Chapter 90 – The Bait
The sea fog rolled in earlier than usual, swallowing Portoscuro's skyline in shades of silver and shadow. From the upper balcony of the safehouse, Elira watched it curl through the streets, blurring the lines between reality and imagination.
Kairo stood a step behind her, speaking into his phone in low, precise Italian. She couldn't make out the words, only the cadence — clipped, controlled, a man used to giving orders and expecting them to be carried out without question.
When he hung up, she didn't turn. "You've set something in motion."
He joined her at the railing. "We can't keep letting them track us. Tonight, we turn it around."
"Bait?"
A nod. "They want the box. They think it's all we have. We'll let them believe it's vulnerable."
She glanced at him. "And me? Am I part of the bait?"
Kairo's gaze lingered on her face for a moment too long. "No. You're the reason I make sure the bait is never fatal."
They left the safehouse as the last light bled out of the sky. Elira wore a fitted black coat, her hair loose around her shoulders — the kind of look that drew attention without asking for it. Kairo, in dark wool and gloves, was unreadable in the way only men like him could be.
The streets near the harbor were busier than she expected. Fishermen mending nets by lamplight, teenagers slipping between alleys, an old man playing accordion near the market square. It was almost easy to forget why they were here.
Almost.
They reached the agreed location — an abandoned warehouse at the edge of the docks. From the outside, it was nothing: rusted doors, broken windows, the smell of salt and oil thick in the air. Inside, the shadows were deeper, the silence sharper.
Kairo positioned her near a stack of crates, where the dim light from a single hanging bulb caught her in partial profile. "Stay here," he murmured. "If they see you, it's because I want them to."
Elira's hand brushed his sleeve. "And if they come for me first?"
He didn't look away from her. "Then I make sure they regret it before they touch you."
It was only when he stepped back into the darkness that she realized how much warmer the space had felt with him close.
Minutes stretched. Somewhere outside, a chain clinked against metal. Then — footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
Two men appeared in the doorway. One was tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that seemed carved from stone. The other… she knew without needing to be told. Rahn.
He didn't speak at first, just looked at her. The way people looked at expensive art — not because they understood it, but because they wanted to own it.
"Elira Wynne," he said finally, his voice low, carrying the faintest accent she couldn't place. "You're far from the film set."
Her pulse spiked, but she kept her tone flat. "So are you."
Rahn's mouth curved. "I came for what he took from us. But I think… I've found something else."
A shadow shifted behind him. Kairo stepped into the light, his presence as sudden and precise as a blade unsheathed.
"Careful," Kairo said, voice calm but edged. "You're trespassing in more ways than one."
Rahn didn't turn. "You're hiding behind her. Interesting."
"I'm keeping her in front of you," Kairo replied. "There's a difference."
The air in the warehouse thickened, the silence before a storm.
And then — a noise from the far side. The sound of boots hitting metal. Two more figures emerged from the shadows — Kairo's men, guns drawn but lowered, blocking the exit.
Rahn's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "So this is the trap."
Kairo's smile was small, dangerous. "No. This is the warning."
For a long moment, no one moved. Then Rahn stepped back, his gaze lingering on Elira one beat too long. "We'll meet again," he said. "And next time, I won't knock."
When they were gone, Kairo crossed the space between them in three strides. "You're shaking," he said quietly.
"I'm not," she lied.
His hand brushed her jaw, the touch steady, grounding. "Next time," he murmured, "he won't get within ten feet of you."