The safehouse was a tomb.
Not because it was silent—no, it was the kind of silence that screamed under your skin. A silence loaded with bullets and promises of death.
I closed the laptop lid slowly, the screen still burned into my mind.
Children.
Still screaming. Still bleeding.
North of Florence.
I rose to my feet, my chair scraping back like a gunshot. Alonzo didn’t flinch. Neither did Alessia. We were beyond fear now. Beyond second guesses.
This was war.
“Gear up,” I said. “We move in thirty.”
No objections. Only movement.
Alessia vanished into the back rooms, prepping our weapons and tech. Alonzo slung two rifles over his shoulder and tossed a heavy bag of ammo at my feet.
I caught it without blinking.
“Recon first?” he asked, voice low.
I shook my head. “We’re done playin
