Twisted Obsession

42 - Subterfuge

Athena Luciana Bianchi

All of us were ready—Riccardo, Elliot, Carlos, and me. Federico, as always, was the last one to gear up.

Finally, he stood, pulling a sleek black balaclava over his face. The fabric framed his sharp features, leaving only his dark hazel eyes visible, their intensity seeming to pierce through the dimly lit room. He slid on a pair of black gloves with a deliberate tug and grabbed an HK416 assault rifle from the table.

"I've got five snipers positioned with clear sights on the Decloroix mansion. If anything happens, we'll know before they do," he said, his voice low and steady as he glanced between Elliot and me.

Elliot sat in the control room, headphones snug over his ears, his gaze fixed on the screens. Yet when he noticed me preparing to leave, he pushed back his chair and walked over.

"Good luck, Athena. Be safe," he murmured, pulling me into a brief, tight hug.

Through the balaclava, I smiled softly, even though he couldn't see it. "You know I will," I assured him, my voice calm but firm.

Elliot nodded, stepping back, but I caught the glimmer of moisture in his eyes. As a single tear escaped down his cheek, I gently wiped it away with my gloved hand. "We'll be back soon, okay?" I promised.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to compose himself. Then, with a small, wavering smile, he nodded again.

"Where's my good luck and kiss goodbye?" Federico chimed in with his usual mocking tone, breaking the moment.

I shot him a glare. "Let's go," I said curtly, planting a firm hand on his back and steering him toward the door.

Before leaving, I glanced over my shoulder at Carlos. He caught my eye and gave a quick wave. I returned it with a nod, and then we were gone.

Outside Riccardo's mansion, the air was sharp with the scent of gasoline and tension. Parked in a neat row under the dim glow of security lights were four black, bulletproof G-Wagons. Their polished surfaces reflected the night, looking like sleek predators ready to pounce.

Riccardo and Carlos were already outside, busy prepping the convoy. Carlos barked rapid orders in Spanish to Federico's men, his voice sharp and commanding, slicing through the crisp night air like a whip. The eleven men, all clad in black tactical gear, moved with precision. Their faces were hidden behind balaclavas, only their eyes visible—cold, calculating, and ready for war. Each carried an assault rifle slung across their chest, their movements rehearsed and deliberate.

I stood near the entrance, Federico at my side. He adjusted the strap of his rifle, his eyes scanning the scene with a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. I could feel his excitement—it was always palpable with him before an operation like this.

But my focus wasn't on him. Not entirely. My gaze swept over the team and the vehicles, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to savor the sight. My plan was in motion, finally.

This wasn't just a mission for me; it was the mission. Years of planning, scheming, waiting, all boiling down to this one night. The thought of Lorenzo—the man who had destroyed so much of my life—fueled the fire in my chest. Soon, he would pay. Soon, I'd watch his empire crumble beneath the weight of his arrogance, and I'd be the one standing at the top, watching it all burn.

I clenched my fists, my gloves creaking softly. I had been meticulous in my preparation, enduring endless sleepless nights as I wove the threads of this plan together. Every piece was falling into place now. The Decloroix mansion, the snipers, the team, the escape routes—every detail had been accounted for.