The night was alive with fire.
The docks, once quiet under the blanket of midnight, had become a warzone. Gunfire split the darkness in staccato bursts. Flames licked the sky, painting the black water in violent shades of orange. The acrid stench of gunpowder and burning wood choked the air, thick with the copper tang of blood.
Gabriel Cavelli moved through it all with singular purpose.
Men screamed. Bullets ricocheted off steel containers. Marco's voice cut through the chaos, barking orders, keeping their line from folding under Vitale's assault. But Gabe's eyes were fixed only on one man.
Richard Vitale.
The rival stood at the heart of the inferno, smoke curling around him like a crown. His dark suit was smeared with blood—not all of it his own—and a pistol glinted in his hand. He looked untouched by the ruin around him, as if the destruction were his rightful kingdom.
When their gazes locked across the chaos, the world seemed to still.
Vitale smirked, lifting his voice so it carried even over the thunder of gunfire. "Funny thing about fire, Cavelli. It doesn't care who started it. It just eats until there's nothing left."
Gabe advanced, pistol steady, his expression unreadable. His bloodied lip and torn knuckles told their own story, but his resolve was steel. "Your fire dies tonight."
Vitale chuckled, shaking his head. "So much like Daniel. Always with the hero's curse on your tongue." His tone sharpened. "And we both know where that got him."
Rage flickered across Gabe's features. His finger squeezed the trigger—
The shot screamed across the docks, sparks exploding as Vitale rolled behind a stack of crates. Splinters flew. Gabe dropped into a crouch as return fire cut past his ear, one bullet nicking his shoulder hard enough to burn.
The battle reignited with savage force.
Marco's men surged forward, rifles hammering. They pinned Vitale's soldiers near the eastern pier, but the rival crew fought like rabid dogs. A grenade arced through the air, detonating against a truck. The blast rocked the ground, sending heat rolling over them.
Marco dragged one of his injured men back into cover, teeth bared. "Hold the line! Don't let them push through! Keep Cavelli covered!"
But Marco's eyes kept darting toward Gabe. He saw the way his boss cut through smoke and shadow, saw the singular tunnel vision that left him exposed. Vitale had dragged him into the heart of the inferno, and Gabe wasn't turning back.
Gabe broke cover, sprinting low, firing three controlled shots. Two of Vitale's men dropped, the third staggering with a scream. He ducked behind a steel drum, chest heaving, eyes cutting through the haze for his quarry.
"Cavelli!" Vitale's voice came, sharp and mocking. "You think bullets make you king? You think blood spilled makes you feared?"
Another burst of gunfire lit the smoke, forcing Gabe back.
"You're chasing shadows," Vitale taunted. "My name doesn't vanish with my death. It's in every deal, every bribe, every whisper in this city. You kill me, you feed the myth."
Gabe snarled, pushing off the drum. His boots hammered the concrete as he pressed forward, teeth gritted. "Then I'll burn the myth with you."
The shadows shifted. Vitale was suddenly there, emerging from smoke like a phantom, and then the impact slammed into Gabe's chest.
The pistol went flying, clattering across the floor. The two men crashed into a steel support, the impact reverberating through Gabe's spine. Pain flared white-hot, but instinct shoved it down.
Vitale's fist cracked across his jaw. Gabe spat blood, countering with a brutal hook that split Vitale's lip wide open. The older man grinned through blood, feral.
"You're strong," Vitale spat, shoving him back. "Stronger than Daniel ever was. But strength doesn't win wars—ruthlessness does."
They collided again. Flesh met flesh, bone met steel. Gabe drove Vitale backward with a flurry of punches, rage fueling him, but Vitale absorbed them like stone, retaliating with a knee to Gabe's ribs that stole his breath.
Then Vitale's hands clamped around his throat.
The world narrowed.
Fingers crushed into his windpipe, cutting air. Gabe clawed at the iron grip, his lungs screaming. The roar of the fire dimmed into a dull thrum, his vision tunneling. Vitale's face loomed above him, eyes lit with the glee of a predator.
"This is how Daniel died," Vitale hissed, spittle flecking his lips. "Begging for breath. Begging for me to stop."
Something inside Gabe snapped.
Summoning the last of his strength, he drove his knee up with savage force. Vitale's grip faltered as pain shot through his body. Gabe twisted free, collapsing to the ground, desperate gulps of air burning his chest.
His hand scrambled blindly until it found cold steel—his pistol.
Vitale lunged, teeth bared.
The gun went off.
The shot tore through Vitale's side, sending him staggering back with a guttural sound. His hand flew to the wound, blood seeping fast, staining his shirt.
For a heartbeat, silence.
And then, impossibly, Vitale laughed. A low, ragged, terrible sound. "That all you've got? A scratch?"
Gabe rose, unsteady but resolute, the pistol leveled. His eyes were ice. "No. That was mercy."
Vitale's grin widened even as blood poured from him. "Then do it. Finish me. Show them all what you really are. Another monster wearing Cavelli skin."
The words slithered into the cracks of Gabe's fury, worming their way into doubt. He stared down the barrel, his finger trembling against the trigger.
Behind him, Marco's voice roared. "Gabe! We're getting slaughtered! Fall back!"
Gunfire thundered, men screaming as the docks became a furnace.
Gabe's jaw locked. His eyes never left Vitale's, both men knowing this was their moment.
But then Vitale shoved himself upright, staggering back into the smoke, his men laying down a hail of fire to cover him. His blood trailed like a scar across the ground.
"Not tonight, Cavelli!" he bellowed, his silhouette swallowed by flame and shadow. "This ends when I say it ends!"
And then he was gone.
The fight bled into retreat. Marco's men hauled their wounded into trucks, engines revving against the chaos. Smoke and fire consumed the docks, timbers groaning before collapsing into the water.
Marco dragged Gabe toward the nearest truck, blood smearing down his arm. "You had him! Christ, you had him!"
Gabe didn't answer. He climbed into the truck last, pistol still in his grip, his knuckles torn open, his chest raw with every breath.
As the trucks roared away, the inferno behind them lit the night like a funeral pyre.
Marco spat blood, shaking his head. "He's not human, Gabe. He should've been dead."
Gabe stared into the flames, silent, the fire reflected in his eyes. His voice, when it came, was low, steady, broken only by the faintest tremor.
"Next time."
But deep inside, where he didn't dare speak it, Vitale's words coiled tight.
To kill me, you'll have to become me.
And Gabriel Cavelli, for the first time, wondered if he already was.