Inside the hotel, Leon trailed Brian and his colleagues from a distance, watching as they split into two groups—one stayed inside to keep coordinating, while the other headed out. Without hesitation, Leon followed Brian out of the hotel, and the two of them soon arrived at a crime scene not far away.
The assassins had already started tearing into each other, and there were casualties.
The shootout had happened right on the roadside, in broad daylight no less. Several killers were already dead. Yellow tape sealed off the area, and local police were in the middle of cleanup. Leon stood there quietly, watching as Brian crossed the police line with practiced ease and started chatting with officers—and FBI agents—like he belonged there.
The doubt in Leon's eyes deepened.
He still had no idea what Brian was actually doing. Sure, he had his suspicions, but without seeing a badge, Leon wasn't ready to jump to conclusions. After all, the old man had dealt with officials plenty of times before—showing up at crime scenes didn't automatically make someone law enforcement.
"Luca probably has no idea Brian's in Vegas…"
That was the part bothering Leon the most. If Brian had gone behind Dove of Peace's back and contacted the authorities, then what exactly did that say about where he stood?
Meanwhile, Brian paced back and forth at the scene, phone pressed to his ear, clearly not happy with what he was hearing.
"Explain that again!" Brian snapped, his tone sharp. "What do you mean fifty FBI agents are arriving in Vegas within the hour? Fifty? For what? You want me to help bring Buddy in as a witness—do you really need that many people? That's not a pickup, that's a full-blown operation! If I'd known this was the scale, I wouldn't have signed up for it in the first place!"
He genuinely didn't get it.
At the start, the mission had been simple: coordinate with a few agents, negotiate terms with Buddy, and bring him in under witness protection. Clean, straightforward, almost too easy. Buddy's lawyer had agreed without much resistance, and all that was left was to pick him up and leave.
Then that call came in.
And suddenly, everything felt wrong.
Fifty agents didn't show up unless something big was about to go down.
"I'm already on my way to Vegas. We'll talk when I get there."
Out on the highway, Brian's boss wrapped up the call with a few curt words before hanging up. His eyes drifted across the endless desert—heat shimmering in the air, the horizon bending under the sun. For a moment, the world looked warped.
Then he lowered his gaze to the document in his hand, his expression turning dark.
It was an old file—decades old.
Back then, an undercover agent who had infiltrated the L.A. family had pitched a plan so insane it bordered on genius: assassinate the real Sparazza, undergo plastic surgery, change everything—face, voice, mannerisms—and assume his identity completely. From there, infiltrate the Mafia Commission and dismantle the entire system from the inside.
A perfect long con.
Except it didn't stay perfect.
Not long after killing Sparazza, the agent cut ties with the FBI completely. No contact, no control. Just… gone.
The plan collapsed.
The FBI had, quite literally, created a monster.
And to bury the fallout, they buried the truth. The file was sealed, the agent erased from records, his existence denied outright—as if he had never been part of the Bureau at all.
"So that's the truth… It wasn't Sparazza who killed the undercover agent—it was the agent who killed Sparazza and took his place."
The boss stared at the file, unable to steady his thoughts.
Time had erased most of the people involved—dead or retired, gone with history—but what remained was betrayal, layered over betrayal.
None of that mattered now.
What mattered was opportunity.
Compared to Sparazza—a high-ranking Mafia figure—what was Buddy? If Sparazza could be flipped, if he could be made to cooperate… then everything changes.
The boss's pulse quickened.
This was his shot.
He pulled out his phone and made another call.
"Sparazza's cardiac surgeons are ready," came the voice on the other end.
"Good. Move fast. Get Buddy there. Sparazza's people will cooperate."
"Understood… What about Brian and his team? They're already involved, and they don't know the truth. Should we tell them?"
"No."
The answer came instantly.
"The fewer people who know, the better. That old undercover case already dragged too many names into the mud. I'm not repeating that mistake. If this fails, we walk away clean."
He paused for a beat.
Then added, almost casually, "Besides, Buddy's death needs to look legitimate. We can't have people asking questions about missing hearts. The FBI doesn't officially do that."
Silence lingered on the other end for a moment.
"Brian worked years to get close to Luca… You're really just going to throw him away?"
The boss exhaled.
"Brian's the problem."
There was a hint of disappointment in his voice now.
"He's been undercover so long, he's forgotten who he is. Don't tell me he hasn't gathered anything useful all these years—I don't buy that. If he's not giving us intel, there's only one explanation: his loyalties have shifted."
And that was unacceptable.
Other agents had delivered results—solid, actionable results. The Bureau was already tightening the net around entire families because of them.
And Brian?
Nothing.
But it didn't matter anymore.
If this operation succeeded, the Mafia itself would collapse. Brian's assignment would be irrelevant. If it failed… well, then maybe Brian never existed as an agent at all.
"More dangerous than changing your face… is changing your heart."
Los Angeles was about 280 Miles from Las Vegas—a few hours' drive under normal conditions.
(TN: About 435–465 km)
Luca didn't care about normal.
He had the pedal floored, cutting through traffic like a blade, turning the desert highway into his personal racetrack. The engine roared as he pushed the car harder and harder.
For the first time, he regretted handing that GTR over to Toretto. With that machine, he'd already be in Vegas by now.
"How's it looking over there?" Luca asked through his headset.
Leon's voice came back steady and precise, laying out everything he'd seen. When he finished, Luca didn't respond right away.
A few seconds of silence stretched out.
"From what I can tell, Brian's involved somehow," Leon added. "I just don't know how. Is he trying to help you take Buddy out?"
"If only it were that simple," Luca muttered. "I'm more worried he's being played."
Brian was too straight. Too loyal. The kind of guy who believed in rules—even when the rules were written to screw him over.
That kind of person didn't last long in the FBI.
Or the Mafia.
Luca had seen it before—good men ground down by systems far dirtier than street crime. Compared to the mob, the Bureau played a much deeper game.
"Brian's not built for that kind of world," Luca said quietly.
Leon frowned. "Not built for what?"
"He's not built to stand alone," Luca replied. "Without us? What's he really got?"
He didn't elaborate. Not about Brian's identity. Not yet.
Leon was still too green for that kind of truth.
"Keep eyes on him," Luca continued. "Make sure he stays breathing. Nothing happens to him."
"Got it."
"I've already set the rest in motion. Once I get to Vegas… I'll clean everything up."
The line went dead.
Leon lowered the phone, glancing up just in time to see Brian heading back toward the hotel.
He watched him for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Brian… what the hell are you really trying to do?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
If you guys like this story, support me on P Site/OrbisTranslate
As Usual, each 100 Power Stones = 2 Bonus Chapters