Waking Up in the Underworld

The air inside the armored SUV was suffocating as Damon drove us personally toward the Boston docks, ignoring every traffic law in the state. Marcus sat in the passenger seat, barking orders into a encrypted radio, while I sat in the back, my hands trembling in my lap.

A message written in blood. Addressed to me.

"Damon, turn around," I pleaded, leaning forward between the front seats. "This is insane. They are targeting me to get to you. If you leave me out of this, if you just tell the council the truth—that I’m a nobody—they’ll back off."

Damon kept his eyes locked on the dark, wet road ahead, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were bone-white. "They won't back off, Vivian. The moment Rossi saw hesitation in my eyes this morning, you became a target. Telling the truth now won't save your life; it will only strip away your protection."

"He's right, Miss Cross," Marcus added grimly from the front seat. "In the syndicate, once a threat is made, backing down is interpreted as weakness. If the Boss drops you now, Rossi will take it as an invitation to slaughter everyone connected to you."

The cold reality of my situation settled over me like lead. I wasn't just playing a role to save my job anymore; I was fighting for my literal survival in a world I didn't even know existed twenty-four hours ago.

The SUV swerved sharply to the left, pulling through a breached chain-link gate and coming to a screeching halt.

Before us, massive steel warehouses were engulfed in towering orange flames, casting a hellish glow across the dark night sky. Fire crews were spraying torrents of water against the blazing metal, but the damage was already catastrophic.

Damon killed the engine and stepped out into the smoky air. I followed him closely, pulling my coat tighter around myself as the acrid smell of burning rubber and chemical accelerant filled my lungs.

In the center of the charred perimeter, a security gate had been painted with dripping, crimson lettering.

Damon walked up to it, his men falling into a protective tactical formation around us. He shined his tactical flashlight directly onto the wall.