Florence – Ruins of the Safehouse, 12:38 P.M.
The air was heavy. Thicker than dust. Thicker than smoke. It carried history. Blood. Betrayal.
Ariella stood motionless. Her boots were planted between two broken slabs of stone, her shoulders squared, her pistol steady in her hand. Not raised—not yet. But ready.
Above her, the sky pulsed with the low rhythmic thump of rotor blades. The black military helicopter hovered like a mechanical vulture, wind beating down across the wreckage. The remains of the safehouse crackled with low fire.
But inside her chest—there was no fire left.
Only ice.
Behind her, Kael was on one knee, his hand pressed to his ribs. His breathing was shallow, but his eyes never left her. Not once.
Mirella crouched farther back, holding the tactical bag like it was a newborn. She was pale. Shaken. But she understood: she was not the center of this battlefield.
Ariella was.
In front of her, Salvatore stood tall—flawless. Calm. Clad in his LUNA prototype suit, one hand at his side, the other casually resting near a holster.
His helmet had been removed.
So she could see his face.
So she could see what a lifetime of control looked like.
"You look tired," Salvatore said. His voice, always soft, cut through the roar of the chopper like a whisper under skin.
Ariella didn't reply.
He took one step forward. It wasn't a threat. It wasn't even dominance. It was a statement. That he could. That he still owned this ground.
"This is a mess," he added, gesturing subtly at the crumbling wall behind her. "All of it. Inefficient. Ungrateful. And above all—avoidable."
Ariella's fingers flexed around the grip of her gun.
"This was your design," she said. "You built the cage. I just refused to stay in it."
Salvatore's lips curved faintly. "A cage is only a cage to those who can't rule from within it."
Kael tried to rise behind her, groaning. Ariella moved slightly to shield him. Her eyes flicked to the sky—the Delta Unit was deploying. Ropes fell from the belly of the aircraft. Six men in matte grey armor descended, swift and professional. Their weapons remained lowered.
They weren't here to fight.
Not yet.
They were here to witness.
Salvatore raised a hand toward them—no words needed. They stopped. Formed a semicircle behind him like chess pieces ready to wait out the board.
"You've always misunderstood your purpose," he told her. "I didn't raise you to be obedient. I raised you to survive."
"I survived despite you," Ariella snapped.
Salvatore's jaw flexed. His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but focus.
"You think this is victory?" he asked. "Running through tunnels, hiding in dirt, bleeding beside traitors?"
He motioned toward Kael.
"He doesn't protect you. He delays your fate. That's all."
Ariella stepped forward slightly.
"Then let's stop delaying."
She lifted the pistol.
Salvatore didn't blink. He simply… smiled.
A calm, paternal smile.
"I trained you better than that," he said. "You know I don't need a weapon to win."
She froze.
Her finger rested on the trigger.
Then—CRACK!
A sniper round split the earth just inches from her boots.
Ariella flinched back. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She barely heard Mirella's voice in her earpiece.
"Don't fire. Backup systems engaged. Someone's watching now. Just hold."
Salvatore chuckled.
"You see? Even now… you hesitate. Your side blinks first. Always."
He reached into his belt and pressed a single button on a matte-black remote.
From the shadows behind him, through the haze of smoke and ash—four new figures emerged.
Not Delta. Not Bravo.
Beta Black.
Ariella's chest tightened.
Their movements were clean. Soundless. Coordinated like clockwork gears. Their suits were sleeker than Delta's, with no insignias, no faces, and no words. They spread out in a fan behind Salvatore—each one angled perfectly to strike.
Kael tried to stand again.
"No…" he whispered. "You shut them down. You told me they were dismantled after Istanbul."
Salvatore glanced over his shoulder as if addressing a minor logistics error.
"I lied."
Florence – Tactical Zone, 12:41 P.M.
The wind shifted.
And then it began.
The first Beta soldier launched forward without warning—blindingly fast.
