Chapter 15
2300 Words
Mickey moves swiftly into the darkness, his footsteps soundless on the damp earth. The cool evening air prickles at his skin, but it does little to distract him. He scans the shadows where the figure had stood moments ago, his sharp gaze dissecting every corner.
Nothing.
He waits, his hand itching toward the concealed knife strapped to his thigh. Still, no sound, no movement. Just an oppressive silence that feels like it’s mocking him.
“Coward,” he mutters under his breath, stepping further into the shadows.
Mickey knows better than to dismiss what he saw. That figure wasn’t just some random trespasser. No, it was a message—a deliberate move. The lingering unease gnaws at him, but he forces it down. He can’t afford to jump to conclusions. Not yet.
After another few minutes of fruitless searching, he heads back to Ziana, who is pacing by the equipment pile.
“Well?” she snaps the moment he’s in earshot.
“False alarm,” Mickey says smoothly, plastering on his signature smirk. “Probably just some local playing hide-and-seek. You’ve got nothing to worry about, ma’am.”
Her glare doesn’t soften. “You sure? Because you looked like you were ready to take someone’s head off.”
Mickey shrugs. “Occupational hazard. I see shadows, I get twitchy.”
She narrows her eyes but doesn’t press further. “Fine. But next time, leave the heroics to me, Morningstar.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with mock obedience, saluting her lazily before turning away.
But as he walks off, his expression darkens. He knows exactly who that figure was connected to. It had to be *Him*, the twisted puppet master who’s been orchestrating every move like a demented chess game.
Mickey clenches his fists, the weight of the revelation settling in his chest like lead.
---
Later that evening, the atmosphere shifts. The recruits, fresh from dinner and half-asleep, are startled awake by a commanding voice booming through the barracks.
“Everyone, formation outside! Now!”
Mickey groans, rolling off his cot with exaggerated effort. “This better be good. If it’s another motivational speech, I’m faking a faint.”
Ziana, already halfway to the door, shoots him a sharp look. “Get moving, Morningstar. Unless you want me dragging you by your ears.”
“Tempting offer,” Mickey quips, smirking as he follows her outside.
The recruits gather under the harsh glare of floodlights, their confusion mirrored in their murmurs. The commander stands at the front, his expression unreadable but intense.
“Tonight,” the commander begins, “we’re putting your training to the test.”
A ripple of unease spreads through the crowd.
“You will be infiltrating the warehouse of a notorious Mafia organization,” he continues, his voice steady and sharp. “This isn’t a drill. The target is Lupi Di Sangue—The Blood Wolves.”
Mickey freezes.
The Blood Wolves.
He keeps his face neutral, but inside, a storm rages. Lupi Di Sangue isn’t just any Mafia. It’s one of the most ruthless organizations in the country—and currently in negotiations to partner with his own group, I Cobra Mortali.
“s**t,” Mickey mutters under his breath, his jaw tightening.
“Something wrong, Morningstar?” Ziana asks, noticing his sudden tension.
“Nothing,” he says quickly, flashing her a grin. “Just digesting dinner. Spaghetti and covert missions don’t mix.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but the commander’s next words cut off her reply.
“You will move in teams,” the commander says. “Your objective is to gather intel and, if necessary, neutralize threats. Do not underestimate them. Lupi Di Sangue is known for their brutality.”
Mickey zones out, his mind racing. Partnering with The Black Shadows was supposed to be a power move for I Cobra Mortali, a way to solidify their dominance in Seattle. But if the military takes them down tonight, that partnership—and his credibility as a Mafia boss—will go up in flames.
He’s trapped.
Does he protect Lupi Di Sangue l, risking exposure and jeopardizing his cover? Or does he go along with the mission, betraying an alliance he’s worked hard to secure?
“Mickey,” Ziana’s voice pulls him back to the present.
He glances at her, her sharp hazel eyes filled with suspicion.
“You’re awfully quiet for someone who never shuts up,” she says. “What’s going on?”
Mickey forces a grin. “Just mentally prepping, Red. Can’t infiltrate a Mafia warehouse without the right mindset.”
She huffs but doesn’t push further, turning her attention back to the commander.
Mickey, however, isn’t listening. His mind is a battlefield, torn between loyalty to his organization and the need to keep his cover intact.
The commander’s final words ring out like a death knell:
“Mission begins in thirty minutes. Dismissed.”
As the recruits scatter to gear up, Mickey lingers in the shadows, his gaze dark and unreadable.
He pulls out his phone, typing a quick, cryptic message:
“Change of plans. Stay low.”
