Blood Diamonds - Chapter 2 Midnight Rendezvous
The rain had stopped by the time Maya reached Pier 47, but the night air still tasted of ozone and danger. The abandoned warehouse loomed before her like a tombstone, its broken windows dark and empty.
She checked her Glock one more time. Seventeen rounds. She hoped it would be enough.
"I know you're watching," she called out to the darkness. "Show yourself."
Dante emerged from the shadows like a ghost, hands visible but relaxed. Up close, without the chaos of gunfire, Maya could see the scar along his jawline, the calculated wariness in his dark eyes.
"You came alone," he observed. "Smart."
"Don't flatter yourself. I'm here for answers, not partnership advice." She kept her weapon lowered but ready. "Start talking. What did my father find?"
"Not here." Dante gestured toward a black Mercedes hidden behind a shipping container. "The Bratva has eyes everywhere. We need to move."
"I'm not getting in a car with you."
"Then you'll be dead by morning." His voice was matter-of-fact, not threatening. "They've already put a bounty on your head. Two million dollars. Every contract killer and desperate criminal in the city is hunting you right now."
Maya's stomach dropped. "You're bluffing."
He pulled out his phone, showed her the dark web posting. Her police ID photo stared back at her, alongside the number: $2,000,000. Alive only.
"They want to question you first," Dante said quietly. "Trust me, you don't want that."
Maya's hand trembled slightly. Her entire life—her career, her reputation, her safety—had evaporated in a single night. She thought of her apartment, her partner Rodriguez, the precinct she'd called home for eight years.
All gone.
"Why are you helping me?" she demanded.
Dante's expression softened. "Your father saved my life once. Five years ago, when I was working undercover for Interpol."
Maya's world tilted. "Undercover? You're a cop?"
"Was. Interpol agent, specialized in art theft and organized crime." He opened the car door. "Until the Bratva burned my cover and killed my team. Your father pulled me out of a warehouse massacre, gave me a new identity. I owe him everything."
"So the Ghost—"
"Is my cover. I've been tracking the Bratva's operations from the inside, stealing their smuggled art to fund my investigation and disrupt their network." His eyes met hers. "Your father was my handler. And the evidence he hid? It's a ledger documenting every dirty politician, cop, and judge on their payroll."
Maya's mind raced. "If that gets out—"
"It would collapse the entire Eastern Seaboard's criminal infrastructure. Which is why they'll burn this city to the ground to find it first."
A distant siren made them both tense.
"Decision time, Detective," Dante said. "In or out?"
Maya looked at the phone in her hand—her lifeline to the law, to everything she'd built. Then she looked at Dante, this impossible contradiction of criminal and hero.
She got in the car.
They drove in tense silence through the rain-slicked streets. Dante navigated with practiced ease, taking routes that avoided traffic cameras and patrol zones.
"Where are we going?" Maya finally asked.
"Safe house in Brooklyn. It's off the grid." He glanced at her. "We'll start with your father's personal effects. Anything he left you—letters, photos, his watch, his badge. He was meticulous. The clue will be there."
Maya's throat tightened. "The department gave me a box after he died. I never... I couldn't look through it."
"We'll need to retrieve it. Carefully."
"My apartment's compromised."
"I know a way in."
Of course he did.
They pulled into an underground garage, the Mercedes's headlights cutting through the darkness. Dante killed the engine but didn't move to exit.
"I need to know I can trust you," Maya said. "Really trust you. Because if this is some elaborate con—"
He reached into his jacket. Maya's hand flew to her gun, but he only pulled out a worn photograph. It showed a younger Dante in tactical gear, standing beside her father. Both were smiling, arms around each other's shoulders.
"Prague, 2019," Dante said softly. "Your father talked about you constantly. How proud he was. How you'd just made detective." He handed her the photo. "He made me promise that if anything happened to him, I'd look out for you."
Maya stared at her father's face, tears burning her eyes. "Why didn't you contact me sooner?"
"Because you were safer not knowing. The Bratva had no reason to target you until..." He hesitated.
"Until what?"
"Until someone inside your precinct leaked that you were asking questions about your father's death."
Maya's blood ran cold. "Rodriguez. My partner. I told him last week I was reviewing Dad's case file."
"Detective Rodriguez is on the Bratva payroll," Dante confirmed. "Has been for three years. I'm sorry."
The betrayal hit like a physical blow. Rodriguez—her friend, her backup, the man who'd been there for her after her father died.
"I'm going to kill him," she whispered.
"Get in line." Dante's voice was steel. "But first, we survive. Then we bring them all down."
They exited the car and took an elevator to the third floor. The safe house was sparse but functional—surveillance equipment, weapons cache, a wall covered in photos and red string connecting faces and locations.
Maya recognized some of the faces. High-ranking officials. Judges. Cops.
"My God," she breathed. "This goes all the way to the top."
"Now you understand why your father had to hide the evidence. One wrong move and—"
The window exploded inward.
Dante tackled Maya to the ground as bullets tore through the apartment. She counted three shooters on the rooftop across the street, muzzle flashes lighting up the night.
"Sniper team!" Dante rolled behind the kitchen counter, pulling a pistol from his ankle holster. "They found us!"
"How?!" Maya returned fire, her police training taking over.
Dante's face went pale as he checked his phone. "I'm an idiot. They must have traced—"
The door burst open.
Six armed men in tactical gear flooded in, moving with military precision. Not Bratva—these were professionals.
Maya and Dante fought back-to-back, their weapons barking in unison. Two attackers fell. Three. But more kept coming.
"Kitchen!" Dante shouted. "Fire escape!"
They ran, bullets chasing them. Dante kicked open the window and they tumbled onto the metal platform outside. The fire escape groaned under their combined weight.
"Down! Go!" Maya descended recklessly, Dante right behind her.
They hit the alley running. A black SUV screeched around the corner, blocking their escape. The rear door opened.
Maya raised her gun—then froze.
A woman sat in the backseat, elegant and deadly. Silver hair, cold blue eyes, a scar across her cheek.
"Hello, Dante," she purred in a thick Russian accent. "Did you really think you could hide from me?"
Dante's weapon didn't waver, but Maya saw the fear in his eyes.
"Katya Volkov," he said flatly. "The Bratva Queen herself."
The woman smiled. "Get in the car, both of you. Or I'll have my men execute every tenant in that building. Starting with the children."
Maya looked at Dante. He gave the slightest nod.
They lowered their weapons.
As they climbed into the SUV, Maya caught Dante's hand. He squeezed back—a brief moment of connection in the midst of catastrophe.
Katya's smile widened. "How touching. Young love blooming in the ashes."
The door slammed shut.
The SUV drove into the night, carrying them toward an uncertain fate.