Page 52 of Until the Ink runs Crimson

"Two dozen men per site. Full demolition sweep. Burn it to the foundation. If there’s furniture left standing, it’s a failure."

I pace behind the table, anger burning through me, pulling at my limbs like a heavy weight.

"Explosives at their southern safehouses. Ethan, coordinate with our demolition crew. No traceable residue. I want fire, not evidence.

"Crivelli," I snap, turning to a wiry man near the door, "I want every De Corsi warehouse under surveillance within twelve hours. If they so much as light a cigarette, I want to know before the ash hits the ground.

"Lucrezia," I continue, "dig into their banking records. Every laundering trail, every offshore transfer. Track every cent. Find the dirty officials Zano keeps in his pocket. I want them flipped—or buried."

"We’ve already started scrubbing their shell companies," she answers smoothly.

"Not fast enough. I want them gasping for air by tomorrow night."

Calista’s voice breaks through the storm. "Hit them where it hurts first. Their human pipeline. Shut it down, expose it. Zano built his legacy on cages. Let’s rip the doors off."

Everyone turns to her.

And I turn too, meeting her eyes.

That fire in her is real. Not just heat—it’s controlled, burning with purpose. There’s blood on her skin and fury in her voice.

I nod once, slowly, a glimmer of pride sparking beneath the rage. She didn’t just speak—she commanded. And the plan she laid out was sharp, targeted, merciless. A strike to the heart, not just the body.

"You heard her," I say, letting my voice carry that pride masked in steel. "Start with the cages."

"That’ll ignite federal heat," Barone mutters, uncertain.

"Let it," I growl. "Let the world see who he really is. Let them see us tear it all down."

Ethan steps forward again, pointing to the map. "Rossi, Bay Shore team. Barone, Harlem. I’ll lead Queens. If you find any of his lieutenants—alive. We break them until they scream."

"And the civilians caught in the crossfire?" Barone dares to ask.

"They chose their rooms. They share the fire."

"This war won’t be quiet," Ethan warns. "Police. Media. Politicians."

"Good," I snap. "Let the city see what happens when De Corsi bleeds Virelli blood."

Aaron chuckles, grim and breathless. "They’ll call it a massacre."

"No," I say, voice low and final. "They’ll call it a message."

The room stills. Decisions solidify. Everyone knows what’s coming.

"No one leaves this building tonight," I order. "Briefing rotations start in an hour. Armory access is restricted to my clearance. Phones locked. Burner lines only for seventy-two hours. Lucrezia, get our political assets lined. Ethan, seal our digital trail. I want ghosts on the wire."

"And Calista?" Barone asks again, softer this time.

"She’s off-limits," I snap. "Anyone who so much as whispers her name with intent will be dead before the sentence finishes."

But I know. I know she’s not just a bystander anymore. She’s a storm walking beside me.

As the meeting dissolves, chairs scraping and orders echoing into movement, I linger near the door.

Calista walks past me slowly, her shoulder brushing mine—not by accident, but with a quiet defiance that sends a bolt of heat through my veins. I feel the warmth of her company, her strength pressed lightly against me, and it anchors me more than I care to admit.

I don’t look at her at first—but I feel her. Every breath. Every beat. Then I turn my head, just enough to catch her gaze. The room might be emptying around us, but in that moment, it’s only her.

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