
They took him to the back—down a hall that smelled of mildew and lost souls. Jack didn't fight. He let the blows come when they did: a punch to the ribs, a slap to the face, a knee to the gut. Nothing that would leave a mark. Just enough to stir the fear. Test the steel.
"Who sent you?" Vinnie hissed.
"I already told you. Came up from Jersey. Did some work with the Rossetti crew."
"Names," Sal said, pressing a knife to Jack's cheek. "Give me names."
Jack spat blood and laughed. "I give you names, I'm dead. You think I'm stupid?"
That made Sal grin. "You will be."
They beat him until the light flickered behind his eyes. But not too long. Not enough to break him—just enough to test the cut of his cloth.
Then the door creaked open.
"That's enough."
It was Eva.
She stepped into the room like a queen surveying her kingdom. With one look, the men backed off. She knelt beside Jack and wiped the blood from his mouth with a silk handkerchief.
"You didn't talk," she said softly.
"I'm not here to talk," he muttered.
Her fingers lingered near his jaw. "Then maybe you're worth keeping alive."
She helped him up, slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. Jack's head throbbed, but something else burned hotter—something he hadn't expected.
Curiosity. Attraction. And danger.
The worst kind
---
Chapter 3: A Taste of Fire
The bruises didn't hurt as much as they should have. Jack had learned early to compartmentalize pain, to shelve it like a bottle of cheap gin—take a swig when needed, forget the rest. But this wasn't just pain. It was pressure. A ticking clock buried in his chest.
He stood outside Don Marino's study, blood drying at his temple, suit wrinkled and damp from alley rain. A butler with hollow eyes nodded once and pushed the door open.
The Don's lair was all leather, mahogany, and ghosts. The air smelled like cigar smoke and old money—thick, warm, and suffocating. Jack stepped in.
Don Arturo Marino didn't rise. He sat behind a massive desk that looked like it had seen wars. A gray pinstripe suit hugged his shoulders. One ringed hand held a cigar; the other, a crystal glass of brandy. His eyes were black and bottomless, the kind that saw right through flesh and into a man's soul.
"You're tougher than you look, Bell," he said, voice as smooth as it was final. "That's either a talent… or a lie."
Jack didn't blink. "I don't lie, sir. Not unless I have to."
The Don chuckled—just once. "Good. Then you won't mind telling me why you're here. Really."
A test. Everything was a test.
"I heard there was room in your outfit. I know how to move product, handle heat, and keep my mouth shut. Jersey's drying up. I need work. You need soldiers. Figured it was worth a shot."
Marino sipped his drink. "Plenty of men can shoot. Plenty of men can shut up. But loyalty, Bell? That's the currency we deal in."
Jack said nothing. Let the silence sit.
Finally, the Don stood and crossed the room. He moved like a man in no hurry—because when you own everything, you never are. He reached a hand into Jack's coat, slow and deliberate. Pulled out the pistol Jack had holstered under his left arm.
"A .32," he said. "Clean, compact. Good for close work."
Jack nodded.
"You ever shoot a man in the back?"
"Only if he earned it."
Another chuckle. This time, longer. "My daughter says you've got grit. That means something. But I don't trust men who come alone. Ghosts come alone."
Jack smiled thinly. "Then maybe I am one."
Marino leaned in, so close Jack could smell the brandy on his breath. "Everyone's got a grave they're running from, Bell. Just make sure you don't dig another one in my house."
He handed the pistol back.
"You'll work with Vinnie and Sal for now. Earn your stripes. There's a shipment coming in tomorrow night. You'll be there. Show me I'm not wasting my time."
Jack nodded, heart hammering under a mask of calm.
"And Bell?" the Don said as he turned back to his desk.
"Yeah?"
"Stay away from Eva."
Jack froze. Just a second. Just enough.
Don Marino didn't look up. He didn't need to.
"She's not part of the business."
"Understood."
But Jack knew—everything was part of the business.
---
Outside, the storm had broken. Rain fell in sheets across the city, washing away the sins no one talked about. Jack ducked into a doorway and lit a cigarette, shielding the flame with his bruised hands. The smoke filled his lungs and cleared his thoughts.
Eva was playing a game. So was the Don. And now Jack was too far in to turn back.
He was officially inside the Marino operation. But with every step forward, the lies piled higher—and the fall got deadlier.
He exhaled slow, watching the smoke twist into nothing.
Tomorrow night. The docks. A shipment. Another test.
And somewhere in the middle of it, a girl in a red dress with eyes like razors and lips like promises.
Jack took another drag.
Whatever happened next…
He'd either earn their trust.
Or end up face-down in the harbor.
---
Chapter 4: Cargo and Crosshairs
The Hudson lapped against the pilings like an old dog gnawing a bone—slow, steady, and grim. Midnight draped the docks in darkness, the only light coming from a flickering lamppost and the glowing tip of Sal Trivelli's cigarette.
Jack stood beside the truck, coat damp from sea mist, hat pulled low. Crates marked olive oil lined the cargo hold, but the real goods were buried inside—Canadian whiskey, smuggled in from Montreal, and two satchels of Thompson submachine guns meant for a buyer in Hell's Kitchen.
Vinnie Romano paced near the waterline, muttering to himself. "Shipment's late. Ain't like Lou to run behind. You think the Irish are pulling something?"
Sal flicked ash off his coat sleeve. "If they are, we'll find pieces of 'em floatin' by sunrise."
Jack said nothing. He was watching. Always watching.
Footsteps echoed from the dockside stairs, slow and deliberate.
Then came the silhouette—Eva.
Jack blinked once, surprised. She wore a man's trench coat over her dress and a pistol at her hip, all confidence and ice.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Sal barked.
Eva gave him a look sharp enough to cut bone. "I'm here to make sure this goes smooth. My father wants eyes on the deal. Real ones."
Sal grumbled but didn't argue. No one argued with Eva Marino.
She turned to Jack. "You. With me."
---
They walked away from the truck, heels clicking softly on soaked wood. Somewhere, a tugboat moaned across the water. Jack didn't speak. Neither did she—until they were far enough from Sal and Vinnie.
Eva stopped under a broken lamplight. Her eyes scanned the fog. "You think I'm reckless, don't you?"
"I think you're dangerous," Jack said. "But that's not the same."
She looked at him then—really looked. "Most men say they want a woman with fire. Until they get burned."
Jack lit a cigarette. "Maybe I've already been."
Eva smiled, just barely. "My father told you to stay away from me."
"He did."
"Smart man," she said, stepping closer. "You planning to listen?"
Before Jack could answer, a sharp whistle cut through the fog.
Three short bursts. A warning.
Then all hell broke loose.
Gunfire erupted near the trucks—muzzle flashes spitting like fireflies. Vinnie shouted something unintelligible, then dropped to one knee and returned fire.
Jack yanked Eva behind a stack of crates, bullets punching splinters into the wood inches from their heads.
"Ambush?" she shouted.
