Pier seven smelled like fish, rust, and opportunity.
Rio arrived at eleven-fifteen with Avilio. Early enough to set the trap. Late enough that the Orcos wouldn't expect anyone already in position.
Vanno was waiting with four other soldiers—men Rio recognized from the mansion but had never spoken to. They had the look of guys who followed orders, handled enforcement, and didn't ask complicated questions. Perfect for muscle work. Less perfect for tactical thinking.
"You're early," Vanno said, bouncing on his feet with nervous energy. "That's good, right? Nero always says early is professional."
"Early is smart," Rio said, scanning the pier. Fragments supplied tactical information automatically: Three approach vectors from land. One from water. Four good cover positions. Two excellent ambush points. One escape route if everything goes to hell.
The pier itself was a long wooden structure jutting into the river. Warehouses on one side. Open water on the other. Shipping containers provided cover and concealment. Industrial equipment created obstacles and opportunities.
"The shipment arrives at midnight," Vanno explained, walking them through the space. "Boat from Canada. Three guys on board. They unload, we secure the product, we leave. Simple."
"Except the Orcos know the schedule," Avilio said.
"Right. Except that." Vanno's enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "So we're ready for them. That's why Nero sent you guys."
Rio studied the sight lines. "They'll come from the warehouse side. Use the containers for cover. Try to get close before opening fire."
"How do you know?"
"Because that's what I'd do. Quick assault. Grab the product before the boat leaves. Kill anyone who resists." Rio pointed to specific positions. "We don't defend the pier. We let them come. Then we collapse on them from three sides."
One of the soldiers—thick neck, scarred knuckles, name maybe Bruno or something—spoke up. "That's letting them shoot first. I don't like it."
"You don't have to like it. You just have to follow orders." Rio met his eyes. Held the stare until the man looked away. Establishing hierarchy. "Vanno's in command. I'm providing tactical support. You do what we say."
Bruno didn't argue further. Smart.
Avilio moved to position two. Rio took position three. Vanno and the soldiers spread across position one—the most exposed but also the one that would draw initial fire.
"Remember," Rio said quietly to Vanno. "When they start shooting, you drop behind cover immediately. Let them commit. Let them think they're winning. Then we spring it."
"And if they shoot me before I can drop?"
"Then duck faster."
Vanno laughed. The sound was nervous but genuine. "You're weirdly calm about this."
"Panicking doesn't help."
"Have you done this before? Actual gunfights?"
Fragments whispered: Too many times to count across too many lives. You've died from bullets. Killed with bullets. The weight of a gun in your hand is more familiar than safety.
"Once or twice," Rio said. "You'll be fine. Just follow the plan."
"Follow the plan. Right." Vanno checked his gun for the third time. "Nero said you were good in a crisis. I'm choosing to believe him."
"Smart choice."
They settled into position. Waited.
Eleven-thirty became eleven-forty-five. The pier was quiet except for water lapping against wood and the distant sound of Lawless nightlife.
Rio's mind drifted despite himself. This was real. Actual combat. People were going to die tonight—maybe Orco soldiers, maybe Vanetti soldiers, maybe him.
The fragments supplied calm. Combat was just combat. Death was just death. He'd done this before.
But the nervousness in Vanno's posture, the weight of the gun in Rio's hand, the knowledge that Nero was trusting them with this—all of it felt heavier than it should.
You're getting attached, the fragments warned. Detachment keeps you alive. Caring gets you killed.
Maybe.
But watching Vanno try to look confident while being terrified, Rio found he couldn't quite maintain the detachment.
Midnight approached.
The boat arrived exactly on schedule—small craft, running lights off, three shapes moving efficiently on deck. Professional smugglers who'd done this run before.
They pulled alongside the pier. Started unloading crates.
Vanno moved to help. The soldiers followed. Rio stayed in position, eyes scanning the darkness.
Come on, he thought. Make your move.
Midnight-fifteen. The unloading was half done.
Then Rio saw it—movement in the shadows between warehouses. Multiple figures. Moving with purpose.
