The city blurred into streaks of rain and neon as they sped through lower Manhattan.
Adora pressed her palm against the cold glass, watching lights smear across the window red, blue, white. The rain outside had become a mirror for everything inside her noise, confusion, fear.
Marco hadn't said a word since they left the penthouse. His jaw was clenched, his hand steady on his gun. Every few seconds, his gaze flicked to the mirrors, checking shadows that seemed to move on their own.
When the SUV finally slowed, it wasn't at another luxury building or hidden club. It was a worn brick warehouse near the docks the kind of place you'd miss if you weren't looking for it.
Enzo was already there, drenched from the rain. "No tails," he said quickly. "We looped the cameras two blocks out. No sign of surveillance."
Marco nodded. "Good. Get the others posted around the perimeter. No one in or out unless I say so."
He turned to Adora, his voice softer. "Stay close to me."
She followed him inside. The warehouse was quiet too quiet. The only light came from a single hanging bulb and a flickering monitor in the corner.
"This doesn't look like much of a safehouse," she murmured.
"It's not meant to," Marco replied. "That's why it works."
He motioned for her to sit while he began unpacking files from a metal case. The documents were marked, coded maps of trade routes, encrypted names, the backbone of DeLuca's empire.
Adora watched him in silence, the distant sound of thunder rolling over the docks. He looked different here stripped of elegance, all sharp edges and weary resolve.
After a while, she asked quietly, "Who sent that message?"
Marco didn't look up. "Someone who knew exactly where I'd be, and who I'd be with."
"That means someone inside."
"Yes."
"And you still don't know who?"
He closed the file sharply. "Not yet."
Adora hesitated. "You keep saying this isn't my world. But if I'm already in it… then tell me the truth. All of it."
He met her gaze, studying her. Rain drummed against the tin roof, slow and relentless.
"Truth?" he said finally. "Truth is overrated."
"Try me."
He sighed, leaning back against the table. "You want to know why the city's bleeding? Why the council turned on me?"
She nodded.
"Because I stopped being useful to them." His tone hardened. "When I took over the DeLuca syndicate, I made enemies people who liked order, fear, control. I changed the rules. I stopped selling to certain markets, cut off the politicians' pockets. Now they want me gone."
Adora frowned. "So this isn't just about power."
"No," he said. "It's about control. And the one thing they can't control is me."
She crossed her arms. "That's why they're going after you."
He gave a small, bitter laugh. "No, Adora. That's why they're going after you."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
She blinked. "Me?"
He walked closer, his voice low. "They sent that picture for a reason. Not to scare me to warn me. You're leverage, and they know it."
She swallowed hard. "Then why keep me near you?"
"Because losing sight of you would hurt more."
Her heart stuttered. He said it quietly, but the weight of it landed deep raw and real.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The rain outside softened, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
Later that night, the warehouse was still. The hum of the generator filled the silence.
Marco sat by the monitor, scanning through security feeds while Adora lay on the narrow cot near the wall. Sleep refused to come. Her mind kept replaying everything the explosions, the message, the way Marco's hand had gripped hers as they ran.
Finally, she sat up. "You're still awake."
He didn't look away from the screen. "Someone has to be."
"You don't trust your men?"
"I trust them," he said. "I just don't trust the world they live in."
She pulled the blanket tighter around her. "You ever get tired of carrying it all?"
"Carrying what?"
"The world," she said softly. "Like it'll fall apart if you let go for a second."
He exhaled slowly. "Every damn day."
"Then why keep holding on?"
He turned then really turned and looked at her. The light from the screen caught the tired lines on his face, the faint bruise on his jaw.
"Because if I stop," he said, "everyone I've ever tried to protect ends up dead."
She stood, crossing the room until she was beside him. "And what if protecting them is what kills you?"
He didn't answer. His silence said enough.
"Marco," she whispered, "you can't keep bleeding for a city that doesn't bleed back."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then, quietly, "You sound like my father."
Her brows lifted. "He said that to you?"
"He used to say, 'The city doesn't love anyone, Marco. It just takes and takes until you forget who you were before it found you.'"
"And did you?"
He looked down. "I think I'm starting to remember."
Her heart clenched. "Because of me?"
He didn't speak just reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. His touch lingered, trembling between restraint and something deeper.
"Yes," he finally said. "Because of you."
They stood there, the hum of the monitor the only sound.
Adora's breath caught. "Marco…"
But before she could say anything more, the lights flickered once, twice and then went out.
The generator had cut.
Instantly, Marco was in motion. Gun drawn. Eyes alert. "Stay behind me."
Adora froze, listening. There was no thunder now, no rain just silence. Then, faintly, a metallic click from the far door.
"Someone's here," she whispered.
Marco motioned for her to move back. He crept toward the door, his body tense, ready. Another click closer this time.
He swung the door open
Nothing.
Empty hallway. Just wind and the smell of saltwater.
He turned back and that's when he saw it.
A small red dot dancing across the concrete floor, crawling up the wall until it landed… on Adora's chest.
"Down!" he shouted, diving toward her. The shot came a second later a sharp crack that split the air.
He tackled her to the ground as the bullet tore through the wall behind them.
Adora gasped, clutching his arm. "Marco!"
"I've got you," he hissed, shielding her with his body. "Stay low."
The next shot shattered the monitor. Sparks flew, filling the dark room with brief, terrifying light.
Enzo's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Boss, we've got movement! Two snipers, east rooftop!"
"Take them out!" Marco barked. "Now!"
Adora trembled beneath him, her pulse racing. "They found us… how"
"Doesn't matter," he growled. "We're leaving."
He pulled her up, keeping one arm around her as they moved through the back door into the rain. Gunfire echoed behind them, short bursts in the distance.
Two of Marco's men covered their escape, shouting coordinates through the comms. The SUV screeched around the corner as they ran for it.
Adora stumbled, breathless, but Marco's grip held firm.
"Go!" Enzo shouted, firing over their heads. "We'll hold them!"
Marco shoved Adora into the car and climbed in after her. The tires screeched against wet pavement as they sped off.
The city lights swallowed them again relentless, endless.
By the time they reached the next safe location a quiet townhouse in Brooklyn dawn was breaking.
Adora sat on the couch, drenched, her hands shaking. Marco stood by the window, staring out as the sky turned gray.
She spoke first. "They knew where we were."
"Yes."
"Someone told them."
He nodded once. "Inside leak. Has to be."
She swallowed hard. "Luciana?"
His shoulders tensed just slightly. "Maybe."
"But she was with you"
"And that's what makes it harder to see," he muttered.
Adora hesitated. "You trust her."
"I used to."
There was silence for a long time. Then Adora said, "You should rest."
"So should you."
"I can't," she admitted.
He turned, studying her. "What's keeping you awake?"
Her eyes met his. "The thought that this won't stop. That you'll never be safe. That I'll lose you before I ever really get to have you."
Something broke in him then quietly, completely.
He crossed the room, cupping her face in his hands. "You already have me," he said, voice rough. "You had me the moment you refused to walk away."
And then he kissed her.
It wasn't gentle it was desperate, fierce, alive. The kind of kiss born from war and exhaustion, from everything they'd survived and everything still waiting to destroy them.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against hers.
"This changes everything," she whispered.
"I know," he breathed. "That's why it's real."
Outside, the rain stopped. But the city didn't rest. It never did. And somewhere out there, in the quiet corners of New York, someone watched and smiled.
The game wasn't over. It had just found its next move