Chapter 7 — Blood
White light hummed above him.
Altair opened his eyes to a ceiling he didn't recognize. Sharp chemical antiseptic clung to the air. His ribs burned when he tried to breathe, and for a second he thought he was drowning again in gunfire and seawater.
Then the world steadied.
A hospital room. IV lines. His coat folded on a chair. His shirt cut open at the side where the bullet had gone through.
New Lazarus Police Department Hospital.
He tried sitting up. Pain argued. He ignored it.
Footsteps approached the doorway.
Altair's fists clenched.
Vittorio stepped in like he owned the place. Black suit, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, eyes shadowed with the kind of exhaustion only criminals and priests carried. He said nothing at first. Just took the cheap plastic chair and dragged it close to Altair's bed. The scrape echoed like a threat.
Altair looked at the wall. Every muscle in his body tensed in disgust.
Vittorio didn't leave.
"Quite a mess you made at the port," Vittorio said calmly, crossing one leg over the other. "Rico's men weren't exactly forgiving, but you handled that."
Altair didn't answer.
Vittorio tried again. "You're lucky Maggie didn't aim a few inches higher. She likes you. That's the only reason you're breathing."
Still nothing.
Finally, Altair turned his head, eyes dark, voice rough. "Why was Kevin involved with Rico? Why was Helen involved at all?"
Vittorio rested his elbows on his knees.
"Rico Morreti," he said quietly, "was my right hand. Emphasis on was. He decided he wanted to become independent. Thought he could build his own little empire using my connections. Using my money."
Altair scoffed. "So you decided he needed to die."
"As one does when betrayed," Vittorio replied without shame. "He was warned. He kept going."
Altair's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. The heart monitor beeped faster.
"And because of that," Altair said, voice tightening, "you let him drag Kevin and Helen into your business."
"They had debts with Rico," Vittorio said. "Debts tied to our… arrangement."
Altair snapped.
"Just like my parents," he said, venom rising. "Just like my father. You killed them because they wanted out."
Vittorio didn't blink. "Your father made a choice. He wanted to leave. He wanted a normal life. That's not how this family works."
Altair's voice cracked. "Why? Why don't you let anyone leave? Why does everything have to be a cage?"
Vittorio leaned back in the chair, expression unreadable.
"Because traditions are older than us," he said softly. "Older than this city. Our family survives because no one walks away. That is our foundation. That is our law. If people leave freely, the structure collapses."
Altair stared at him with fury, grief, and something hollow beneath both.
"So my parents had to die for a tradition," Altair said. "And Kevin has to bleed for yours."
Vittorio didn't deny it.
"Family has a cost," he said. "It always has."
Altair turned his head away again, eyes burning, voice a whisper.
"Then maybe it's time your family finally paid it."
Altair didn't think. He didn't calculate. He just moved.
His fist snapped forward and cracked against Vittorio's jaw.
Pain detonated in his side instantly. His vision went white at the edges as the gunshot wound tore open again. He doubled forward with a strangled groan, gripping the bedsheets until his knuckles blanched.
Vittorio barely reacted. He only exhaled, slow and tired, rubbing the spot Altair hit like it was an inconvenience, not an attack.
"You done?" Vittorio asked.
Altair breathed through his teeth, rage and pain tangled in every inhale.
Vittorio sat back down, unbothered. "Good. Because you need to listen to me now."
Altair glared, chest heaving.
"Helen," Vittorio began, "is the reason all of this spiraled. She's been shooting heroin for months. Rico used that to turn her into a courier. You know what happens to addicts running product for men like him."
Altair's stomach dropped. "You're saying this is her fault?"
"I'm saying she was vulnerable," Vittorio replied. "And Rico exploited her. If he hadn't, Kevin wouldn't have taken loans. If Kevin hadn't taken loans, Rico wouldn't have leverage. And if Rico didn't have leverage…" He gestured around the hospital room. "You wouldn't be here."
Altair swallowed hard. His anger didn't vanish, but it tangled with guilt, fear, and something too heavy to name.
"Why didn't he tell me?"
Vittorio leaned forward, tone cooling into business. "You're in police custody. They're waiting for you to be stable enough to move you. You killed eight people at the port, a lieutenant under Rico. You discharged an unregistered firearm. You're facing murder charges, Altair."
Altair stared at him, silent.
Vittorio didn't blink. "But I can wipe it. All of it. No trial. No prison. No inquiries. Maggie and Vey already filed half-true reports. I can make the rest disappear."
He let that sink in before adding:
"If you keep your head down… and work with me."
Altair's voice came out low. "Work with you?"
"Help me kill Rico Morreti."
The room felt colder suddenly. The beeping of the heart monitor became an accusation.
