Page 56 of Rafi

Silence settles between us, heavy and suffocating. My thoughts spiral, each one darker than the last. Vasili Teskin’s name looms like a storm cloud, casting a shadow over everything. This wasn’t random. The attack at the shelter, the ambush at the docks—none of it. How many times has the bastard tried to kill her? How many more will he try before we put an end to him?

I push back my chair and stand abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor. “Come on. We need to get to the war room.”

Tayana hesitates but follows, clutching her cardigan tightly around her. Her steps are quiet, but the tension radiating off her is deafening. We make our way down the corridor, and I don’t bother masking the storm brewing inside me.

Scar is already in the war room when we arrive, standing by the table with Kanyan. The portable whiteboard is set up, covered in scribbled names and lines that crisscross like a chaotic spiderweb. Scar’s gaze flicks to me, then to Tayana, his expression unreadable.

Kanyan steps forward, marker in hand. “So, we have three players on the scene now,” he says, standing at the portable whiteboard and jotting down names. He rattles off his thoughtsas he writes, while Tayana stands beside me, drawing her cardigan closed as though the whispered names of the men she’s afraid of can somehow seep into her skin and ice her over.

“Vasili Teskin. Public enemy number one. His involvement in the wedding shootout ties directly to the intercepted cargo. It’s safe to assume the hit was retaliation for that loss. Confirmation should be coming through any minute now.”

Scar hums in agreement, his arms crossed over his chest. I lean against the table, thumb pressed against my chin as I mull over the pieces. It all fits too neatly.

Kanyan continues, adding another name to the board. “Daniel Russo. Enemy number two. His attempts on the lives of Jack and Jacklyn Vicci, as well as his role in the Vicci uprising, place him squarely in the threat category. The fallout from that incident would be a fresh wound for him and he’s likely regrouping.”

“And our third player?” Scar asks, his tone clipped.

“Igor Aslanov,” Kanyan replies, underlining the name. “His association with Russo suggests he’s a threat, but we’re still piecing together his full involvement.”

He turns to Tayana, his expression hardening. “Tayana, I need you to put aside your feelings about your uncle for a moment. Whatever he’s done, whatever life he’s chosen to lead, we need clarity. Has he ever physically hurt you? Or intentionally caused you emotional harm?”

Tayana freezes, her posture stiffening as she processes the question. I can see the wheels turning in her mind as she sifts through memories, each one dragging her further into the past. Her knuckles whiten as she grips the edge of her cardigan and frowns as realization dawns on her.

“No,” she breathes, and it feels like she’s exhaling a long held secret. “No, he hasn’t.”

The room falls silent, her admission hanging in the air. I glance at Scar, whose expression softens ever so slightly, then back to Tayana. Her shoulders sag, the weight of her confession visibly lifting, while the storm in her eyes remains. She’s still holding onto something, and I’m not sure if she’s ready to let it go.

32

RAFI

Things go from bad to worse, or maybe they fall into place the way they’re meant to. Lucky passes his phone to Scar, who stares down at the screen, his expression darkening with each second that ticks by. Across the room, Jacklyn Vicci leans against the wall, her arms crossed tightly, her stance more armor than comfort.

Scar breaks the silence, his voice rough like gravel. “Jacklyn,” he says, lifting his gaze to her. “You’re sure about this?”

Her eyes narrow, flashing with defiance. “I don’t guess, Scar. If Russo and Igor are anywhere, it’s on my property.” Her words are clipped, the bitterness in her tone unmistakable. “I don’t know how the fucker has the nerve, but the security logs don’t lie.”

Jacklyn’s compound, once a symbol of her power and authority, has been abandoned for months. It had been her fortress, her sanctuary. But after Daniel Russo’s vicious attack left the property in ruins, she’d had no choice but to move in with Lucky at the Gatti estate. It hadn’t been an easy decision. Jacklyn had fought it, clinging to the pride the compound represented. Lucky, ever the smooth talker, had convinced herit was the only way. He’d made promises: they would rebuild the compound, restore it to its former glory, and bring back her loyal men once Daniel Russo was found and dealt with. In his absence, it was not safe to make a move. Most importantly, he had vowed to bring her brother, Jack, back from Ukraine, where she had sent him for his own safety, believing that her own life was nearing its end.

Now, the once-grand estate stood silent, a wounded ghost of its former self. The irony is not lost on any of us that the place Jacklyn abandoned to protect herself has become Russo’s stronghold. And, we believe, also the new home of Igor Aslanov. Twisted poetry, fitting for the lives we lead.

Scar exhales and leans back in his chair, his expression a mix of curiosity and irritation. “How the hell did he get in without anyone noticing? We pulled your men off, sure, but zero activity?”

Jacklyn straightens, her voice steady. “There’s an underground tunnel that leads from the crypt to the main house.”

Scar’s brows knit as he nods, understanding dawning. The old families had a penchant for building tunnels, originally used during Prohibition to move liquor and later for less savory enterprises. Most have fallen into disuse, but some, like the one at Jacklyn’s compound, remain functional. The estate backs onto a cemetery where her ancestors are buried—a detail Russo clearly exploited.

“So Daniel knows about the tunnel?” I ask, the thought gnawing at me.

“Of course he does,” Jacklyn replies, her tone bitter. “He spent four years in that house. There’s no way he wouldn’t have discovered it.”

Lucky chimes in, his voice edged with anger. “He must’ve planned for this from the start. He would’ve learned every inch of that property in preparation for his eventual attack.”

“Four years,” Jacklyn repeats, her voice laced with disdain. “Plenty of time to map it out.”

I glance at her. “But how did he think he’d get away with this? There are cameras everywhere.”

Jacklyn’s expression darkens. “He destroyed the cameras during the attack, knowing it would leave me blind if I ever went back. But he didn’t know about the crevice cameras.”

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