Chapter Two
The rain finally stopped, but Corvane still smelled like smoke and secrets.
Rhea woke to the low hum of the city outside the warehouse window. Pain pulsed through her ribs in slow waves. She sat up, blinking against the dull light spilling in through the blinds. Her jacket hung on a chair, blood-stiff and torn. Her gun sat on the table beside a half-empty glass of water—exactly where she'd left it.
Downstairs, she could already hear movement: trucks starting, men shouting orders, the muffled rhythm of Luciana's empire beginning another day.
Rhea stretched, winced, and pulled on a clean shirt. She hadn't dreamed—she didn't anymore—but the night's silence had carried the weight of one. Luciana's voice still echoed somewhere in her head: "Don't make me wonder if you're coming back."
By the time she stepped onto the warehouse floor, Luciana was already there. Crisp, composed, a phone to her ear, pacing between crates. Her tone was measured, cold. Rhea caught fragments—names, numbers, warnings. When she hung up, she didn't look surprised to see Rhea.
"You should be resting," Luciana said.
Rhea shrugged. "Sleep doesn't stop leaks."
Luciana's eyes flicked up. "Someone gave the Vitani crew our drop point. Two of our people dead, one missing. You were lucky to walk away."
"Luck's not what it used to be," Rhea said quietly.
Luciana studied her for a long moment. "I need you to find out who talked. No noise, no mess. I want to know before I decide what happens next."
Rhea nodded once. "Names?"
"Start with who handled the trucks," Luciana said. "Marlo's crew ran the loadouts. And Rhea…" Her voice softened just slightly. "Don't let them see you bleeding."
Rhea gave a faint smirk. "Would ruin the mystique."
She left before Luciana could reply, stepping into the street where the sky hung low and gray. Corvane's air tasted like metal. Every corner held eyes. The city never forgot faces—especially those that owed it blood.
She found Marlo at a dockside bar that hadn't seen daylight in a decade. The floor was slick, the jukebox broken, and the people inside were the kind who traded loyalty for cigarettes.
"Cortez," Marlo said when she walked in, trying to sound casual. "Didn't expect to see you upright."
Rhea sat across from him. "Heard you loaded the trucks."
"Yeah. Standard run. What happened out there?"
"That's what I'm asking you."
He frowned. "I don't talk to Vitani's people."
"Then how'd they know the route?"
He opened his mouth, shut it again. Sweat beaded on his temple. Rhea leaned in, voice low.
"Don't make me drag the truth out, Marlo. You know I will."
His jaw twitched. "You think I'd sell out the Vale name? After everything—"
Rhea's gaze didn't move. Silence pressed between them until he looked away.
"I heard a call," he muttered. "Night before the run. Warehouse line. Someone said the drop was moving early. I didn't catch who."
Rhea stood. "You should've reported it."
"I thought it was nothing."
"Nothing gets people killed."
She left him staring into his drink.
By evening, the docks glowed with orange haze from the refinery fires across the bay. Rhea returned to the compound, muscles aching, mind sharper than it should've been for how little she'd eaten. Luciana was in her office again, papers spread like battle plans across the desk.
Rhea handed over a folded note. "Marlo heard someone use the warehouse line. Internal call."
Luciana's brow furrowed. "Internal?"
Rhea nodded. "Means it's one of ours."
Luciana's voice dropped. "Which means I can't ask questions the usual way."
"I can," Rhea said.
Luciana looked up. For a moment her expression softened, the kind of softness that could break a person if they let it. "You'd do that for me?"
Rhea's answer came out before she could stop it. "Always."
The silence that followed wasn't cold; it was heavy with something neither dared name. Luciana looked away first, back to the window where rain was starting again, faint against the glass.
"Find out who it is," she said. "Before they find another way to hurt us."
Rhea turned to leave, but Luciana spoke again—quietly this time. "Rhea."
She paused.
"Don't die for me."
Rhea's mouth curved in a half-smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Outside, the rain came harder, drumming against the tin roofs of Corvane. Somewhere out there, a traitor waited, and Rhea walked into the storm to find them—her ribs aching, her loyalty burning hotter than the city's neon glow.