Tangled in Fire

The safehouse was quiet except for the scratch of a pen on paper.

Elena Romanos sat at the kitchen table, scribbling notes onto a floor plan of the Moretti shipping yard; a compound on the outskirts of Livorno that masked a decades-old black-market operation.

Marco leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, watching her.

"You're sure it's still the primary site?" he asked.

"Yes," she said without looking up. "They moved the drug lines through Morocco now, but the arms shipments, those still come through Livorno. My contact said the next container's arriving in forty-eight hours. It's our best shot."

Marco moved closer. "Dante will have eyes on it."

Elena glanced up, expression hard. "Then we move before he expects. He's clever, but he still thinks I'm only playing chess. He doesn't realize I've already flipped the board."

Marco smirked. "That's dark. I like it."

Elena circled an area in red on the blueprint. "Here. This warehouse has the security blind spot. If we cut the south-facing feed and mask the thermal sensors"

"We're in," Marco finished, his voice low. "You think we'll find what we're looking for?"

Elena didn't blink. "We'll find it. Or we burn everything down trying."

At the Moretti Estate – Same Night

Dante stood before an old, dust-covered cabinet in the wine cellar. Hidden behind the rows of vintage reds, he pressed a small switch, revealing a concealed compartment.

Inside: old files, photos, surveillance footage.

Ghosts.

Nico stood behind him, arms folded.

"You never opened that since your father died," he said.

"I never needed to," Dante replied, pulling out a manila folder labeled 'R' – CONFIDENTIAL.

He opened it slowly.

Photos of Bianca Romanos. Aerial shots of the Romano estate—before the fire.

And then, tucked in the back, a small, time-stamped photo. Elena.

Aged maybe seventeen. Her eyes stared straight at the camera, raw grief behind them.

"She was there," Dante murmured. "That night."

Nico stepped forward. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking someone leaked our move to the Romanos," Dante said. "And we used that intel to strike preemptively. A slaughter dressed as strategy."

Nico hesitated. "You think your father lied to you?"

Dante's jaw clenched. "I think he told me what made him feel justified."

He tossed the folder on the table, fire building in his chest.

"Elena isn't just after blood. She's after proof. She thinks we buried it."

Nico nodded slowly. "So what's the move?"

Dante looked up. His eyes were sharp, cold.

"We give her what she's looking for."

Nico blinked. "You want her to break into Livorno?"

"I want her to think she's winning," Dante said. "Then I pull the floor out from under her."

Two Days Later – Livorno Shipping Yard

The moon hovered low and yellow over the water, casting a sickly glow over rusting containers.

Elena crouched behind a stack of pallets, eyes locked on the security cameras. Marco crouched beside her, typing rapidly on a tablet.

"South feed down," he whispered. "Thermal masks are up. We have seven minutes."

"Let's move," she said.

They slipped past the gate like shadows, dressed in black, armed with silenced pistols and reinforced gloves. Elena led the way to the warehouse marked in red on her map.

Inside was quieter than expected.

Too quiet.

She paused. "Something's wrong."

Marco glanced around. "Empty. No guards. No shipment crates."

"Where the hell is everything?" she muttered, scanning the interior.

Just then, the lights snapped on.

A voice echoed overhead. "Looking for something, Elena?"

Her heart dropped.

Dante.

He stepped out from the far end of the warehouse, flanked by Nico and two armed men. His suit was dark, his shirt open at the collar, his expression unreadable.

Elena raised her weapon. "Don't come closer."

Dante didn't flinch. "This isn't a trap. If it were, you wouldn't be standing."

Marco stepped forward. "Then what is it?"

"A message," Dante said calmly. "You think you've been ten steps ahead. But you were walking where I let you."

Elena's eyes narrowed. "You lured us here."

"I needed answers," Dante said, his voice quieter now. "You want proof of what my father did? You're standing in the place where it all began. The files were never in the safe. They were here."

He nodded toward a nearby metal crate. "Go on. Open it."

Elena kept her weapon raised as she stepped forward. Marco followed cautiously, prying the crate open.

Inside; binders. Dozens of them. Labeled with codes, dates… names.

Romanos. Bianca. Shipment records. Intercepts. Assassination orders.

Elena's hand trembled slightly as she touched one of the pages.

Marco's voice was tight. "You're giving this to us?"

"I'm not my father," Dante said. "But I won't pretend I'm clean."

Elena turned, fire in her eyes. "You're only giving this because you want control."

Dante smiled faintly. "You're not wrong."

Elena snapped the binder shut. "You're still protecting him. This war isn't over."

"No," Dante said. "It's just changed shape."

Marco lifted one of the files. "This is enough to expose half the syndicate."

Dante met Elena's eyes. "Then expose it. But be ready for what happens when the old guard falls. What takes its place might be worse."

She stared at him a long moment, then lowered her gun.

"For now," she said. "But next time, I don't hesitate."

Dante gave a small nod. "Neither will I."

She turned and vanished into the shadows with Marco at her side.

Nico exhaled. "You sure about this?"

Dante turned back toward the darkness. "No. But if we're tearing down the house, I want to be the one who lights the match."