Page 48 of Vows in Sin
They’ve not only been born into the code.
They know how to code.
They’re fluid. Decentralized. Hidden in the glow of screens and encrypted apps, scattered across the city like ghosts with guns. The city stretches before me, glittering, alive.
The apartment lights flicker. Offices hum. Cars weave through the city streets as I speed by them.
The Morettis—they don’t need fortresses.
Spread across encrypted networks. Phantoms with SIM cards.
I used to think we ruled New York from the shadows.
They don’t need walls.
They’re not in hiding.
They’reeverywhere.
For the first time in forever, she’s the furthest thing from my mind. I’ve made a mistake. I’ve been too focused on her to see the threat that surrounds us.
Last week, rumors circulated in the neighborhood. Blaze’s former informant from the Morrettis, a childhood friend, gave us a cryptic warning. A tiny piece of information that almost slipped past me in my distracted state. Word is that he told someone who told someone else, who told someone to pass a message to Blaze. A vague baseball reference.
One strike and they’re out.
Somehow, it all comes to the front at once, forming a tight fist in the center of my gut. I’m already dialing Rockland by the time I hit the turnoff. “I need you to trust me,” I say. He knows by my tone—no argument. “We need to evacuate the Village.”
A digital monster with a thousand heads and no central core to target.
And while we have incredible tech, it has evolved, growing as we do. Not them. Over the past ten years, we’ve been expanding our physical territory; they’ve been doing the same.
Quiet. Ruthless. Untraceable. One block. One byte. One burner text at a time.
They’ve created an untouchable empire.
God help us…
We’ve been fighting an old war.
And they’ve already started a new one.
Please don’t let it be too late.
I rev the engine and tear towards the Village.
Bachman Avenue is deceptively peaceful beneath the glow of streetlights and ivy-covered walls. Rows of brownstone stores, windows darkened for the night, guard our precious secret, protect the elegant lines of townhomes hidden behind them.
It all looks so perfect. So safe. And so terribly, terribly vulnerable.
In minutes, the serene façade shatters like glass.
As I reach the gates, families are spilling out of them into the night, carrying silver-framed photos, crying children, loaded pistols. Phones light up like a thousand fireflies as our alert system broadcasts the evacuation order.
A chorus of the pre-recorded warning speaks calmly on repeat.
Leave the Village. Find your way to the Gates. Go to Bachman Avenue. There will be cars waiting to escort you to the tarmac. Please account for immediate family. Report back if any members are unaccounted for. Leave the Village. Find your way to the gates. Go to Bachman Ave?—
Black sedans line up in the cobblestone streets like a funeral procession.
