The day unfolded in relentless rhythm, each hour swallowed by motion.
The estate had transformed overnight into something sharper, hungrier. Men fortified barricades, cleaned weapons with the mechanical focus of machines, and reviewed patrol routes until the maps bled ink. Radios buzzed with clipped voices, reports filtering in from every corner of the city. Every sound — the click of a gun chamber, the scrape of boots against gravel — carried the edge of inevitability.
Vitale would come. That much was certain.
And when he did, he wouldn't find them unprepared.
Lottie stood at the edge of the war table, her arms folded tight across her chest, watching as Marco shifted pieces across the map. Wooden markers clicked against the grain of the oak table like bones. He muttered to one of the lieutenants, their voices low, heated, but she barely heard the words.
Her gaze kept drifting to Gabe.
He was a storm held inside a man, all sharp edges and steady command, every word clipped but certain. He directed movements with a precision that left no room for doubt. Yet beneath the steel of his tone, she saw what the others didn't — the tightness in his jaw, the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes, the way his fingers lingered on the map just a fraction too long before releasing.
Every move he made was a gamble. Every decision, a weight. And she knew he carried it alone, even with an army at his back.
When the council broke, men dispersing in purposeful strides, she lingered. Gabe stayed by the table, his hand braced against the wood as though holding himself up.
"Talk to me," she said softly.
His head lifted, eyes cutting to hers, sharp but shadowed. "About what?"
"About what you're not saying."
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand across his mouth. For a moment, silence pressed between them, heavy with all the things he wouldn't give voice to.
Finally, he spoke. "We're putting you at the center of this plan."
It wasn't news — she already knew. But hearing it out loud set her pulse racing.
"You think Vitale will come for me," she said.
"I know he will," Gabe answered, voice low, certain. "He won't risk wasting time with territory. He'll go for what he believes is my weakness." His eyes locked on hers. "You."
The word hung between them like a blade.
Lottie swallowed, fighting the tightness in her throat. "Then let me be more than a weakness."
Something flickered in his gaze — fear, resistance, want. He stepped closer, close enough that the weight of his presence wrapped around her like armor.
"You don't understand what that means," he said, voice roughened.
"Yes, I do," she shot back. "It means I'm the bait. It means I'll stand in the open while you wait in the shadows. It means I'll fight if I have to."
He shook his head sharply, his hand rising to grip the back of her neck, not rough but firm, grounding her. "No. It means if anything goes wrong — if he gets within reach — you're gone. Do you understand me? I won't let him take you."
Her breath caught at the ferocity in his tone, the vow buried in his words. She lifted her hand, pressing it against his chest, feeling the steady thunder of his heart.
"And what if protecting me means losing the war?" she whispered.
His jaw tightened. "Then I'll burn the war to the ground."
The silence after was charged, thick as storm air. She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him the war wasn't just his — it was theirs now — but before she could speak, Marco's voice echoed from the doorway.
"They're ready."
The spell broke. Gabe dropped his hand, his mask sliding back into place. But his eyes lingered on her, heavy with everything he hadn't said.
⸻
By nightfall, the trap was set.
The docks were chosen for the bait. Crates of false weapons and money shipments lined the warehouses, staged with precision, the scent of oil and salt water thick in the air. Men hid in shadows, tucked into blind spots where Vitale's scouts couldn't see. Every corridor was a funnel, every door a choke point.
And at the heart of it, standing under the pale glow of a single hanging bulb, was Lottie.
Her pulse thudded in her throat, each beat loud enough to drown out the lap of water against the docks. She wore simple dark clothes, unremarkable, but she felt anything but invisible. Every breath carried the knowledge that eyes — unseen, waiting — were trained on her.
From the shadows of the upper walkway, Gabe watched.
He didn't move, didn't breathe too loud, but she felt him. Even unseen, his presence wrapped around her, tethering her to steadiness she wouldn't have found alone.
Minutes stretched like hours. The night hummed with anticipation, sharp and brittle.
Then — footsteps.
A ripple of motion broke the silence. Figures emerged from the dark edges of the warehouse — Vitale's men, a half dozen first, then more behind them, shadows on shadows. They moved with the confidence of predators who thought they were closing in on easy prey.
Lottie's throat tightened, but she forced herself to stand steady, every instinct screaming to run.
The first man stepped forward, his face obscured by the dim light. His voice carried, low and mocking.
"Looks like Cavelli's finally showing his soft spot."
Her fingers twitched at her side, but she didn't speak. She remembered Gabe's words — bait doesn't bite first.
The men closed in, slow, deliberate.
From the shadows above, Gabe's hand curled tight around the grip of his pistol. His men waited for his signal, breathless silence pressing down like a vise.
But Vitale's voice cut through before Gabe could act.
"Well, well."
The man himself stepped into the light, his smile thin and sharp, eyes glinting like a blade. He looked at Lottie the way one might study an antique — with appreciation, possession, and the promise of ruin.
"You've grown bold," Vitale said softly. "Standing here in the open. Did Cavelli send you, or did you come all on your own?"
Lottie's pulse hammered, but she held his gaze. "Maybe I came to see what kind of man hides behind other people's knives."
A murmur rippled through his men, but Vitale only smiled wider, slow and dangerous.
"Oh, you have fire," he said. "I see why he's so desperate to keep you." His head tilted, eyes narrowing. "But fire burns quickest when starved of air."
His hand lifted — a signal.
The docks exploded into chaos.
Gunfire cracked, echoing off steel and stone, sparks flashing in the dark. Gabe's men surged from the shadows, blades of motion and gunfire cutting through Vitale's soldiers. The trap sprung, the war ignited.
And in the chaos, Vitale's gaze never left Lottie.
Even as Gabe moved like death itself through the fray, carving a path toward him, Vitale smiled. Not in fear, but in promise.
Because the game was only beginning.