"Looks like it!" Jack pulled his .32, eyes scanning for movement. Shadows moved fast through the mist—two, maybe three men, dressed in dark coats. Not cops. Not Marino men. Freelancers? Hijackers?
Jack leaned out, fired twice. One shadow dropped.
Eva drew her own piece—a sleek .38—and covered the flank. Her hands didn't shake.
More shots. A grunt. Sal screaming obscenities, followed by the unmistakable rattle of a Tommy gun.
Then silence.
It ended as quickly as it began. The intruders fled or fell. Jack stood, chest heaving, gun still hot in his hand. Eva stepped out behind him, calm as a cat in a storm.
"Dead?" she asked.
"One got away. Two down," Jack said.
Vinnie limped over, holding his arm. "They were tryin' to jack the shipment. Irish, maybe. Or someone new. Bastards were fast."
Eva's gaze turned to Jack. "You held your ground."
Jack shrugged. "Didn't have much choice."
But he knew better.
Someone had tipped off those hijackers. Someone inside. And if Jack hadn't been there, if Eva had been alone or the others slower...
It would've been a bloodbath.
And maybe that was the plan.
---
Later, after the bodies were dumped in the river and the cargo loaded safe, Jack stood alone under the warehouse eaves. Rain started again, soft and cold.
A shape stepped from the shadows.
Jack's pulse jumped—until he saw the face.
Detective Raymond Kessler. His handler. His only link to the real world.
"You're supposed to be out of sight," Jack hissed. "You trying to get me killed?"
Kessler's trench coat was soaked, but his face was stone. "We got chatter. Somebody's sniffing around your background. Payrolls, records. We had to scrub your Jersey file clean."
"Already?" Jack cursed. "That's too soon."
"You're making noise. That buys you access. But it also buys you attention."
Jack looked out toward the docks, smoke curling from his fingers.
"I'm close," he muttered. "Marino trusts me. His daughter's starting to."
Kessler's voice turned sharp. "Don't fall for her. She's not the mission."
Jack didn't reply.
Didn't have to.
Because somewhere deep in his gut, he already knew.
She wasn't the mission.
But she might be the end of it.
---
Chapter 5: Queen of Glass
Eva lit a cigarette with hands steady as marble. She stood at the window of her apartment above La Rosa Nera, watching the city breathe under the cover of smoke and rain. Below, the club pulsed with life—music, money, men pretending they weren't afraid to die.
She leaned against the windowsill, red silk robe hugging her figure, and exhaled slowly.
Jack Moretti—Johnny Bell—was trouble. She'd known it the moment he walked through her father's doors: the way he scanned a room like he was always waiting for a shot, how he spoke just slow enough to sound honest, just fast enough to avoid questions.
Men like that didn't walk into this life by accident.
They ran.
Eva wasn't naïve. She'd grown up surrounded by velvet lies and blood-soaked truths. Her father taught her the rules: trust no one, control everything, never get emotional. And for most of her life, she'd followed them.
Until Jack.
---
Chapter 6: The Devil You Know
The job was simple—on paper.
Move three trucks of illegal liquor from a warehouse in Red Hook to a speakeasy in the Lower East Side. Quiet. Quick. No hiccups.
Which, in Jack's experience, meant something was bound to go wrong.
He stood beside the first truck, boots crunching glass from a broken bottle someone had stepped on hours before. The warehouse smelled like wet wood, mold, and spilled gin. Vinnie was barking orders to the drivers. Sal stood near the bay door, eyes scanning the street like a hound too long off leash.
Jack adjusted the strap on his shoulder holster, mind ticking over every angle. The ambush at the docks hadn't just been a coincidence. He'd seen the glances. Felt the weight of suspicion settle like fog around him.
Someone was watching him.
Possibly everyone.
"Bell."
Jack turned. Eva stood by the second truck, a black coat wrapped tight, curls pinned back, lipstick like dried blood.
"You're riding with me," she said.
Not a request.
Jack nodded. "That your idea, or your father's?"
She didn't answer.
They climbed into the cab of the second truck. Jack took the wheel, she slid in beside him. For a moment, neither spoke. The engine rumbled to life.
The convoy rolled out.
---
They drove in silence for the first few blocks. Brooklyn passed by in wet, flickering shapes—tenements, factories, faces pressed to glass. Jack kept his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. Eva kept hers in the folds of her coat.
"You think I don't know who you are?" she said, finally.
Jack didn't flinch. "Then say it."
She turned to him, eyes searching. "You walk like a cop. Talk like one, too. But you bleed easy. That makes me wonder."
Jack swallowed hard, kept his face blank.
"Your father asked you to follow me?" he said.
Her laugh was low and bitter. "My father doesn't ask. He commands."
Another silence.
"You planning to kill me if I say the wrong thing?"
She tilted her head. "Would you believe me if I said I don't know yet?"
They turned onto a narrower street. Jack felt the tension shift. No headlights behind them. No horns. No sign of the other two trucks.
He hit the brakes.
"Something's off," he muttered.
Eva sat up straighter. Her hand moved beneath her coat.
A figure stepped into the road up ahead—hands raised. Thin, wiry, face hidden under a cap.
Then more. Three. Four. All armed.
Jack's instincts kicked in. He threw the truck in reverse, tires squealing.
Gunshots cracked through the night. One bullet punched through the windshield, glass exploding over the dash. Eva ducked. Jack grabbed his pistol and fired out the window, one shot, two.
Another impact—tire blown.
The truck spun sideways, slammed into a fire hydrant. Steam hissed as water burst upward into the air.
Jack and Eva spilled from the cab, weapons drawn.
"We're cut off!" she shouted, crouching behind the wheel well.
"Where the hell are the other trucks?"
"I don't know!"
But Jack had a sick feeling twisting in his gut.
This wasn't a robbery. This was a setup. Someone had peeled them away—deliberately. Isolated them.
The shots stopped. Footsteps echoed down the alley.
One of the attackers stepped forward—closer now.
And Jack's blood ran cold.
Because he recognized the face.
Agent Nolan. Internal Affairs. His former partner.
The bastard had gone deep-cover months ago—and vanished. And now, here he was, standing in the open, gun raised, eyes locked on Jack like he'd just uncovered a rotten secret.
"Jack," Nolan called. "Drop it. You're blown. Let's bring this in."
Eva looked at him sharply.
"Jack?" she said.
Not Johnny.
Jack.
The lie shattered in the air between them.
He saw it in her eyes—betrayal, rage, realization.
And then he made a choice.
He grabbed Eva's hand.
"Run."
---
They ducked through the alley as bullets shattered bricks around them. Jack didn't let go, even when she cursed him, even when she tried to twist free. They ran until his lungs burned and her heels snapped on the pavement.
They tumbled through a cellar door, slammed it behind them.
Darkness. Dust. Silence.
Jack collapsed against the wall, breath ragged.
Eva stood over him, pistol aimed at his heart.
"Who the hell are you?" she said.
Jack met her eyes.
