The next morning came quietly too quietly. The city was still recovering, but beneath the calm, everyone knew the peace was only pretending to last.
Adora woke to an empty room.
No sound, no footsteps, not even the steady hum of Marco's presence.
Only the faint smell of gun oil and rain lingering in the air.
Her heart dropped.
"Marco?" she called softly, stepping into the hallway.
No answer.
The penthouse felt hollow, like a ghost house with all the warmth drained out of it. She found his phone on the counter, face down beside a half-smoked cigarette. Next to it lay a folded piece of paper.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Stay inside. Don't talk to anyone. I'll fix this.
M
No goodbye. No explanation. Just that single line, written in haste like he couldn't bear to say more.
Adora sank onto the stool, the note trembling in her hands.
She had seen this pattern before the vanishing act, the distance that always came right before the storm. But this time felt different. Final, even.
She whispered to the empty air, "You can't keep saving me by disappearing."
Marco
By dawn, he was in the Bronx a part of the city where loyalty was currency and betrayal was repaid in bullets.
The warehouse smelled of iron and oil. Enzo was already there, hunched over a stack of files.
"She's safe?" Marco asked.
"For now," Enzo said. "But she's not stupid. She'll figure out something's off."
Marco's jaw clenched. "Then we move before she does."
Enzo hesitated. "You really want to send her away?"
"It's the only way to keep her alive."
Enzo studied him for a moment. "You've protected a lot of things, boss. But this" he gestured vaguely toward Marco's chest "this one's different."
Marco looked away. "That's why it has to end before it gets worse."
He turned toward the map spread across the table. Red circles marked the recent attacks every port, every supply chain hit within the last forty-eight hours.
"They're closing in," Enzo muttered. "Whoever's behind this isn't just playing for territory. They're erasing your legacy."
Marco's eyes darkened. "Then let them come. I'll make sure there's nothing left of them to claim."
But as he said it, his chest tightened not with fear, but with something colder. He'd made peace with blood and violence years ago. But losing her… that was a war he didn't know how to win.
Adora
By noon, she couldn't take the silence anymore.
Every sound a door creak, a siren outside, a faint vibration from the phone sent her pulse racing. Marco's note burned in her pocket like a brand.
She walked to the elevator, pressed the button, and ignored the whisper in her mind telling her to stay put.
If he thought he could keep her locked away like some fragile secret, he didn't know her at all.
Downstairs, the city was alive again raw and unkind. She pulled her coat tighter as she crossed the street, heading toward the only place she knew Marco trusted besides his home: The Black Key, a dim bar tucked under the elevated train line.
When she stepped inside, Enzo froze mid-conversation.
"Adora?" he said, startled.
"Where is he?"
Enzo stood slowly. "You shouldn't be here."
"Don't say that," she snapped. "Just tell me where he is."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "If I tell you, he'll kill me."
She took a step closer, eyes steady. "And if you don't, I'll find him anyway."
There was something in her tone quiet, fierce, unmovable that reminded Enzo too much of Marco himself.
Finally, he exhaled. "South docks. Warehouse twenty-seven. But if you go there, you'd better be ready to see him for who he really is."
Adora nodded. "I already have."
Marco
The warehouse was silent, save for the drip of rain through broken skylights. Marco stood in the middle of it, surrounded by men who had once called him boss.
Now, their guns were pointed at him.
At the front stood Rossi tall, smirking, the kind of man who thrived in betrayal.
"Marco DeLuca," Rossi said mockingly. "Didn't think you'd come alone."
Marco tilted his head. "I didn't think you'd still be breathing."
Rossi laughed. "Still got that charm. But charm doesn't keep empires standing. You've gone soft."
Marco's voice was ice. "Soft doesn't bury twenty of your men without flinching."
The laughter died. The tension snapped taut.
And that's when a familiar voice echoed from the shadows.
"Marco!"
He turned and his blood ran cold.
Adora.
She stood at the entrance, rain slicking her hair, eyes wide but steady.
Rossi's grin widened. "Well, well. Looks like even the king bleeds for something."
Marco moved before the words finished leaving his mouth gun drawn, finger tight on the trigger.
Everything after that was chaos.
Gunfire shattered the air. Bullets tore through metal. Marco lunged toward Adora, grabbing her just as a round struck the beam beside her head. They fell hard behind a stack of crates, her breath sharp against his shoulder.
"Why did you come here?" he shouted.
"Because you didn't give me a choice!" she cried back.
Another bullet hit the floor near them. He cursed under his breath, pulling his second gun free. "Stay down."
She grabbed his arm. "You can't fight them all!"
"Watch me."
And then he was gone moving through smoke and shadows like a man possessed.
By the time the echoes died, Rossi was on his knees, blood pooling at his feet. Marco stood over him, chest heaving, eyes burning with fury.
Rossi spat blood and laughed weakly. "You think this ends with me?"
Marco leveled the gun at his head. "No," he said quietly. "But it starts here."
The gunshot was deafening.
Adora flinched, covering her ears. When she looked up, Marco was standing still breathing hard, staring at the corpse like it meant nothing and everything all at once.
Then he looked at her.
His expression was unreadable. "You weren't supposed to see that."
She rose slowly, trembling. "Then maybe stop giving me reasons to."
He stepped closer, blood on his hands, his face half shadow, half heartbreak. "You shouldn't love a man like me, Adora."
"I already do," she said. "And that's what scares me."
He dropped the gun. It hit the floor with a hollow sound the kind of sound that promised the war wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.