Altair looked up, eyes shadowed and exhausted but burning with something dark. "And Kevin? Helen? What about them?"
"Rico dies," Vittorio said. "They walk. I said I will protect them."
A long silence stretched between them.
Altair's mind flashed with Kevin laughing on the staircase, Helen humming while cooking, their ruined apartment, the blood on the ropes, and the lifeless man he'd shot until he couldn't feel his own hands.
He knew what he was becoming.
He also knew he didn't care anymore.
Altair exhaled, jaw tightening. "Fine."
Vittorio's expression didn't change, but something victorious flickered in his eyes.
Altair leaned back against the pillows, feeling the decision settle in his bones like a weight he couldn't shake.
"I'll help you kill him," he said quietly.
The war inside him had finally chosen a side.
+
Altair stepped into the station hallway with his discharge papers still warm in his hand. The fluorescent lights buzzed above him, matching the dull ache stitched into his ribs. He hadn't even cleared the threshold before Detective Vey blocked the exit like a human traffic barricade.
Vey stared him down, jaw hard, eyes bloodshot. "You look too healthy for someone who caused that much paperwork."
Altair didn't flinch.
Before Vey could spit out anything else, Vittorio appeared behind Altair, the picture of calm authority. He extended a hand to Vey with a polite smile that nobody in the building believed for a second.
"My apologies for his… behavior," Vittorio said. "He was acting under extreme emotional stress. I'm sure you understand."
Vey didn't shake his hand. "Extreme emotional stress doesn't explain eight dead bodies."
Vittorio leaned in slightly—too close, too familiar—and whispered something into Vey's ear. Something short. Something that made Vey's face go blank for a second before he stepped aside like the exit suddenly had diplomatic clearance.
Altair and Vittorio walked past him without another word.
They made it halfway to the station steps before a voice cracked through the air.
"Detective Vey!"
Alice stormed toward them, boots slamming against the linoleum. Her hair was a mess. Her pistol holster looked like it had been reattached in a hurry. Her eyes locked on Altair with disbelief, anger, and a pinch of fear she tried desperately to hide.
"You're letting him walk?" she demanded. "He murdered people. Plural. And—"
"Alice," Vey muttered under his breath.
"No," she said, louder. "I watched him execute a man who was already down. And we're just… ignoring that?"
Altair paused at the door. Vittorio didn't. He kept walking.
Vey sighed, rubbing his temples. "This isn't your call."
Alice scoffed. "My call? My call? Sir, I—"
"You disobeyed a direct order," Vey cut in, his voice sharp enough to sting. "I told you to stay put. You charged into a live firefight. You put civilians at risk. You put yourself at risk. And you compromised an ongoing investigation."
"Civilians? those are fucking criminals"
Alice blinked, stunned. "I was trying to save someone."
"That's not your job," Vey shot back. "Your job is to follow orders."
"My job is to do what's right."
"And right now what's right," Vey said, jaw tight, "is making sure you understand what you cost us last night."
He pulled a file from under his arm and slapped it into her hands.
The bold header at the top read: REASSIGNMENT ORDER.
Alice's breath hitched. "What is this?"
"Effective immediately," Vey said, voice flat, "you're reassigned to meter duty. Citywide. Indefinite term."
Alice stared at the paper like it was a death sentence.
"You're serious," she whispered.
"Dead serious."
She looked up at Altair, fury simmering beneath the hurt. "So he gets a free pass… and I get punished."
Altair held her gaze for a moment—not with guilt, not with sympathy, but with that same cold, detached emptiness the port had carved into him.
Then he walked out the door.
Alice clenched the reassignment file to her chest, tears threatening but refusing to fall. Vey looked away, ashamed to meet her eyes.
And somewhere outside the station, Vittorio waited, a car door open, the engine running.
Altair didn't hesitate. He walked toward the life he'd just chosen—one step deeper into a world he promised himself he'd never return to.
+
Maggie found her leaning against the stairwell wall, fists clenched around the reassignment file, breathing sharp through her nose like she was one second away from tearing the whole building apart.
Alice didn't look up when Maggie approached. She didn't need to. She could feel her presence.
"Alice," Maggie said softly.
"Don't," Alice snapped.
A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy and brittle.
Maggie moved closer anyway. "You're shaking."
"I'm furious," Alice corrected. "And disappointed. And embarrassed. And—" She shoved the file at Maggie's chest. "You lied, Maggie."
Maggie didn't flinch. "I wrote what I saw."
"That's bull," Alice fired back. "You wrote what Vittorio needed you to write. You made it look like he was never there. You made it look like Altair didn't execute someone who was already down. That's not what happened."