"I'm the only reason you're still alive."
---
ACT II
Chapter 7: Beneath the Skin
Eva
The cellar stank of old wine and mold, the kind of dark that swallowed sound. Eva kept the gun steady, arms locked, but her heart beat like war drums behind her ribs.
"Start talking," she hissed.
Jack sat with his back against the stone wall, hands raised just enough to signal caution, not surrender. His coat was torn, his lip bleeding, but his voice was maddeningly calm.
"You think if I wanted to kill you, I'd have dragged you out of there?"
"That's not an answer."
His eyes found hers. "I'm not who I said I was. Fine. But neither are you."
The words landed like a slap. Eva's jaw clenched.
"You lied to my face," she said, stepping closer. "You put a bullet in a man's chest while pretending to be one of ours. You let me trust you."
"I didn't ask for your trust."
"But you took it anyway."
Jack stood slowly, one hand still raised, the other brushing dust from his shoulder. "I'm not with the feds. Not really. I was NYPD. Homicide. They buried my badge when they sent me under."
"Why?"
Jack didn't flinch. "Because someone's bleeding this city dry. And your father's got the biggest knife."
Eva stared at him, pistol trembling now. The name Don Marino hung between them like smoke.
"You think you're a hero?" she spat. "You think any of this is clean? My father built this city's bones while the cops looked the other way. Half your department drinks our liquor and sleeps in our hotels."
"I know."
That stopped her. His voice had no edge. Just exhaustion.
"I know," he said again. "That's why I don't wear the badge anymore. But that doesn't mean I stand by while people die."
He stepped forward.
She didn't stop him.
"I didn't plan on you," he said, softer now. "And maybe that was the real mistake."
Eva's hands dropped. Just an inch. The gun was still there, but so was something else.
Something dangerous.
"I should kill you," she whispered.
"Then do it."
He stepped close enough that she could smell the blood on his breath.
Close enough to kiss.
But Eva didn't move. Her body was made of fire and stone, warring inside her.
She lowered the gun.
Only a little.
Then she struck him—hard, across the jaw. Jack staggered but didn't fall.
"That was for lying," she said, voice shaking.
Then she kissed him.
And for one breathless second, the war stopped.
---
Jack
When they broke apart, the silence came back like a flood. Eva stepped back first, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand like she hated the taste of him—and maybe she did.
He leaned against the wall, dazed, jaw throbbing, chest full of static.
"That change anything?" he asked.
Eva looked away. "No."
But she didn't raise the gun again.
Footsteps echoed above them. Fast. Muffled.
Jack's head snapped toward the ceiling.
"We're not alone," he said.
Eva nodded. "One exit. Back door. Goes to the alley."
Jack reached for his pistol.
Eva reached for hers.
And for the first time, they moved together.
Not as enemies.
Not as lovers.
But as two people who'd run out of lies—and were about to pay the price.
---
Elsewhere, at La Rosa Nera
Don Arturo Marino sipped his espresso without pleasure. The rain pounded the windows. Luca Ferro stood before him, nervous.
"You were right," Luca said. "He's not who he says he is. Real name's Jack Moretti. Former cop. Undercover for at least two months."
The Don didn't blink.
"And my daughter?" he asked quietly.
Luca hesitated. "She… ran with him. No one's seen her since the ambush."
For a long moment, Don Marino said nothing.
Then he stood.
And when he spoke, his voice was colder than the grave.
"Find them both."
He turned to the window, watching lightning split the skyline.
"When you do… kill the cop."
A pause.
"But bring her to me alive."
---
Chapter 8: Burn the Map
The rain hadn't let up.
It smeared the world in gray as Jack and Eva slipped through the back alleys of the Lower East Side, soaked to the bone, their breath fogging in the cold summer night. Their coats clung to them, heavy with water and adrenaline.
Every shadow looked like a gunman. Every siren, a knife behind the curtain.
Jack moved first—efficient, methodical, bleeding from a graze just below his shoulder. Eva followed close behind, quiet but alert. They didn't speak, not until they reached the rusting fire escape outside a condemned apartment building on Stanton Street.
Jack paused, nodded upward.
"We hole up. Just for tonight."
Eva stared at him. "You know how this ends, right?"
"I do."
"And you're still doing it."
"Yeah."
She didn't say another word. Just climbed.
---
The fourth floor was abandoned. Rotting floorboards. Peeling paint. An old mattress in the corner, stained with stories they didn't want to know. Jack barricaded the door with a broken chair and the weight of a cast-iron radiator.
Eva sat on the windowsill, arms wrapped around her knees. For the first time, she looked smaller than Jack had ever seen her.
"I used to come here," she said quietly.
Jack looked up from bandaging his shoulder. "What?"
"This place. When I was sixteen. Before I was useful. Before the men stopped looking at me like a kid and started seeing me as an asset."
She stared out the window. Rain streaked down the glass like tear tracks.
"My mother died when I was twelve. Father said it was an aneurysm. But I found the file once, locked in a cabinet at the old house. There was bruising. On her arms. Her ribs."
Jack froze.
Eva kept her voice calm. Hollow. "I think she tried to leave. I think she took something with her—something my father couldn't afford to lose."
Jack sat beside her slowly. "You think he killed her?"
"I think he let her die."
Silence.
Then Jack said, "Why are you telling me this?"
Eva looked at him. Her expression unreadable.
"Because if we survive this—and that's a big if—you need to understand what kind of man you're trying to take down."
She reached into her coat and pulled out a small key.
"I found this in my father's desk last year. It doesn't match any lock in the house. I think it opens something he doesn't want anyone to find."
Jack took it. Cold. Brass. Heavy for its size.
"What are we looking for?" he asked.
Eva's answer was almost a whisper.
"The truth."
---
Elsewhere, Uptown
Luca Ferro stood in a phone booth, voice low.
"We lost them."
On the other end, a voice rasped through the line.
"I told you to bring them to me."
"I will. I have a lead."
"Then move. Before the girl starts digging."
A click. Dial tone.
Luca hung up, jaw tight. He stepped out of the booth and into the back seat of a waiting car. A woman sat beside him, smoking.
She wore gloves, dark glasses, and a knowing smile.
"I told you she'd go to Stanton Street," she said.
Luca lit a cigarette. "You know her that well?"
The woman smiled wider.
"I used to."
Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a photo—faded, creased.
Eva as a child. Holding her mother's hand.
The woman exhaled smoke and whispered:
"She's her mother's daughter. And that's the part Don Marino could never kill."
---
Back in the hideout
Jack lay on the floor, staring at the cracked ceiling. Eva sat beside him, knees drawn in.
"You gonna turn me in?" she asked.
"No," he said. "Are you going to shoot me?"
She didn't answer.
But her fingers drifted toward his.
They stayed there, almost touching, until the storm outside faded into something quieter.
Something like breathing.
---
Chapter 9: The Lockbox
The key led them to a post office.
