Chapter 61

The abandoned subway station hummed with ghostly energy, its flickering lights casting long, jagged shadows. The air was stale, thick with the scent of rust, damp concrete, and something metallic-blood, perhaps, or just the ghosts of old violence.

Enzo paced, his boots scuffing against the cracked tile floor, phone pressed to his ear, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The dim, buzzing light overhead stuttered, casting his shadow in jagged, uneven shapes against the wall. His heart pounded hard against his ribs, his pulse a steady drum in his ears.

The voice on the other end was calm. Too calm.

"Make your choice," the mole said, their voice smooth, deliberate, taunting.

The words cut deeper than any blade.

Enzo's grip tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening. His fingers itched for his gun, but he knew that wouldn't help him here. Not yet. He forced himself to breathe, slow and steady, though every instinct screamed at him to move, to act, to do something.

Tony's bruised face flashed in Enzo's mind. The image was seared there like a brand-blood smeared across his skin, his breath shallow, his eyes barely open. His best friend, his brother, was hanging onto life by a thread, and Enzo had the power to pull him back.

But on the other side of this twisted game, the mole was dangling just out of reach-a phantom orchestrating their downfall from the shadows. They had been one step ahead this whole time, like a predator playing with its prey, toying with them just for the thrill of it.

A chill crawled down Enzo's spine.

Isabella stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her posture was rigid, but the slight tension in her jaw, the flicker of hesitation in her eyes, told Enzo she was thinking the same thing he was. What if this was the last chance? What if they lost everything?

"They want you to choose," she said, voice quiet but firm, cutting through the thick silence. Her gaze held his, unwavering. "Tony or the truth."

Enzo exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. His mind was a battlefield of logic and emotion, reason warring with the unbearable weight of guilt.

He could save Tony. Or end this war.

The train rails trembled faintly beneath them, a distant rumbling growing louder in the tunnels. The sound sent a pulse of urgency through him, reminding him that time was running out. He had seconds-seconds-to make a choice that would change everything.

The phone in his grip felt heavier now, the silence stretching unbearably between him and the mole. Then, finally, a soft chuckle echoed through the receiver.

"Tick-tock, Enzo."

The line went dead.

The rooftop was a battleground of wind and shadows, the city stretching endlessly below, lights twinkling like shattered glass. The rain lashed against the concrete, relentless and cold, soaking through their clothes and chilling them to the bone. The storm had transformed the skyline into a blur of motion, distorted and chaotic.

Enzo and Isabella stood near the edge, muscles coiled, breaths heavy, their bodies tense as if expecting an attack at any second. Across from them, the mole stood with an eerie calm, hands tucked into the pockets of their coat, as though they weren't standing in the middle of a war.

"You still don't get it, do you?" the mole said, tilting their head, amusement glinting in their sharp eyes. Their voice carried over the rain, smooth and mocking.

Enzo's hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. Everything had led to this moment. Every betrayal, every death, every whispered lie in the dark. Yet, somehow, the answer still felt just out of reach. He had played their game, chased every lead, lost too many people along the way-and still, they were ahead.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Isabella snapped, stepping forward. The blade in her hand gleamed under the city lights, rain dripping from its edge.

The mole chuckled, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. "You think this is about Moretti versus your little band of rebels? About revenge?" They shook their head, a smirk playing on their lips. "No. It was never that simple."

A pit opened in Enzo's stomach. His finger twitched near the trigger of his gun, but something about the way the mole smiled-like they knew something he didn't-froze him in place.

The wind howled between them.

Then, a flicker of movement-a faint red light.

Enzo's breath caught.

The laser sight hovered over his chest.

Isabella saw it at the same time.

Her breath hitched. Sniper.

They weren't alone.

Time slowed.

The sharp crack of a gunshot sliced through the air like a blade.

Isabella moved first. She lunged, fingers digging into Enzo's shoulder, yanking him aside just as the bullet shattered the concrete where he had been standing a second before.

The mole didn't flinch, didn't move-because they didn't need to.

This wasn't just a standoff.

It was an execution.

Enzo barely had time to register the movement before the mole charged.

The impact was brutal. It knocked the air from his lungs, his back slamming against the wet concrete as they collided. His boots skidded against the slick surface, struggling to find balance. The mole was faster than they should've been, their strength fueled by something far beyond desperation.

And then-the edge.

Enzo's back hit the low barrier. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he teetered dangerously over the ledge. One wrong move, and he'd be nothing but a memory.

The rain pounded against his skin, cold and relentless. The city stretched below, a sprawling sea of lights and streets, distant and uncaring.

The mole smirked, eyes dark and unfeeling.

"Goodbye, Enzo."

Then they shoved.

The world flipped upside down.

The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white. The wind screamed past his ears, his stomach lurching as gravity yanked him down. The moment stretched, infinite and cruel-

Then-a hand.

Pain exploded through his arm as his fall came to a violent halt, his shoulder nearly wrenched from its socket. His breath left him in a sharp gasp. He looked up, rain stinging his eyes, and saw Isabella clinging to him.

Her fingers were wrapped around his wrist with everything she had, her face twisted with effort. But her grip was slipping.

The rain made their hands slick, the weight of his body dragging him down inch by inch. Isabella's muscles trembled under the strain, her breath ragged and desperate.

"Don't you dare," she growled through gritted teeth, eyes blazing with sheer determination.

Above her, the mole stood watching, head tilted slightly, as if bored.

Enzo's fingers spasmed.

The wind howled. The city stretched below, waiting.

The rain fell harder.

And his grip began to slip.