Milan slept under a false sense of peace, but inside the abandoned train yard on the city's outskirts, chaos was brewing. Juliet moved like a shadow between rusted containers, her weapon drawn, earpiece crackling with Antonio's voice.
"They're here," he said. "Five, maybe six men. Armed."
"Copy," Juliet replied, eyes sharp as she scanned the scene.
Tonight was a sting operation. One of Giovanni's remaining lieutenants was making a weapons exchange. But Juliet wasn't here for the bust alone. She was here to send a message—that the new Milan wouldn't tolerate the old ways.
She moved closer to the meeting point, breath even, steps silent.
Then—gunfire.
Shots burst into the night like fireworks.
Juliet ducked behind a metal crate, heart pounding. From her angle, she saw Antonio firing from higher ground, covering her position.
And then another shadow slipped into the chaos—Adonis.
He moved with purpose, weapon aimed, eyes scanning with instinct honed by prison and pain. He wasn't officially part of the operation, but Juliet had sent him the coordinates anyway. She didn't know what that meant—breaking protocol, blurring lines—but in her gut, she knew she needed him there.
A figure ran toward Juliet—gun raised. She fired once, straight to the chest. He dropped like dead weight.
Adonis reached her seconds later.
"You good?" he asked.
She nodded. "You?"
He smirked. "Didn't even break a sweat."
They moved together like they'd trained for years—covering each other, watching each other's blind spots. A silent trust had formed between them. Unspoken, but solid.
Within minutes, the rest of the gunmen were down. Antonio signaled the all-clear from above.
Adonis looked at Juliet. "One of them was Giovanni's nephew."
Juliet raised a brow. "We'll leak it. Let the rest of his men know that loyalty to Giovanni ends in blood."
She didn't realize she was trembling slightly until Adonis stepped closer.
"You need a minute?"
"No," she said quickly, too quickly. "I'm fine."
But he saw it—the twitch in her hand, the distant look in her eyes. The ghosts.
Adonis reached out and, without a word, gently touched her arm. It was the first time they had touched without violence or urgency.
Just... presence.
"Next time," he said quietly, "don't run into fire alone."
Juliet gave a half-laugh. "I thought you liked fire."
"I do. But not when it's trying to kill you."
Their eyes held for a moment longer than necessary.
Then Antonio's voice interrupted.
"You two lovebirds wanna wrap it up? We've got paperwork."
Juliet rolled her eyes, but her heart was beating just a little faster.
The following day, Juliet stood in the commissioner's office. Sunlight streamed through the blinds as Commissioner Bellini flipped through her case report.
"You've done good work, Moretti," he said without looking up. "Exceptional, even."
"Thank you, sir."
Bellini looked up now. "Which is why I'm offering you a new position. Special Task Force. You'll lead it. Targeting organized crime at the highest level."
Juliet blinked. "I didn't know such a task force existed."
"It didn't. You're the reason it will."
A small flicker of pride passed through her. But it was quickly followed by something colder.
"What's the catch?"
Bellini smiled. "Full authority. But total accountability. If you step outside the lines—even once—you take the fall."
Juliet nodded slowly. "I'll do it."
"Good," Bellini said. "And Moretti?"
"Yes?"
"Watch your back. The deeper you dig, the dirtier things get."
That evening, she met Adonis on the rooftop of his building. The wind carried the scent of rain and the hum of a city that never really rested.
She told him about the task force.
He listened silently, leaning against the railing.
"You're going to be in danger," he said finally. "Real danger."
"I already am."
He looked at her, something unreadable behind those hazel eyes. "You could walk away. Leave Milan. Leave all of this."
Juliet laughed quietly. "You forget who you're talking to."
He smiled faintly. "No. I remember exactly who you are."
There was a pause. One of those silences that meant everything.
"You're not afraid to lose yourself in this, are you?" he asked.
Juliet turned to face him fully. "No. I'm afraid of losing the people I care about."
He stepped closer. Close enough for her to see the scar near his collarbone, the one he never talked about. "Don't get yourself killed, Juliet."
"I could say the same to you."
They were inches apart now.
She didn't move.
Neither did he.
But something passed between them then—an understanding that they were no longer just allies, no longer just partners in war.
They were becoming something more.
Not lovers yet.
But no longer enemies.
Far across the city, in a quiet villa by the lake, an old man poured himself a drink and stared at the newspaper headline:
"MAFIA STRONGHOLD COLLAPSES – Moretti and De Luca Lead Takedown."
The man smiled darkly. "Fools."
He picked up a phone and dialed.
"It's time," he said into the receiver. "Tell the others. If we want to keep Milan, we'll have to bleed for it."