Not the bustling one near Union Square, but a forgotten relic in Alphabet City—caged counters, flickering bulbs, a place time had left behind. Jack held the key in his palm like it was a detonator. Eva stood beside him, hood up, eyes darting toward the few tired clerks behind scratched glass.
"You're sure?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "Box 128. My mother used to bring me here. I thought she was mailing letters."
Jack stepped up to the wall of boxes—rows of bronze doors, tarnished with age. He found 128.
The key slid in with a smooth click.
Inside, wrapped in oilcloth and tied with string, was a leather-bound journal, brittle and faded, its edges water-stained.
Jack handed it to Eva. Her fingers trembled as she untied it.
They didn't speak as she flipped through page after page of looping handwriting, the kind people don't use anymore. Some entries were about Eva. Her childhood. Her laugh. The way she danced in the rain. But others… others were cold.
Precise.
Names. Dates. Transactions.
Bribes. Murders. Police captains. Judges. Hit contracts.
And at the center of it all—Arturo Marino.
There was even a page with Jack's real name on it.
He swallowed hard.
Eva didn't look up. "She knew everything. She kept it all. In case something happened to her."
Jack leaned in. "This isn't just leverage. This is a goddamn blueprint of the family's crimes."
Eva nodded slowly.
"My father always said love was a weakness. But she… she loved me enough to plan for a war."
Jack flipped to the back of the journal. A torn envelope was tucked inside, yellowed and sealed with wax.
On the front: "For Eva, when you're ready."
Eva opened it.
Inside was a photograph—grainy, black-and-white. Her mother, standing beside a man in military uniform. Not Don Marino.
There was a second slip of paper. One line in her mother's hand.
> "There are things your father never told you. Find Dominic. He will help you finish what I couldn't."
Eva stared at the name.
"Dominic…" she whispered. "I don't know who that is."
Jack did.
His stomach sank.
"Dominic Russo," he said slowly. "Ex-mob accountant. Disappeared seven years ago after testifying against the Vitale crew. He was supposed to be dead."
Eva looked at him.
"Then I guess we're finding a ghost."
---
Elsewhere — Don Marino's Estate
The Don stood in his study, surrounded by smoke and silence. Rain tapped gently at the windows. Luca entered, soaked from the street.
"Well?" the Don asked.
"She's moving. Fast. Word is they were seen near 10th and Avenue B."
Marino turned slowly.
"There's something she's after," he said. "She's not just running. She's digging."
He poured a drink but didn't touch it.
"I underestimated her," he said.
Luca stayed silent.
The Don's jaw tightened.
"I won't make that mistake again."
He turned to the fireplace, flames dancing in his dark eyes.
"Burn every safehouse. Tap every phone. If she finds what her mother left behind… we lose the city."
---
Back in the city
Jack and Eva exited the post office under gray morning light. The journal was zipped inside Jack's coat, pressed tight to his chest like a second heart.
Eva walked beside him, quiet but composed.
"What happens if we find Dominic?" she asked.
Jack lit a cigarette. "Depends if he still wants to live."
"And if he doesn't?"
Jack glanced at her.
"Then we finish this without him."
Eva didn't smile.
But she didn't flinch either.
---
Chapter 10: The Bookkeeper's Silence
Dominic Russo hadn't used his real name in a long time.
To the world, he was Frank Delaney, a half-blind janitor with arthritis and a stutter, mopping floors at the Staten Island ferry terminal. He lived in a third-floor walk-up above a laundromat and spoke to no one unless they spoke to him first.
It wasn't a life.
But it was quiet.
And quiet kept you breathing.
He sat at his kitchen table, sorting through bills with a practiced calm. The window was cracked. The smell of salt water drifted in. Across the room, a radio hummed softly—Sinatra playing to a city that no longer cared about crooners.
Dominic's left hand trembled. He clutched it under the table, cursing the old war injury that never healed right.
Then came the knock.
Three sharp raps.
The kind no neighbor ever used.
He froze.
Another knock. Slower this time.
Deliberate.
He moved toward the closet. Pulled the revolver from behind the drywall. Six rounds, unregistered. Heavy in his hand.
He opened the door a crack.
And saw her.
Tall. Sharp. Familiar.
"Eva," he rasped.
She didn't smile.
"You knew I'd come."
He opened the door fully. Jack followed behind her, a step slower, eyes scanning the hallway like he expected bullets to come from the shadows.
Dominic gestured them inside.
"You got my name from her journal," he said.
Eva nodded, pulling the envelope from her coat. She laid it on the table.
Dominic sat slowly, rubbing his temples. "She told me you'd be trouble. Even as a kid."
"You knew my mother," Eva said. Not a question.
"I did."
"How well?"
He looked at her. Something hard flickered in his gaze.
"Well enough to run when she died."
Silence. Heavy.
"She kept records," Jack said. "Of everything. Your name was there. So was a blueprint of Marino's operation. She trusted you."
Dominic nodded slowly. "She trusted too many people. That's what got her killed."
Eva's voice turned cold. "Did my father do it?"
Dominic didn't answer.
Instead, he stood, walked to a cupboard, and pulled out a box. Inside: microfilm. Blueprints. Ledgers. Even photographs—some of Don Marino with corrupt city officials, others of bodies that were never reported in the papers.
"This," he said, "is the insurance policy your mother built. She didn't just want to bring down Marino. She wanted to take the entire machine apart."
He turned to Jack.
"You're a cop. Or you used to be. You still got people you trust?"
Jack hesitated.
"One or two."
"Then it's time you make the drop. Before someone finds me and puts a bullet in my head."
Eva looked at the files, the photos, the truth spread across the table like old bones.
"This is enough to bury him," she whispered.
"No," Dominic said. "This is enough to bury the city."
He looked at her again, eyes full of grief.
"Be careful, Eva. When you start digging graves, sometimes you fall into one."
---
Elsewhere — La Rosa Nera
Don Marino stood at the bar, glass in hand, as the club buzzed behind him.
A man approached quietly. Young. Pale. Sweating.
"We found Russo," he whispered.
The Don didn't move. "Alive?"
"For now."
The Don nodded once.
"Then send someone who doesn't ask questions."
He turned to the window.
"And tell Luca—bring my daughter home. Or don't come back at all."
---
Chapter 11: No Safe Harbor
They didn't sleep.
By dawn, the three of them—Jack, Eva, and Dominic—had moved to an old safehouse beneath a closed tailor shop in Midtown. The air smelled of mothballs and dust, the silence broken only by the whir of a film projector as microfilm files danced across the peeling wallpaper.
Jack stood by the window, watching the street through a crack in the blinds. He hadn't holstered his pistol in hours.
Eva sat at the worktable, eyes flicking over the ledgers and photos. The weight of it all had settled on her shoulders like a shroud. Evidence spanning years. Names. Payoffs. Dead men. Live ones who were worse.
Dominic rested in the corner, hand curled around a whiskey bottle. His eyes were closed, but Jack knew he wasn't sleeping.
