The villa had turned into a war room.
Maps covered the dining table, marked with circles and red lines that stretched from Palermo's docks to the shadowed heart of the city. A laptop glowed faintly in the dark, screens full of encrypted codes and fragments of data Luca had sent before his disappearance.
Natalia stood by the window, the night air heavy with unease. Below, the streets of Palermo pulsed with life, laughter, and, distant music. A city pretending like it wasn't built on the blood of the innocent.
Behind her, Dimitri typed rapidly, decrypting the data Luca had sent. The faint light traced the lines of his face, the bruised cheek, the unshaven jaw, the quiet intensity that had become her anchor in the chaos.
"How bad is it?" she asked finally.
He didn't look up. "Bad enough that Luca was right. The Phoenix Protocol wasn't just a network. It's a system, a digital rebirth plan. Every mafia syndicate Sergei allied with before his death… their data is in here."
She turned. "And Specter wants to activate it?"
"Wants?" Dimitri's mouth twisted into a dark expression. "He already has. This was their plan all along, my father's plan was to kill me in that explosion and continue rebuilding his network but it killed him instead."
The words froze her blood.
He continued, voice low and controlled. "These files are not blueprints. They are activation logs. The system is running. It is rerouting money, weapons, and identities through digital ghost networks. He's rebuilding my father's empire… without my father."
Natalia stepped closer, her voice barely a whisper. "So what is his endgame?"
"To erase us," he said simply. "And rebuild everything in his image."
The sound of the waves filled the silence between them.
For a moment, she could almost hear the echo of their hearts, out of sync, but bound by the same situation.
She sank into the chair opposite him. "Then we have to find him before he finds us."
He looked at her then, and for the first time, his walls cracked. "You say that like you have not been running for weeks."
"I'm fine."
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "You said that last night."
"And I am still standing."
"You are still bleeding," he said, eyes flicking to the bandage on her arm, a reminder of the gunfight at the café.
Natalia smiled faintly. "You make it sound like you care."
He leaned forward, voice low. "I do care. That is the problem."
The confession hung between them, sharp and unexpected.
Neither moved. Neither breathed.
Then his phone buzzed, shattering the moment.
He glanced at the screen. "It's a message. From Luca's old network."
"Can we trust it?"
"No," he said, "but we can trace it."
He opened the encrypted message.
Three words blinked on the screen:
"Warehouse 47. Midnight."
By the time they reached the Palermo docks, the city had gone quiet.
The sea stretched black and endless, the air heavy with the scent of oil and rust. Cargo containers towered like silent sentinels, and the sound of their footsteps echoed against the metal walls.
Natalia tightened her grip on her pistol. "Too quiet."
Dimitri nodded. "That is what worries me."
They moved like ghosts through the maze of shipping crates until they reached a large warehouse with the number 47 stenciled on the side. The lock on the door had been shot off.
He motioned for her to stay close.
Inside, the air was stale, thick with dust and old smoke. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the floor.
Rows of crates lined the walls were stamped with the Phoenix emblem.
Natalia's breath caught. "He has been moving everything here."
"Not just moving," Dimitri said, prying open a crate. Inside were weapons, ammunition, and false IDs. "He's building an army."
They exchanged a look, one of grim understanding.
But then Dimitri froze.
There was something on the ground — a phone, still glowing faintly.
He picked it up.
The screen displayed a countdown.
00:02:17
"Run!" he shouted.
They bolted through the maze of crates as the timer hit 00:01:30.
Natalia's pulse pounded in her ears. "How many nights?"
"Enough to erase everything!" Dimitri yelled.
They burst through the exit, the salt air hitting them like a slap. The docks stretched ahead, but headlights flared, and black SUVs were blocking the road.
A dozen men in tactical gear surrounded them, guns raised.
Dimitri shoved Natalia behind a steel container, returning fire. Bullets sparked off the metal, deafening in the confined space.
"Specter's men," he hissed. "They knew we would come."
Natalia crouched beside him, loading another clip. "So we fight."
He gave her a sharp, fierce grin. "I like the sound of that. "
They moved in sync, years of instinct compressed into seconds. Two men fell, then three. But more came from the shadows.
The timer ticked down: 00:00:45
A grenade exploded near the entrance, the blast wave throwing them both to the ground. Pain seared through her shoulder, but Dimitri pulled her up, dragging her toward the pier.
"We need to jump!" he shouted.
She hesitated, the sea below was black and merciless. "Are you insane?!"
"Yes," he said. "But we will live."
He grabbed her hand urgently, and they leapt just as the world behind them went white.
The explosion tore through the docks, fire blooming like a second sunrise. The sound hit seconds later, a roar that drowned out everything. Shrapnel rained around them as they plunged into the freezing water.
Under the surface, the world was silent, only bubbles and chaos. She fought to rise, lungs burning, until strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her upward.
They broke the surface, gasping. Behind them, Warehouse 47 was gone as a crater of fire and smoke reflected in the water.
Natalia coughed, clutching the pier's edge. "That… was too close."
Dimitri dragged himself beside her, soaked and bleeding. "Close is better than dead."
They sat there in silence, the night trembling with distant sirens. The fire burned like a warning.
Natalia turned to him. "Specter knew we would be here. Someone is truly feeding him information."
He nodded grimly. "Which means we're running out of time and allies."
Then, suddenly, a faint click echoed behind them.
They both froze.
A laser dot appeared on Dimitri's chest.
Slowly, he turned.
Standing a few meters away on the pier was a figure in a black coat, face hidden beneath a hood. The voice that came from the shadows was calm, distorted, and familiar.
"You should have stayed dead, Volkov."
The gun fired.