They hadn’t co to the city for sightseeing.
They were here for blood, One of their own had been killed—a death that should never have happened.
And now it was their duty to find out who was responsible... and make them pay.
They had followed the trail, pulled at every thread.
And everything had led to one woman.
A woman who, according to the last communication their fallen mber had sent, was the last person he spoke to before his death.
A woman whose na now burned on their tongues.
As they stood outside a towering building, blending into the crowd, their eyes hardened, Could it really have been her?
Could she have killed one of their own?
Or was there more to the story they didn’t yet know?
One thing was certain, they weren’t leaving this city without answers.
And if anyone was involved, even for a second, there would be no forgiveness.
The three n stood under the shade of a nearby tree, the wind tugging lightly at their jackets as they stared down at the photo in their hands.
It was Maria’s picture her sharp features, her cold eyes, the arrogance she didn’t even try to hide.
Everything they had gathered so far, every whisper they had overheard from those too scared to speak openly, pointed to one thing:
Maria.
She was the last known person to give instructions to their fallen apprentice.
The last to speak with him before his sudden, unexplained death.
One of them, a man with a scar running from his jaw to his ear, muttered under his breath, "If we want to find the truth, it starts with her."
The others nodded grimly, without wasting another mont, they moved in unison toward their black SUV parked just a few ters away.
The engine roared to life, and they drove with sharp precision, weaving through the city’s streets like n on a mission.
Their faces remained hard, unreadable, even as they neared their destination, Valentina’s father’s house.
They pulled up to the modest estate, their eyes scanning the surroundings carefully.
It was a quiet neighborhood.
At that mont One of them stepped forward and knocked sharply on the door, his knuckles striking the wood with calm authority.
They didn’t have to wait long, the door creaked open, and there she was.
Maria, standing right in front of them.
She had no idea who they were — her face showed only mild curiosity and a hint of irritation, as if expecting it to be another of the countless ssengers she had gotten used to brushing off.
"Yes?" she asked coolly, eyeing them.
The three n exchanged a quick, knowing glance.
At that mont Maria’s eyes flickered downward for a brief second — just long enough to catch sight of the tattoo peeking from under the sleeves of one of the n.
Imdiately her heart dropped instantly.
She recognized it, the mark of the Black Bear — the feared group whispered about even in the darkest corners of the city.
And worse, it wasn’t just any mber’s mark, It was the sa design she had seen on the hand of their leader once before, during a brief, unfortunate encounter she had spent years trying to forget.
Her breath caught in her throat.
They’re here for , Maria could almost see the pieces snapping together, the timing, the whispers.
The death of the subordinate.
It wasn’t hard to guess.
They must have found out... or at least suspected that she was the last person who gave him orders.
Fear raced up her spine, but she swallowed hard, forcing a tight smile onto her lips.
She could feel her body trembling slightly, but she steeled herself, digging deep into the part of her that had survived far worse storms.
At that mont she opened the door wider, her voice coming out a little too bright, too fake.
"Please... co in."
The n exchanged a brief glance, their faces blank, but they stepped inside without hesitation, their heavy boots thudding against the tiled floor.
Maria closed the door behind them carefully, her hand lingering a second longer on the handle as if half-tempted to bolt.
But no, running would only confirm her guilt.
Think, Maria, think, She turned back to them, putting on her best mask of confidence, though inside her stomach twisted into knots.
She gestured toward the living room.
"Please, have a seat."
The three n settled onto the couches, their movents sharp, deliberate the way n moved when they were used to violence.
Maria forced herself to walk calmly to a single armchair facing them.
She was alone, no one else was ho.
There was no backup coming.
If anything was going to save her now, it would be her tongue her ability to lie, twist, and survive.
She crossed her legs slowly, trying to appear relaxed, though she could feel the slight tremble in her ankles.
And then, after a tight pause where the tension wrapped thick around them like smoke, Maria cleared her throat and spoke first.
"I suppose you didn’t co all this way just to admire the furniture."
Her voice was steady.
Too steady, she had decided speak with them freely.
The air in the room grew heavier, thick with unspoken tension as the three n stared coldly at Maria.
One of them, the one with the scar along his cheekbone, leaned forward slightly, his voice low and sharp like a blade against her throat.
"We are not here for play," he said, every word dripping with warning.
"We are not here to exchange words, we are not here to beat around the bush."
Maria’s fingers tightened instinctively against the hem of her skirt, but she forced herself to keep her face composed.
"We lost one of our loyal subordinates," the scarred man continued, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
"And from all indications... you were the last person who gave him a job."
The others said nothing, but their silence was louder than any threat, the room seed to shrink, pressing Maria further into the seat.
She felt it then the gravity of the situation.
One wrong word, one wrong move, and she might not leave this room breathing.
The scarred man’s voice cut, through her thoughts.
"We want to know... what kind of job you gave him, how dangerous was it? And who... exactly... was the target?"
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