"We have enough to bring down half the NYPD, the mayor, and your father," Jack said quietly.
Eva looked up. "So why don't we?"
"Because if we leak this through the wrong channel, it'll vanish before it hits the front page. Or worse—we'll vanish."
Jack pulled out a crumpled card from his coat pocket.
Detective Kessler. His last remaining contact in the department.
"He's dirty?" Eva asked.
"No," Jack said. "But he's smart. And smart men don't pick fights they know they can't win."
Eva stood. "Then make him think he can."
Jack met her eyes. They were different now. Not just hardened. Sharpened.
She was her father's daughter—but maybe not his puppet.
---
Two hours later, they were in a back booth at a diner in the Bronx, coffee going cold, blinds drawn against the morning sun.
Kessler arrived late, trench coat flapping, face grim. He slid into the booth without a word.
"You've been busy," he said, eyes on Jack.
"I've been buried."
Jack slid the envelope across the table. Inside: one photo. One ledger page. A warning shot.
Kessler looked at it. Didn't flinch.
"This real?" he asked.
"Yes."
"If I take this to Internal Affairs—"
"They'll bury it," Eva cut in. "Along with us."
Kessler looked at her. "You're the Marino girl."
"No," she said. "I'm the woman who's going to put him in the ground."
Kessler sighed. "You're playing chess with a man who owns half the board. You want my help, you give me everything. Not just breadcrumbs."
Jack leaned in. "We give you everything, you take it to the press. Not the DA. Not the Commissioner. Straight to the papers. You go loud."
Kessler stared at him.
"You realize what happens if we go public? You start a war."
Jack didn't blink. "Then let it start."
Kessler tapped his fingers on the table. Once. Twice.
Then he nodded.
"I'll set it up. Two days. You give me the full files by midnight tomorrow."
He stood.
"But Jack—if I smell a double-cross, I'll sell you both out before I blink."
He walked out.
Eva stared at the empty coffee cup.
Jack exhaled, slow and quiet. "That's the best we're gonna get."
She didn't answer. Just pulled the envelope back toward her and said, softly:
"Then we make it count."
---
Elsewhere — Staten Island
The hit squad came at night.
Four men. Two silencers. No hesitation.
Dominic's apartment door shattered on the first kick. But he wasn't home.
Just the radio.
And the note taped to the wall:
> "You were too late.
She already knows."
The squad leader cursed and pulled a phone from his coat.
Don Marino answered on the first ring.
"Report."
"Russo's gone. So are the files. They've gone public."
A pause.
Then: "No. They haven't."
Click.
The Don hung up and walked back to his study.
He poured a drink. This time, he drank it.
Then he lit a match.
And dropped it onto the rug.
As the fire caught the curtains, his eyes stayed fixed on the oil painting above the fireplace—his wife, young and defiant, holding a small girl in her arms.
---
Chapter 13: Breaking the Spine
They hit the first target at dawn.
A counting house in Red Hook, disguised as a produce warehouse. Eva walked in the front, dressed as a dockworker's daughter. Jack entered through the back with two silenced pistols and a knife strapped to his ankle.
The guards were sloppy. Complacent.
They didn't expect the Don's ghost to come knocking.
Within three minutes, the floor was littered with broken bodies and the office safe was wide open. Inside: ledgers, coded accounts, and five stacks of marked bills still wrapped in Federal Reserve bands.
Jack lit the stack on fire.
Eva watched it burn.
"One down," she whispered.
---
Next came Carlo Vento, the Don's drug liaison in Queens.
They waited until he was drunk—his favorite strip club, back booth, same girl every Thursday. Jack was the distraction. Eva was the blade in the dark.
Carlo never saw her coming. She slipped the stiletto between his ribs and whispered in his ear:
> "My mother says hello."
His last breath was blood.
---
By nightfall, they had a list.
Five names. Five pillars of the Marino syndicate.
1. Vito DeLuca – extortion rackets.
2. Miriam Corsi – judge on the Marino payroll.
3. Father Tomas – churchman turned bagman.
4. Louie "the Hawk" Giordano – enforcer, rumored sadist.
5. Marino's personal consigliere — Salvatore Rizzo.
Jack looked at the names on the wall. "We take out the base," he said, "and the tower falls."
Eva's voice was steel. "We don't just take them out. We make it public."
She pulled out a tape recorder.
Dominic, who'd rejoined them after slipping through the failed hit, nodded from the corner. "You give people a monster in the daylight, they'll pick up pitchforks. But in the dark?" He shook his head. "They do nothing."
---
Meanwhile — in the shadows
Luca Ferro watched a black-and-white reel flicker in a backroom projector: footage of Jack and Eva at the Red Hook warehouse. Heat signatures. Timed movements. Tactical precision.
He lit a cigarette and made a call.
"They've gone surgical," he said. "And worse—sentimental."
On the other end, silence.
Then: "Let them run. Let them build their little fire."
A pause.
"Then we smother them in it."
Luca hung up. He looked at the grainy footage again.
And for the first time in years… he looked afraid.
---
Back in the city
Eva and Jack stood over Vito DeLuca's unconscious body, zip-tied in the basement of a butcher shop. Blood stained his shirt. A live mic sat in front of him.
"Start talking," Eva said, voice flat.
"I don't know anything," he gasped.
Jack leaned forward. "That's funny. Because we haven't even asked a question yet."
He clicked the mic.
And whispered: "Tell the city what your Don did. Or I let her ask the questions."
Eva picked up the knife. No hesitation.
Vito cracked before she made the first cut.
Ten minutes later, they had audio recordings of Marino's entire extortion operation—including a recording of a phone call where the Don ordered the death of a state senator.
They sent it straight to Kessler's contact in the press.
It aired by midnight.
The city woke up on fire.
---
Chapter 14: Wolves Among Wolves
Salvatore Rizzo lived like a man who thought death couldn't find him.
Penthouse suite. Fortified doors. A private army made of ex-cops and ex-cons with equal kill counts. Rizzo wasn't just a consigliere—he was the spine of Marino's empire, the man who whispered into the Don's ear long before Eva was even born.
He knew where the bodies were.
He buried half of them himself.
Jack stared at the surveillance photos spread across the safehouse floor—Rizzo at his poker games, Rizzo at his mistress's high-rise, Rizzo at his private chapel with the same two guards posted outside.
"He's never alone," Eva muttered. "Even when he is."
Dominic nodded. "Rizzo's paranoid. Good reason. He knows if he dies, half the syndicate falls into chaos."
That's when the knock came.
Not on the door—but the window.
Jack drew his gun, turned—
And saw a woman crouched on the fire escape, silhouetted by moonlight.
She tapped the glass twice.
Enter: RENÉE SANTOS.
Ex-MI6. Half-Portuguese, half-trouble. Operative turned ghost. Jack had last seen her in Berlin six years ago, covered in someone else's blood, walking into the night without a goodbye.
Now she was here, holding a burner phone and wearing a look that said I'm not here for a reunion.
