Chapter 45

(Tony's POV)

Marco leaned in, his smirk widening, his words dripping with the kind of poison that could rot a man from the inside out.

"Here's the deal, Tony. You work with me. You give me everything you've got-every bit of intel you've collected-and you'll have everything you've ever wanted. Power. Control. Freedom."

His voice was smooth, like a well-rehearsed speech. Like he had said these exact words before-to men who had once thought they could escape him.

I felt my pulse quicken. I'd be lying if I said the temptation wasn't there. After everything, wasn't that what I had been fighting for? To have control over my own damn life? To stop running, stop hiding, and finally stand at the top where no one could pull the strings but me?

I could take the deal. I could walk away from this nightmare with more power than I had ever dreamed of.

But at what cost?

I already knew the answer.

"No deal," I said firmly, my voice unwavering.

Marco's smirk faltered, just for a second. Then it returned, but it wasn't amused this time. It was cold. Calculating.

"You're making a mistake," he said.

I let out a slow breath, keeping my gaze locked on his. "No. You are."

The tension in the room thickened like smoke, choking out any air left between us. I had made my choice. And I knew-this was the moment that sealed my fate.

Before Marco could respond, the door slammed open with a force that made the walls shake.

I turned sharply, my instincts kicking in, my hand already inching toward my gun-

And then I saw him.

Michael.

My breath caught. For a second, my brain refused to process it.

Michael? Michael?

He was supposed to be dead.

Yet, there he stood, alive and well, a smug grin on his face like he had been waiting for this moment.

"I had a feeling this would happen," Michael said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You never could resist the call of power, could you, Tony?"

My body went rigid.

What the hell was he talking about?

The room felt like it had shrunk to just the two of us. The world outside didn't exist. Just me and the man who had once been my closest friend.

"You," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "It was you?"

The pieces started clicking together in my mind, a puzzle that had been sitting unsolved for far too long. The leaks. The close calls. The Syndicate always being one step ahead.

Michael had been the mole all along.

I swallowed hard. "Tell me this isn't what it looks like."

Michael chuckled. "Oh, Tony. Still so naïve." He stepped forward, looking almost pitying. Almost. "You were always too caught up in your damn morals. In loyalty. But loyalty doesn't keep you alive."

I clenched my fists, anger rising in my chest like wildfire. "And betrayal does?"

Michael's smirk didn't fade. "Betrayal keeps you relevant."

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to grab him by the throat and make him feel every bit of the rage clawing inside me.

But I didn't move.

Because deep down, I already knew-this wasn't just some betrayal.

This was an execution.

"I didn't want it to come to this," Michael said, shaking his head. "But you made your choice."

And with that, everything fell apart.

The next few seconds happened in a blur.

Michael moved fast-faster than I remembered.

Before I could react, he pulled out a gun and shoved the barrel straight into my chest.

I froze.

For a split second, all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat, hammering in my ears like a war drum.

This was it.

I stared into Michael's eyes, searching for something-guilt, hesitation, even regret.

There was none.

Just cold, steely resolve.

He was really going to do it.

"Goodbye, Tony."

Michael's finger twitched on the trigger.

I had less than a second to act.

Move.

My body reacted before my mind could fully process what was happening.

I twisted sharply to the side just as the gun went off.

BANG.

Pain exploded through my shoulder, the bullet grazing me instead of hitting my chest.

I stumbled back, clutching the wound, but I didn't have time to dwell on it.

Michael cursed under his breath, already aiming again.

I lunged.

With everything I had, I threw myself at him, knocking the gun out of his hand. It clattered to the floor, skidding across the concrete.

For a second, we were both weaponless. Just two men, two former friends, locked in a fight where only one would walk away.

Michael recovered fast, swinging at me. I ducked, barely avoiding the punch.

Then I hit back.

My fist connected with his jaw, hard enough to send him stumbling. But Michael wasn't down yet.

I braced myself as he came at me again, fury in his eyes.

We crashed into the metal shelves, sending tools and supplies tumbling around us. The warehouse echoed with the sounds of grunts, fists meeting flesh, and the occasional crash of something breaking.

He got a hit in-his elbow slamming into my ribs. I gritted my teeth against the pain.

This wasn't just a fight.

This was years of trust, shattered in an instant.

Michael grabbed me by the collar, slamming me against the wall.

"Why couldn't you just take the deal?" he hissed.

I glared at him, blood dripping from my lip. "Because I'm not a traitor."

Michael's eyes darkened. "Then you're a dead man."

He reached for his gun.

I didn't hesitate.

Grabbing a wrench from the nearby table, I swung.

The metal connected with his wrist, sending the gun flying again.

Michael let out a sharp cry, stumbling back, clutching his arm.

I didn't stop.

I tackled him to the ground, pinning him down.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, both of us breathing hard, sweat and blood mixing between us.

Then I spoke, my voice quiet but firm.

"You were my brother, Michael."

Something flickered in his eyes-guilt? Regret? I'd never know.

Before he could answer, the doors burst open again.

And this time, we weren't alone.

Syndicate reinforcements.

And they weren't here to talk.