"Contact," he whispered. The word carried in the quiet.
Vanno dropped immediately behind a crate. The soldiers scattered to cover. The smugglers on the boat looked up, confused, then saw the approaching figures and drew weapons.
Eight men emerged from the shadows. Armed with pistols and shotguns. Moving in practiced formation toward the pier.
The Orco family had arrived.
They opened fire.
Gunfire shattered the night.
Muzzle flashes lit the darkness. Bullets sparked off metal, splintered wood, whined past Rio's head as he dropped flat behind a shipping container.
The ambush had begun exactly as predicted.
The smugglers returned fire from the boat. One of Vanno's soldiers—not Bruno, the other one—went down immediately. Hit in the shoulder. Screaming.
Vanno fired from behind his crate. Wild shots. Fear shooting, not aim shooting.
The Orcos advanced. Professional. Coordinated. They thought they had the numbers. Thought they had the advantage.
They were about to learn otherwise.
Rio counted to three. Let them commit fully to the attack. Let them think they were winning.
Then he rose from cover and started shooting.
The fragments took over.
Muscle memory from lives he didn't remember guided his hands. His body knew the angles, the breathing, the smooth trigger pull that put bullets where he aimed them.
First shot: Orco soldier on the left. Center mass. Down.
Second shot: Soldier behind him. Head shot. Down instantly.
Avilio opened fire from position two. Two more Orcos dropped.
The remaining four realized too late they'd walked into a trap.
Vanno understood what was happening. Stood. Aimed properly this time. Fired.
Hit one of the Orcos in the leg. The man went down screaming.
The other three tried to retreat. Found Rio's position blocking the way back to the warehouses. Found Avilio cutting off the waterside escape.
They were surrounded.
"Drop your weapons!" Vanno shouted. His voice cracked but held authority.
Two of them did. Smart. Survival instinct overriding pride.
The third raised his shotgun toward Vanno.
Rio shot him twice. The man dropped.
Silence fell over the pier. Broken only by groaning from wounded men and the wounded Vanetti soldier still screaming about his shoulder.
Vanno stood slowly. Looked at the bodies. At the blood spreading across the pier. At Rio, who was already checking the wounded Orco soldier with the leg shot.
"Holy shit," Vanno whispered. "You—you just—"
"Saved your life," Rio finished. "You're welcome."
"That was—I've never—" Vanno couldn't finish the sentence. Shock settling in.
Avilio was already moving. Checking bodies. Confirming kills. Professional. Cold.
Rio crouched next to the leg-shot Orco. Young kid. Maybe twenty. Bleeding badly but not fatally.
"What's your name?" Rio asked.
The kid just stared. Terrified.
"I'm not going to kill you," Rio said. "But I need information. Who sent you? Was it Don Orco himself or did someone under him organize this?"
"F-fuck you."
Rio pressed on the leg wound. The kid screamed.
"Wrong answer. Let's try again. Who organized the ambush?"
"Tigre," the kid gasped. "Don Orco's top guy. He planned it."
"How did he know about the shipment?"
"Someone inside your organization. Feeding information."
That caught Rio's attention. Fragments supplied possibilities: Informant. Traitor. Frate maybe? Someone with access to shipment schedules.
"Who?"
"I don't know. I swear. Tigre didn't tell us. Just said we had good intel."
Rio studied his face. Body language. Micro-expressions. The kid was telling the truth.
"Okay." Rio stood. Looked at Vanno. "Your call. What do we do with them?"
Vanno stared at the three surviving Orcos—one wounded, two surrendered. "I—I don't know. What's the protocol?"
"There isn't one. You're in command. You decide."
The weight of it settled on Vanno's shoulders. Rio could see him processing. These were enemy soldiers who'd tried to kill them. Who'd wounded one of their men. Who'd failed and surrendered.
"Let them go," Vanno said finally.
Bruno protested. "They tried to kill us!"
"And they failed. We won." Vanno's voice grew stronger. "We let them go. They tell the Orcos what happened here. They tell them the Vanetti family isn't an easy target."