Jack let her in. "Thought you were dead."
Renée smiled. "Not yet. But if you keep yelling at windows like that, I might be."
Eva sized her up instantly. "Friend?"
"Something like that," Jack muttered.
Renée turned to the group. "I intercepted a message out of Chicago. Marino's old Westside partner just got a visit from someone calling himself The Revenant."
Dominic's eyes darkened. "No. That name's a bluff."
Renée shook her head. "It's real. He's back."
Eva looked between them. "Who?"
Jack exhaled. "You ever hear of Nico Virelli?"
Dominic answered. "The ghost. Enforcer who vanished ten years ago. Said to have cut out his own boss's tongue with a rosary. Died in a fire."
Renée slipped a photo onto the table.
Grainy. New. Undeniable.
"Nico's not dead," she said. "And he's coming back for whoever broke the pact. Starting with Rizzo."
Eva stared at the photo. "Then we hit Rizzo first."
Jack nodded. "Before Nico does."
Because if the ghost got to Rizzo first… they wouldn't get information.
They'd get ash.
---
Meanwhile — The Hudson Docks
A man stepped off a freighter wearing a priest's collar and a butcher's coat. He walked with a limp and carried a suitcase that clicked with every step.
Nico Virelli. The Revenant.
He moved through the terminal like a shark through still water. Silent. Purposeful.
A cab waited for him.
No driver.
He slid into the back seat and opened the case.
Inside: a rosary. A blade. And a page from an old Bible, burned around the edges.
> "An eye for an eye," he whispered.
The cab pulled away.
Destination: Rizzo's penthouse.
Time left: less than 12 hours.
---
Back at the safehouse
Renée laid out her plan.
"There's a blind spot in Rizzo's security between 3:15 and 3:22 a.m.—his mistress arrives, they switch the cameras, someone does a manual sweep. That's your opening."
Jack nodded. "We go in quiet."
Renée smiled. "That's why I'm not going with you."
Eva raised a brow. "Why are you here?"
Renée pulled out a USB drive.
"This is the firewall bypass code for the building's surveillance feed. Took me four hours to crack it. You've got one chance."
She handed it to Eva, then leaned in close—too close.
"Don't miss."
Eva didn't flinch. "I don't."
---
As night fell, Jack and Eva suited up.
Dominic stayed behind with Renée, watching the monitors, a cigarette trembling between his fingers.
"I thought Nico was dead," he said softly.
Renée poured a drink. "He was. Now he's something worse."
---
Across the city — 3:17 a.m.
Jack and Eva moved through the halls of Rizzo's tower like ghosts.
They reached the penthouse door.
Jack raised the jammer. Eva readied the blade.
Then the lights flickered.
Once. Twice.
Then went black.
Jack cursed.
"He's already here," Eva whispered.
They opened the door—
—and found three dead men in suits, throats cut, eyes still open in disbelief.
On the mirror, written in blood:
> "YOUR SINS CANNOT BE WITNESSED. ONLY JUDGED."
And beneath it… Rizzo's body.
Crucified to the wall.
His mouth filled with rosary beads.
Eva turned to Jack.
"He got here first."
Jack stared at the message.
And knew: the war had changed.
Now it wasn't just revenge.
It was purge.
---
Chapter 15: Beneath the Smoke
They left Rizzo's penthouse at 4:08 a.m., but the smell followed them.
Incense. Blood. And something older. Something rotten.
Jack drove in silence.
Eva sat beside him, jaw tight, hand still wrapped around the hilt of her knife like she didn't trust anything that wasn't steel.
Renée's voice crackled through the earpiece. "I'm guessing it went sideways."
Eva replied, flat: "Rizzo's dead. Nico got there first. Crucifixion job. No survivors."
Static.
Then Dominic's voice: "He's not sending messages. He's sending judgment."
Jack turned onto Bowery. "What kind of man leaves a message in rosary beads?"
Renée muttered, "Not a man."
---
At the safehouse, Eva stood over a map, circling the five remaining nodes in the Marino network. She scratched off Rizzo's name.
"Two lieutenants left," she said. "Louie the Hawk. Miriam Corsi."
Dominic looked uneasy. "You think Nico's going to stop once they're gone?"
Jack shook his head. "This isn't about the Don anymore. This is a crusade."
Renée poured herself a drink and stared out the window.
"Then maybe it's time we find a prophet of our own."
Jack raised a brow. "Meaning?"
Renée slid a photo onto the table.
Eva froze.
It was a woman, maybe late fifties, hair streaked silver, scars across her hands. Distant eyes. Familiar mouth.
Eva whispered: "That's not possible."
Renée looked at her. "You sure? Because she's been operating under the name Anna Riva in Palermo. But fifteen years ago, she was known as Rosa De Angelis."
Eva's voice cracked. "That's my mother's name."
Dominic's glass slipped from his hand and shattered.
Jack stared at Renée. "You're saying Rosa's alive?"
Renée nodded. "Or someone wearing her face is. Either way—she knows where the skeletons are buried. And she's not hiding anymore."
Eva backed away, shaking her head. "She died. I saw her body. I touched her hair. She was cold."
Renée looked at Jack. "Then whoever's walking around now is either a miracle…"
A pause.
"Or something worse."
---
Meanwhile — an ocean away
A candle burned in a Sicilian church, deep underground, beneath marble and secrets.
The woman known as Anna Riva walked barefoot across the stone floor. Her hands were blistered. Her rosary was rusted iron.
She stopped before an altar.
Kneeled.
Whispered:
> "Forgive me. I didn't bury them deep enough."
Behind her, a figure emerged from the shadows. Cloaked. Silent.
"Your daughter is coming," the figure said.
Anna's lips trembled.
"So is the Revenant," she said.
The figure placed a parchment scroll beside her.
"Then we must open the last page."
Anna looked down.
It was her own journal.
The original.
And across the bottom, written in fresh ink:
> There is no justice. Only blood.
---
Back in New York
The team stared at Renée's new intel. Coordinates. Names. Redacted files.
Eva sat in the corner, trying to keep her breathing steady.
Jack approached, quiet.
"You okay?"
She didn't look up.
"If my mother's alive… that means everything I did—everything I believed—was built on a lie."
Jack didn't say anything. He just crouched down beside her.
"We find her," he said. "And we get answers."
Eva looked up.
"No. We drag her into the light. Like all the rest."
---
Outside the safehouse
A black sedan parked across the street.
Inside, a man scrawled names onto a matchbook.
His hands were missing three fingers.
His eyes never blinked.
When he finished writing, he lit the matchbook on fire.
And whispered:
> "Let them come."
---
ACT III
Chapter 16: The Dead Speak in Tongues
Palermo, Sicily.
The air was thick with salt and incense. Even the sun felt older here—like it remembered things the rest of the world tried to forget.
Jack and Eva stepped off the train at Palermo Centrale. Renée had gone ahead, arranging safe transport and a meeting place. Dominic stayed behind to protect what little leverage they had left.
