Heartbeat in the Crossfire

AMARA

The warehouse is ash. 

The message has been sent. 

The acrid scent of smoke still clings to my hair, my clothes, my skin. No matter how many times I try to scrub it away. No matter how many times I run my fingers through my hair. 

I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink, but all I can see is the past. Fragments of a live I barely remember. My father's voice, my brother's laughter, my mother's smile, the smell of smoke filling the air the night my family burned. 

I barely recognize myself. The girl who once believed in safety, in loyalty, in family...she's gone. What remains is someone sharper. Quieter. Colder. 

And then there are the photos. Hidden in the box atop the desk in my room, set there like an afterthought. I wonder if Moretti even knows that they're there. If he sent one of his men to toss them aside. 

The more I try to ignore it, the sharper it digs beneath my ribs. The closer I draw to Moretti, the more I wonder if I'm walking straight into the jaws of the same betrayal that destroyed my family. 

Because once you see something, you can't unsee it. 

And once your heart learns not to trust, it never fully forgets. 

A knock sounds at the door, and I know its one of Moretti's men coming to let me know that he wants me in his office. 

The club's main floor was a pressure chamber of tension. The music is gone. The usual background hum of nightlife is replaced with low murmurs, shuffling footsteps, and the cold weight of violence waiting to happen. 

Moretti shut down the club for tonight, or until he finds out who is behind his warehouse burning to the ground. I'm not really sure which. 

 Once again the war room is filled with scattered maps, papers, and half empty coffee cups. Evidence of long hours and relentless minds.

I step inside, shutting the door behind me. All eyes snap to me. Luca's steady gaze, Marco's thin-lipped sneer, and Moretti's dark, unreadable stare. 

"Glad you could join us," Moretti says, looking up at me. I can't tell if he's being sincere or not. "That fire was a declaration of war. They're not only after you now,"

Marco scoffs. "And we should've seen this coming. Taking in the last Valenti, the most wanted woman in the city was the worst idea," he sneers. "You think they'll stop with the fire? What's the plan, boss? Just wait for the next one?"

"Marco, enough," Moretti snaps, his gaze cutting like a blade. Then back to me. "Amara, you've seen what they're capable of. What do you suggest?"

I swallow my nerves and step closer to the map. "We tighten surveillance on all known Black Scythe movements. We track down and bring in anyone we can find. Find out what we can while trying to find their base of operations,"

Luca nods. "Agreed. Their reach is deep. They're hunting us,"

"Safehouses are locked down," Marco says. "No soft targets. No visible patrols."

"What about the Vargas lead?" I ask. "Any sign if movement since the warehouse?"

"Nothing concrete," Luca replies. "But the fire was close. Too close to be random,"

"Then we split our forces," I say, feeling the weight of responsibility settle over me. "Half focus on protecting assets. Safehouses, businesses, warehouses. The other half hint Black Scythe's weak points. We force them to spread thin,"

Moretti's lips curl ever so slightly. "You're learning fast," he tells me. 

Marco snorts. But this time I catch the hint of reluctant respect in Luca's eyes. 

"We move at dawn," he continues. "We hit their dock operation before they can vanish. I want eyes on every corner of the south side. If they're planning another strike, we catch hem first."

"You're going to want to have eyes on the Grayson Outfit as well," I say, meeting his eyes. "They ask for access to a dock on the south side and one of your warehouses goes up in flames? That can't be a coincidence."

A muscle ticks in Moretti's jaw. He doesn't argue. Doesn't push back. He just studies me for a long second before giving a small nod. 

"Double coverage on Grayson," he orders, his voice cold steel. "I want to know every time one of his people so much as breathes near the docks."

Luca scribbles notes. Marco still looks like he'd rather eat glass than take orders from me, but he doesn't speak. Not this time. I don't flinch under the weight of his stare. My heart hammers, but I keep my expression cool. Detached. 

Moretti's gaze lingers on me a fraction too long before he speaks again. "No mistakes. We hit them hard, clean, fast. No survivors unless I say otherwise." He nods toward the door. "Get to it."

The men start to move, scattering from the room with practiced efficiency. I hold my ground until they're gone. 

When it's just the two of us, the tension shifts. Grows heavier. More dangerous. 

His eyes meet mine. "You're thinking something you're not saying," he murmurs. 

I exhale through my nose. "I found photos in my room," I say quietly. "Of our fathers. You never told me they knew each other,"

His expression hardens. Just slightly. He doesn't look away, but something in him shutters. 

"It's complicated," he says. 

I huff out a bitter breath. "That's not an answer,"

A muscle twitches in his temple. "And you think now is the time for that conversation?" His voice drips, edged with something smart. "We're standing on a lit fuse, Amara,"

"Exactly," I snap, stepping closer and leaning over the desk. "Which is why I need to know whose war I'm actually fighting. If I'm supposed to trust you, I deserve the truth,"

The distance between us shrinks until I can feel the heat rolling off his body. His eyes, dark and dangerous, search mine for too long. 

"Later," he says at last, voice quieter but no less commanding. "Survive this first. Then I'll tell you what you want to know."

I see the reluctance behind his eyes. 

The words settle between us. A promise. A threat. I can't tell which. 

But for now, I let it stand. 

I nod, stepping back. "Fine. But I'm holding you to that,"

A flicker of something...something almost soft...ghosts across his face before it vanishes a second later. 

"Get something to eat, Amara. You're no good to me without your strength."

I don't move right away. My eyes stay locked on the map, but my focus has already shifted. To him. 

To the way his voice softened, just barely, when he said my name. 

I tell myself its nothing. It means nothing. 

But as I turn to leave, the weight of his words linger. 

And I'm not sure what scares me more. The war outside...or the fact that he's starting to get under my skin.