Maggie's jaw tightened. "I wrote what kept you alive."
Alice pushed off the wall, pacing. "You think that makes it better?"
"No," Maggie said. "But it makes it necessary."
Alice stopped pacing and turned on her, eyes sharp and wet. "It's still a lie."
Maggie stepped into her space now, not aggressively, but with the urgency of someone refusing to watch the person they love walk into a hurricane bare-handed.
"Listen to me," Maggie said. "Sometimes things aren't black and white. Sometimes they're survival. And you, Alice? You're a rookie cop trying to play hero in a city where the wrong people eat heroes for breakfast."
Alice swallowed hard, chest rising and falling.
"You made enemies last night," Maggie added. "Real ones. Not street punks. Not junkies. People whose names never make it into case files. People who don't forgive… curiosity."
Alice looked away, jaw trembling. "So I just stay quiet? Keep my head down? Pretend this is normal?"
"I'm not asking you to pretend," Maggie said. "I'm asking you to live."
Alice's voice cracked. "You think I'm going to die because I told the truth?"
"I think," Maggie said carefully, "that you're going to die if you keep acting like justice works the same everywhere. It doesn't. Not here. Not with them."
Alice clenched her teeth. "You sound like Vey."
"I'm being realistic," Maggie said. "And realistic keeps you breathing."
Alice finally met her eyes again. Raw. Betrayed. Exhausted.
"You lied," she whispered.
Maggie nodded once. "And I'd do it again if it keeps you safe."
Alice shut her eyes, one tear escaping despite her effort to stay hard.
Maggie reached out, slow, giving her room to pull away.
Alice didn't.
Maggie rested a hand on her shoulder, steady and warm.
"You don't have to like this city," Maggie said quietly. "You just have to survive it."
Alice let out a shaky breath, gripping the file until it bent.
"This isn't who I wanted to become," she murmured.
Maggie replied, barely above a whisper. "Then let me help you become someone who makes it out alive."
+
The abandoned station felt like a tomb that forgot it was supposed to stay quiet.
Three pit bulls lay in the shadows like coiled traps, their ribs rising and falling, eyes half-open but tracking everything. Helen and Kevin sat on the cold concrete opposite them, drenched in blood from head to toe. Not splattered. Painted. Their clothes clung to them like wet skin; their hands trembled, but even fear seemed too exhausted to keep up.
Rico sat on an overturned bench in a white singlet that wasn't white anymore. Sweat, grime, and a dozen other people's blood had turned it the color of old rust. He stroked the head of the oldest pit bull, his thumb idly tracing the scar across its snout like he was remembering something he shouldn't.
He smiled without warmth.
His voice was calm, conversational, almost friendly. "You two think I'm some street psycho with a gun and an ego problem. Cute."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the dog pressing its head into his palm.
"I was Vittorio's right hand. His shadow. His clean-up crew. I've stood in more rooms filled with corpses than I've stood in rooms with windows. You do that long enough, you stop seeing people. You see shapes. You see jobs. You see noise that needs to be turned off."
Helen flinched. Kevin didn't even blink; he was already somewhere else in his mind.
Rico continued.
"I know I'm not normal. I'm too far gone for normal. But being broken has its perks. It means I don't have illusions… or loyalties."
He gestured around the ruined station with a sweeping, lazy hand.
"War is coming. I want it." A small chuckle escaped him. "Not because I think I'll win. I probably won't. Winning's a bonus. What I want is noise. I want fire. I want the Constantine family trembling in their silk suits while everything they built burns."
He pointed at Helen and Kevin with the hand that wasn't petting the dog.
"And you two? Pawns. Necessary pawns. Not because you matter… but because Altair does."
Helen swallowed hard. Kevin exhaled slowly, like the last bit of hope leaking out.
Rico kept talking.
"Altair joined Vittorio. Of course he did. Vittorio's good at that. He grabs lonely, angry little boys and convinces them they're family. But Vittorio doesn't care. He never did. Not about Altair. Not about me. Not about any of us who bleed to keep his empire tidy."
The dog let out a low growl, like it agreed.
Rico smiled, almost affectionately.
"I'm going to make Altair and Vittorio watch this city rot. I'm going to show him the truth: Vittorio only protects one thing. His name. His empire. Everything else is a liability. Expendable."
He stood, stretched, and his vertebrae cracked down his spine.
"You don't have to believe me. Hell, you don't even need to understand. Your part is simple: suffer loud enough for the world to hear. That's your value. That's your contribution."
Rico snapped his fingers, and the three pit bulls lifted their heads in perfect unison.
He glanced down at Helen and Kevin one last time, eyes empty but intent.
"Let all hell be let loose"