The city smelled like stone and sweat and something faintly metallic—like old coins or older blood.
Eva hadn't spoken since the airport.
Jack walked beside her, silent.
They arrived at a monastery turned safehouse, nestled against a cliff overlooking the sea.
And inside, they saw her.
Rosa De Angelis.
Alive.
Scarred.
And smiling.
Eva stepped forward like the floor might collapse beneath her.
"You're not her," she said.
Rosa tilted her head. "I bled you into this world, bambina."
"You died."
"I chose to disappear."
Jack crossed his arms. "People don't fake their deaths in a world like yours. Not unless they're running from something."
Rosa didn't flinch.
"I wasn't running from something," she said. "I was running from someone."
She slid a photo across the table.
Eva stared at it.
It was a much younger Rosa—maybe in her early twenties—smiling beside a man in a priest's collar.
Jack leaned in. "Nico Virelli."
Rosa nodded.
"He wasn't just Marino's enforcer. He was my brother."
Silence.
Jack blinked. "Your brother."
Eva whispered, "That makes him… my uncle."
Rosa leaned back.
"He believed in cleansing the family. Believed Marino had poisoned everything our blood once built. I tried to stop him. That's when he staged the fire. Faked his own death. Told me to stay dead too, or he'd kill you."
Eva's throat tightened. "Why didn't you come back?"
"Because Nico doesn't forget. And because he wasn't alone."
She walked to the bookshelf and pulled down a ledger, ancient and brittle.
Inside were names. Dates. Initiation rites.
Not just for the Marino family.
For The Order of San Bartolomeo—a secret brotherhood embedded within the Mafia's upper ranks. Older than the Don. Bound by blood oaths and ritual sacrifice. Their symbol: a crucifix turned upside down, branded into the inner wrist.
Eva flipped the page—and her own world cracked.
There, scrawled in careful ink, was her father's name: Don Vittorio Marino.
Next to it: a date.
Two years before Rosa and Vittorio ever met.
Eva looked up, heart pounding.
"You were… planted."
Rosa nodded once.
"I was part of a long con. My job was to seduce him. Marry him. Gain his trust. Feed the Order intel. But I fell in love. With him. With you. That's when they marked me for death."
Jack muttered, "Jesus."
Rosa stepped closer to her daughter.
"I tried to escape. Faked the car accident. Paid a man to switch the body. I thought it was over. But Nico's purge? It's not revenge. It's cleansing. He's purging everyone who defied the Order's prophecy."
Eva whispered, "What prophecy?"
Rosa opened the last page of the journal—the one she'd torn out before disappearing.
On it was a single line.
Written in Latin.
> "Et sanguis e filia fiet ignis."
Jack translated softly: "And the daughter's blood shall become flame."
Rosa looked her daughter in the eye.
"They believe you, Eva… are the end."
---
Meanwhile — New York City
Dominic sat at the safehouse, flipping through surveillance footage when the screen flickered.
Static.
Then a voice.
Gravel. Slow. Holy.
> "You found her, didn't you?"
Dominic stood, startled.
> "Good. Let her remember who she is. Let her feel the fire."
On the screen, a live feed appeared.
The interior of the Palermo safehouse.
Eva. Jack. Rosa.
Nico was watching.
He had always been watching.
And he whispered, smiling:
> "Now we begin."
---
Chapter 17: What Burns Between Us
The safehouse in Palermo had gone quiet.
Rosa was asleep—if sleep could describe the restless tossing of a woman hunted by her own past.
Jack stood on the balcony, staring out at the sea.
Eva joined him, silent.
For a long time, they didn't speak.
Just shared the stillness, broken only by the wind and the slow churn of waves below.
Then she said it.
Flat. Quiet.
"He watched us."
Jack turned. "What?"
"Nico. The camera. He saw everything. Every word. Every hesitation."
Jack's jaw clenched. "He wanted us to see him. He wanted to let us know he's always been there."
Eva didn't move.
"He thinks I'm fire," she said. "He thinks I'll burn this world down."
Jack hesitated. "Maybe you will."
She turned to him. "And what if I do? Will you stop me?"
He stepped closer, eyes searching hers.
"No," he said. "I'll burn with you."
The silence between them cracked.
And then—like a gunshot—they kissed.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet.
It was survival. Trauma. Years of lies and loyalty boiling over.
He pressed her against the stone wall, her fingers in his hair, his hands on her hips. The line they'd drawn back in New York—the one between mission and emotion—snapped.
Clothes fell in silence.
It was desperate. Wordless. Two broken things crashing into each other, hoping they might fit.
After, they lay on the cold tile floor, barely breathing.
Jack stared at the ceiling.
Eva said nothing.
Until she did.
"I shouldn't have."
He looked at her. "You wanted to."
"Wanting doesn't make it right."
"No," he said. "But it makes it real."
Eva stood and pulled her shirt back on.
"We're not safe here," she said. "And we're definitely not safe together."
Jack frowned. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," she said, voice low, "Nico was right."
She looked at him.
Eyes steel. Heart locked.
> "I am fire. And you? You just lit the fuse."
---
Meanwhile — Back in New York
Dominic paced the safehouse, muttering to himself.
Renée entered with two cups of coffee and a file.
"You need to see this."
Dominic took the folder. Read the first line.
His face went pale.
"What the hell is this?"
Renée's voice was grave. "NYPD Internal Affairs. Surveillance files. Code-named: Project Ember."
He flipped through them. Photos of Jack. Eva. Even Rosa.
At the bottom—a signature.
Dominic Russo.
He dropped the file.
"No. No, I didn't authorize this."
Renée stared him down. "You were either the leak... or you've been played."
Dominic's hands trembled.
Then the monitor flickered.
And Nico's voice filled the room.
> "The fuse is lit. You can't stop it now."
> "But you can choose... who burns first."
---
Chapter 18: The Hollow Hour
Jack woke with a start.
The floor was cold. The window open. The scent of saltwater thick in the air.
He turned—and saw Eva's side of the bed empty.
He rose fast, grabbing his gun from the table. His coat was gone too. So was the burner phone.
And Rosa?
Gone.
In her place, on the stone floor beneath a pool of half-melted candlewax, lay a single cassette tape.
Unlabeled.
Jack stared at it for a long time, jaw tight.
He played it.
At first—nothing.
Then: Nico's voice.
> "You lit the fuse, Jack. I didn't force you to touch her. That was your fire to play with. And now? You burn in it."
> "She's with me now. Her blood. Her legacy. Her mother."
> "She thinks she's hunting me. But she doesn't know what I've already shown Rosa."
A pause.
Then a second voice.
Rosa's. Cracked. Hollow.
> "Jack... don't come after us."
> "Some bloodlines can't be unbound."
The tape clicked.
Jack stared at the player.
Then smashed it with the butt of his pistol.
---
Across the city of Palermo
Eva sat in the back of a black car, Rosa beside her. Neither spoke.
