Location: Cascella – Private Tarmac, Outskirts
The sleek, unmarked jet descended onto the damp runway under the cloak of night. Cascella's humid air wrapped itself around the aircraft like a warning—thick, quiet, watching. At the far end of the strip, a pair of black SUVs idled, headlights off, engines humming low.
Harold stepped down from the aircraft, his face partly obscured by a gray scarf and fedora. But the mask of elegance couldn't hide the twitch in his jaw or the glance over his shoulder. He was expecting shadows—and he was right to.
Inside the nearest SUV, a figure waited. Vincent Blaire.
Tall, silver-haired, with a face carved by ambition and betrayal, Vincent exuded the kind of charm that made devils seem polite. He wore a pale-gray suit, spotless, despite the dust. He didn't bother to greet Harold with a handshake—just a nod and a smirk.
"You're late," Vincent said, voice smooth like poisoned silk.
"Storms," Harold replied curtly, sliding into the back seat.
Vincent leaned forward, hand resting on the briefcase between them. "I take it you have the updated codes?"
Harold hesitated. "Yes. But Damien's starting to circle. His woman's catching on too."
Vincent chuckled softly. "Let them circle. They're not prepared for what's coming. Once the Falcon Protocol is activated, Tavara won't belong to the Lanes, or the Crosswells, or even the council. It will be ours."
Harold looked out the window, jaw tightening. "My niece... she won't go down quietly."
"She doesn't have to go down," Vincent said slowly. "She just needs to be... redirected. There are ways. Influence. Leverage. Or—if we must—force."
Harold turned his head sharply. "She's not to be touched."
Vincent's smile didn't fade. "That depends on you, old friend. Stay useful, and she remains unharmed. Turn sentimental..." His voice dropped. "And sentiment gets you killed."
---
Meanwhile – En Route to Cascella, Damien's Jet
Damien studied the live satellite feed on the tablet as Logan paced behind him.
"They met. Confirmed. Transmission just went dark after Harold entered the car."
Damien nodded slowly. "And you're sure it's Blaire?"
"Biometric match. Voiceprint. Facial scans. It's him."
Damien's eyes flicked to the second screen—an encrypted message left by Ashford: "Blaire's reach extends beyond Tavara. He's compromised three governments. Don't engage without backup."
Logan read it over Damien's shoulder. "You're not going to listen, are you?"
Damien smirked faintly. "I didn't build an empire by asking for permission."
He looked out the window, eyes burning with purpose. "This ends tonight. No more shadows. No more whispers. It's time Tavara sees the war they've been pretending doesn't exist."