Smart. Tactically and strategically. Dead men couldn't deliver messages. Survivors could.
"You heard him," Rio said to the wounded kid. "Tell Tigre and Don Orco—the Vanettis are ready for war if that's what they want. But this shipment's ours. And the next one. And every one after that."
The two uninjured Orcos helped their wounded friend up. Started limping toward the warehouses.
"And hey," Vanno called after them. His voice had found confidence. "Tell them Vanno Clemente did this. Make sure they know the name."
They disappeared into the shadows.
The cleanup took an hour.
The dead Orcos went into the river—weighted properly, courtesy of the smugglers who apparently had experience with disposal. The wounded Vanetti soldier was patched up and sent to Cerotto's place for proper treatment.
The shipment was secured. Loaded into trucks. Delivered to Vanetti warehouses without further incident.
By two in the morning, it was done.
Rio, Avilio, and Vanno sat on the pier's edge. Exhausted. Blood-spattered. Alive.
"That was incredible," Vanno said. Breaking the silence. "You guys were—I've never seen anything like that. The way you moved. The way you shot. That was professional work."
"That was survival," Rio said.
"No, it was more than that. You knew exactly what to do. Like you'd done it a hundred times." Vanno looked at him. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"
Fragments whispered warnings. Too many questions. Too much interest. Deflect.
"Chicago wasn't safe," Rio said. The standard answer. "You learn or you die."
"Not like that. That was—" Vanno shook his head. "I'm not complaining. You saved my life. Both of you. I'm just... impressed."
"You did good too," Avilio said. "Made smart calls. Kept your head when things went bad."
"I froze at first."
"Everyone does. You recovered. That's what matters."
Vanno smiled. Exhausted but genuine. "Nero's going to be so proud. First real job. We won. Nobody on our side died. And we sent the Orcos a message."
The enthusiasm was infectious. Rio found himself smiling despite the exhaustion. Despite the blood. Despite everything.
"Yeah," Rio said. "You did good, Vanno."
"We did good." Vanno bumped his shoulder against Rio's. Friendly. Brotherly. "We're a team now. You guys, me, the family. This is what it's about. Having each other's backs."
The trust was complete. Total. Vanno believed they were friends. Believed they were loyal. Believed in the family they were secretly working to destroy.
Rio's chest felt heavy.
Avilio stood. "We should report to Nero. Let him know it's done."
"He's probably awake. Worrying." Vanno hauled himself up. "Let's go tell him we're the best damn soldiers he's got."
They drove back through Lawless. The city was quieter at this hour. Peaceful, almost. Like it didn't know blood had just been spilled on its docks.
Nero was waiting at his mansion. Pacing the main room. He looked up when they entered, and the relief on his face was immediate and genuine.
"You're alive." He crossed to Vanno. Gripped his shoulders. "All of you?"
"One wounded. Not serious. We won." Vanno's excitement bubbled over. "It was perfect. We trapped them. Rio and Avilio were—Nero, they were amazing. The way they fought—"
"I told you they were good." But Nero was looking at Rio. Something complicated in his expression. Relief. Gratitude. And something else. "The shipment?"
"Secured. Delivered. Not a drop missing."
"And the Orcos?"
"Dead or running. We sent survivors back with a message."
Nero smiled. Proud. "You did exactly what I hoped. Smart tactics. Minimal casualties. Clear message." He moved to the bar. Poured four glasses of expensive whiskey. "To successful operations and keeping my best friend alive."
They drank.
The whiskey was excellent. Smooth and warming. The kind of quality that money and connections bought.
"My father wants to see you," Nero said to Rio and Avilio. "Tomorrow afternoon. He's been asking about the new associates who keep impressing people."
"We'll be there," Avilio said.
"Good." Nero's attention focused on Rio again. "You fought well tonight. Vanno couldn't stop talking about it. Where did you learn combat like that?"
The question everyone kept asking. The answer Rio didn't have.