Eva clutched her mother's old journal, the final page folded into her palm like a blade.
"I don't trust you," she finally said.
Rosa didn't argue.
"I'm not asking for trust," she replied. "I'm asking for help."
"You lied about your death."
"Yes."
"You lied about my father."
Rosa's voice lowered. "He lied first."
Eva turned away. "What does Nico want?"
Rosa hesitated.
Then: "He wants to finish what the Order started. He believes the Don corrupted the bloodline when he married me. That you're... a flawed heir."
Eva laughed bitterly. "Then why is he trying to save me?"
Rosa looked her in the eye.
> "He's not. He's trying to cleanse you."
---
Meanwhile — back in New York
Dominic held the Project Ember file in shaking hands.
Jack stood over him, gun at his side.
"Tell me you didn't sell us out," Jack said, voice a knife.
Dominic looked up, pale. "I didn't. I swear on everything."
Jack flipped the last page.
A signature.
Jack Moretti.
His own.
"Funny," Jack said. "Because this says I authorized surveillance on Eva six months ago."
Dominic blinked.
"That's not possible."
Renée stepped forward from the shadows.
"It is if someone inside the NYPD forged the signature and activated a deep-cover agent without your knowledge."
Jack's blood ran cold.
"You're saying someone activated me?"
Renée nodded slowly.
"Not you, Jack. The other you."
Jack stepped back.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Renée handed him another file.
Inside — a photo. Blurred. Military file. Name redacted.
But the face was clear.
Jack.
Identical.
Except the man in the photo had no scar. And eyes that looked completely hollow.
Renée whispered:
> "You have a twin, Jack. And he's working for them."
---
Chapter 19: Blood That Was Never Yours
They arrived at Santuario di Sant'Agata after dusk.
An abandoned hilltop chapel outside Cefalù, crumbling stone swallowed by ivy and ash trees. The locals said it was cursed — that the ground beneath had soaked in blood too old to dry.
Eva and Rosa walked in silence.
A single robed figure waited by the altar.
Nico.
No mask. No guards.
Only the sound of the sea below and the hum of something ancient, electric, in the air.
"Welcome home, figlia." he said softly.
Eva's jaw clenched. "I'm not your daughter."
Nico smiled. "No. You're someone else's."
Rosa flinched.
Eva turned.
"You told me he was my father," she hissed.
Rosa looked away.
Nico stepped forward, eyes gleaming.
"He wasn't."
A beat.
Then: "Don Marino was sterile. A car bomb years before you were born — shrapnel through the abdomen. Doctors told him he'd never father a child."
Eva staggered back. "That's not true."
"He knew," Nico said. "He knew the child wasn't his. But he raised you anyway. Loved you. Trained you. Made you his heir. Because he believed you could burn everything he built."
Rosa trembled. "Stop it."
Nico held up a worn folder. Vatican seal. Blood-red wax broken.
He opened it.
Inside: medical reports. Fertility records. Blood analysis. DNA.
> "Your father," he said, "was a priest. A scientist. A ghost. He worked in the catacombs beneath Rome. His name was Raphael Moretti."
Eva froze.
Nico smiled.
> "He was Jack's father."
---
Back in Rome
Jack stood in the black archives beneath the Vatican, Renée beside him, flicking through brittle files marked Project Ember: Vitae Split.
He paused on one page.
> SUBJECTS: TWINS BORN OF CODE NAME "VIRGO IGNIS" FEMALE: Eva D. MALE: Subject 9M (filed as "Moretti A")
Jack stared at the name.
His fingers went cold.
Eva wasn't just tied to the Order.
She was family.
Renée read aloud.
"Subject 9M was conditioned from birth. Sensory deprivation. Ritual testing. Split in early adolescence from his biological twin for diverging psychological response to pain."
Jack whispered: "He's not just my twin."
Renée looked at him.
> "She's your sister."
---
Back at the chapel
Eva was silent.
The room spun.
"You're lying," she said.
Rosa finally spoke. Voice quiet.
"No. He's not."
Tears welled in Eva's eyes. "Then who am I?"
Nico stepped forward, his voice low, reverent.
"You're fire from ice. You're prophecy made flesh. The Order didn't create you to inherit anything. They created you to end it all."
Rosa knelt.
Her voice trembled.
"I tried to love you like mine. I tried to stop the prophecy."
"But now," Nico whispered, reaching out a hand, "You must decide: will you burn for them... or burn them?"
---
Chapter 20: The Man Who Named Me
The chapel was empty now.
Nico had left. Rosa too — silent, eyes shadowed with shame.
Eva sat alone in the sanctuary, surrounded by stained glass saints and cracked floor tiles.
She held the tape recorder Nico had left behind. A second one.
Labeled simply: "For when she learns."
Her fingers trembled as she pressed play.
Then—Don Marino's voice, gravel-rough, tired. The voice she hadn't heard since the night he died.
> "If you're hearing this, it means the lie didn't hold."
> "Good."
A pause. A cigarette drag.
> "I always knew the truth would find you. Maybe I wanted it to. You were never mine by blood. I found you in a lab, screaming like hell, wrapped in a priest's coat and covered in Latin symbols."
> "They told me you were cursed. Untouchable. A failed experiment."
> "But when I looked in your eyes? I saw fire. And I knew fire could be trained. Controlled. Turned into legacy."
Eva closed her eyes.
> "I raised you like you were mine, not because I wanted to own you… but because I needed to rewrite what made you. I figured if I could raise a weapon with love, maybe it'd never turn on the world."
> "Guess we'll see how that turned out."
Another drag.
> "You weren't my blood, Eva. But you were my choice. And that's stronger than blood."
The tape clicked.
Eva sat still. Then played it again. And again.
Each time, her breathing slowed. But her hands shook more.
---
Meanwhile — Rome
Jack stood in the Order's archive chamber.
The flickering candlelight danced on the polished skulls lining the walls — all former initiates of Virgo Ignis.
He gripped the file Renée had given him.
Inside was the truth.
Two children, created from the same genetic strain. The girl—Eva—was labeled "volatile, unstable, uncontainable."
The boy—Jack's twin—was marked: "compliant."
Renée turned to Jack.
"He's in Palermo. Nico brought him in days ago."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Then I'm going to end this."
Renée paused. "Jack… what if you're the copy?"
He turned.
"I don't care. I'm still real. And I still bleed."
---
Back in Sicily
Nico met Rosa in the catacombs beneath the chapel.
She looked ten years older than she had yesterday.
He handed her a vial. Red. Glowing faintly.
"The last of Raphael's blood," he said. "If she drinks this—"
Rosa cut him off. "She won't."
Nico smiled. "Oh, she will. When she learns what it unlocks."
Rosa glared at him. "You loved her once."
Nico's expression darkened.
> "I still do. That's why I need to purify her."
> "Because love, Rosa… love demands sacrifice."
He turned toward the shadows.
Where Jack's twin stood. Silent. Waiting.
> "And sometimes… love needs a knife."
---