Kael barely pushed Ariella aside before the concrete where she'd been standing exploded. The Beta's punch had struck the ground hard enough to crater it.
Ariella rolled, instinct taking over. She lifted her pistol and fired twice—torso shots.
The rounds hit.
But the Beta didn't stop.
The bullets lodged into the armor and dropped with a metallic thunk.
Kael shoved Ariella toward Mirella's position. "Go! He's not your fight!"
Ariella spun. "He's mine now."
Another Beta moved—this one flanking. From its wrist, a small net gun extended and fired. Kael moved again, pulling her down. The net wrapped around his arm, sending a current through his shoulder. He screamed.
Ariella turned and fired—not at the body, but at the head.
CRACK!
The visor cracked.
The soldier stumbled.
Kael coughed hard. "There. That's how you kill them."
Mirella was screaming something over the comms, pointing to the east wall. "There's an access tunnel—there! But it's compromised!"
"No tunnels," Ariella muttered. "Not this time."
From above, a new shape dove into the fray.
Not a drone.
A weapon.
It slammed into the third Beta like a falling thunderbolt, sending both bodies crashing into the debris.
Everyone paused.
A new voice crackled through the earpiece—low, accented, amused.
"That's one. Try not to die before I've finished my tea."
Ariella's eyes widened. "Dominic?"
Madrid – Remote Surveillance Unit, 12:43 P.M.
Dominic Sanzari sat in his chair like a king behind glass.
Cameras played out everything before him—Ariella, Salvatore, Kael, the fire. He adjusted his cufflinks with one hand while his other typed rapidly into the secure terminal.
"Redirect Beta Black input stream," he ordered his tech. "Inject artificial delays in motor response."
"Sir, that's a classified control channel—"
Dominic raised one brow.
"Override. Now."
On screen, the Beta units twitched. Their limbs faltered. Movement degraded.
Dominic sipped his tea.
"That's better."
Florence – Battlefield Perimeter, 12:45 P.M.
The remaining Beta soldiers stuttered mid-motion.
One dropped. Another malfunctioned—twitching violently before shutting down. Sparks burst from its spine.
Salvatore turned sharply, his calm disrupted for the first time.
"Cut the feed!" he barked into his comm.
Nothing.
He looked at Ariella. "You called him."
She didn't smile. She didn't answer.
She just stared.
"I don't follow your chain of command anymore."
Kael, still bleeding beside the rubble, chuckled weakly. "Neither do I."
For a second—Salvatore almost looked betrayed.
Then—
He fired.
A single shot.
Straight at Mirella.
Blood hit the stone wall.
She collapsed, clutching her side, eyes wide in pain.
Ariella screamed, running toward her. "No—!"
Mirella grabbed her wrist, pulled her close, shoved the bag into her arms.
"Take it," she gasped. "Don't let it die with me."
Ariella gripped it.
Tight.
The air shifted again.
Something inside her—snapped.
Not broken.
Reforged.
Florence – Final Standoff, 12:48 P.M.
She rose.
Covered in dust, blood, wind.
Her hair in wild tangles. Her eyes—not scared, not confused—but sharp. Controlled.
She turned to face Salvatore.
Gun in one hand.
The black bag in the other.
Delta soldiers stood behind him, uncertain. The helicopter waited.
Salvatore lowered his own weapon.
"Don't make this choice," he said. "You're my legacy."
"No," Ariella replied. "I'm the fire you thought you'd control."
She raised the gun.
Kael tried to speak. "Don't—he wants you to shoot. He wants to make you like him."
Ariella glanced down.
Her hand trembled—but not in fear.
In restraint.
WHUP—WHUP—WHUP.
The chopper's blades cut across the silence.
A voice on the radio:
"Delta team. Confirm visual. Orders?"
No one answered.
Because this wasn't a mission anymore.
It was judgment.
Salvatore took one final step forward.
"I built this world with blood," he said. "Don't think I won't burn it again."
Ariella stared back.
And smiled.
"Then burn with me."
She fired.