"Necessity," Rio said. "I've been in situations where fighting was the only option."
"That's more than situational learning. That's training." Nero's voice was curious, not accusatory. "Professional training."
"I pick things up fast."
"That's an understatement." But Nero didn't push. Just studied him with those intelligent, dangerous eyes. "You're full of surprises, Rio Ceriano."
"I try to keep things interesting."
"You're succeeding."
Vanno yawned. Massively. "Sorry. Adrenaline crash. I'm exhausted."
"Go home. Sleep. You earned it." Nero clapped his shoulder. "First command was a success. I'm proud of you."
"Thanks to these guys."
"Thanks to all of you."
They left eventually. Vanno heading to his apartment. Rio and Avilio back to the brewery.
Dawn was breaking over Lawless. Pink and gold light painting the industrial cityscape. Making it beautiful despite the ugliness underneath.
"We're in," Avilio said in the car. "Completely. After tonight, they trust us."
"Yeah."
"That was the goal."
"I know."
"Then why do you sound like someone died?"
Rio watched the sunrise. Thought about Vanno's enthusiasm. Nero's trust. The weight of betrayal they were building toward.
"Someone will," Rio said quietly. "Eventually. Probably a lot of someones."
"That's the point."
"Is it worth it?"
Avilio looked at him. Really looked. "Don't do this. Don't start caring about them."
"I'm not—"
"You are. I can see it. The way you talk to Vanno. The way you look at Nero. You're getting attached."
"They're people. Not just targets."
"They're the family that killed ours. Don't forget that."
Rio didn't answer. Because Avilio was right—he was forgetting. Or trying to. Fragments of the massacre existed in his memory, but they felt distant. Unreal. Like they'd happened to someone else.
Meanwhile, Vanno's laugh and Nero's smile felt immediate. Present. Real.
"I won't forget," Rio said.
But he wondered if that was true.
Back at the brewery, Corteo was awake. Waiting. He looked up when they entered, and the relief on his face mirrored Nero's.
"You're alive."
"Disappointed?" Rio asked.
"Terrified you wouldn't be." Corteo stood. Looked them over. "You're covered in blood."
"Most of it isn't ours."
"That's not comforting." But Corteo pulled them both into brief, awkward embraces. "I spent the whole night thinking you were dead. Don't do that to me."
"The job went well," Avilio said. "We're trusted now. Completely."
"At what cost?"
"Five Orco soldiers dead. One of ours wounded."
"And your souls?"
Neither of them answered.
Corteo sighed. "Get cleaned up. Get sleep. I'll make breakfast when you wake up."
Rio showered. Watched blood—other people's blood—swirl down the drain. Changed into clean clothes. Stared at his reflection and saw someone he wasn't sure he recognized anymore.
The fragments whispered: This is who you are. This is who you've always been. A weapon. A survivor. Someone who does what's necessary.
Maybe.
Or maybe he was something worse—someone who could kill efficiently and feel nothing. Who could befriend people and plot their destruction. Who could live forever but never really live at all.
Sleep came hard. Interrupted by dreams of gunfire and Vanno's laugh and Nero's eyes asking questions Rio couldn't answer.
When Rio woke, afternoon sun was streaming through the window. Corteo had made food. Avilio was already up, cleaning weapons again.
"The don wants to see us at four," Avilio said. "We should leave by three-thirty."
"What do we say to him?"
"The truth. We're useful. We're loyal. We're exactly what the family needs."
"And when he asks about our backgrounds?"
"We tell him what we've told everyone else. Maintain the story." Avilio looked up. "Unless you're having second thoughts?"
"No."
"Good. Because we're past the point of no return."
Rio knew that. Had known it since the pier. Maybe since Chicago. Maybe since the moment Angelo walked into his speakeasy with a revenge plot and Rio had been bored enough to say yes.
They'd succeeded last night. Proved themselves. Earned trust and position.
Now came the hard part—maintaining it while everything burned.
Rio just hoped he could remember why they were doing it when the flames got too close.
The fragments had doubts.
So did he.