Who the message is for remains a mystery, but one thing is certain: Mickey Morningstar is about to make a decision that could alter everything.
The clock ticks down, the weight of his choices pressing heavier with every passing second.
Thirty minutes.
Time to choose a side.
And no matter what, someone’s going to pay the price.
XXXXX
Mickey’s mind is a storm as he watches the recruits chatter nervously, their formations ragged under the dimming evening sky. The commander’s announcement echoes in his ears like a cruel joke.
"Infiltrating Lupi Di Sangue," he mutters under his breath, the name twisting in his gut.
This is not just any organization. *Lupi Di Sangue* is the Mafia Mickey's I Cobra Mortali is in delicate negotiations with. A partnership that could solidify their dominance—or destroy everything.
"Morningstar, focus up!" Ziana’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. She’s pacing the line, her fiery hair catching the last rays of sunlight, her sharp eyes scanning the recruits.
Mickey straightens, his jaw tightening. His mask of indifference slips back into place, but inside, his thoughts churn. How the hell is he supposed to play both sides here?
---
Later that evening, Mickey sits in a secluded corner of the base, his phone pressed to his ear. Austin’s voice crackles through the line.
"Are you serious, Mickey? Lupi Di Sangue? From what I've gathered about them, they’re not exactly the forgiving type if they find out you’re behind this."
"Do you think I don’t know that?" Mickey snaps, keeping his voice low.
On the other end, Austin sighs. "So what’s the plan? You can’t just storm in there with these rookies and play soldier."
"Trust me, I’ve got no intention of doing that." Mickey rubs his temple. "I just need you and Axel to handle things on our end. Make sure our arrangement with them stays intact. I’ll… figure out the rest."
"You better," Austin warns. "Because if this goes south, Lupi Di Sangue will take it out on us—and me, specifically. And I’m too young to die, thanks."
Mickey smirks despite himself. "You’ll be fine, kid. Just stick to what I taught you."
Austin’s tone softens. "Don’t get yourself killed either, boss. You’re the only thing keeping this house of cards from falling apart."
Next, he dials Axel.
The line rings twice before Axel’s familiar, laid-back voice comes through. "What’s up, boss? Miss me already?"
"Cut the crap," Mickey mutters, glancing around to ensure no one is nearby. "We need to meet. Now."
Axel’s tone shifts immediately. "Sounds serious. Where?"
Mickey thinks quickly. "The old pier, south end. Thirty minutes."
"Got it," Axel says. "I’ll be there."
Mickey ends the call, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he steps deeper into the shadows.
Getting out of the base is no small feat. Security is tight, especially with a mission looming. Mickey takes a circuitous route through the storage area, using his familiarity with the base layout to his advantage.
He ducks behind a stack of crates, keeping low as two guards stroll past. Their conversation is mundane—something about weekend plans—but Mickey doesn’t take any chances. He waits until they’re out of sight before moving again, his footsteps silent on the concrete floor.
Near the perimeter fence, he spots his first real obstacle: a guard post manned by a single soldier. The guy looks bored, his focus on a phone rather than his surroundings.
Perfect.
Mickey reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small coin. He tosses it toward the opposite end of the yard, the faint clink drawing the soldier’s attention.
The guard straightens, stepping out of the booth to investigate the sound. Mickey uses the moment to slip past, keeping close to the shadows until he reaches the fence.
Scaling it is easy enough—Mickey’s had plenty of practice in less forgiving circumstances. He lands on the other side with barely a sound, pausing to ensure he hasn’t been spotted.
Satisfied, he makes his way toward the old pier.
---
Axel is already there when Mickey arrives. His right-hand man, all swagger and sarcasm, is leaning against a crate, flipping a knife casually in his hand.
"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Axel quips, catching the blade mid-air.
"Try a death sentence," Mickey replies, crossing his arms.
Axel raises an eyebrow. "Let me guess—this military gig of yours is about to make things awkward with the Italians?"
"More than awkward," Mickey admits. "They’re the target for tonight’s op."
Axel lets out a low whistle. "Well, that’s a plot twist. What’s the play?"
"I need you to get ahead of this," Mickey says. "Warn them, but don’t let them know it’s me. Just enough to keep their guards up without blowing my cover."
"That’s a tightrope walk, boss," Axel says, slipping the knife into his pocket. "You sure about this?"
"No," Mickey replies honestly. "But I don’t have a choice."
Axel claps him on the shoulder. "You always find a way out of these messes. Just… don’t let them catch you playing double agent. You’re good, but even you can’t charm your way out of a bullet to the head."
---
Back at the base, the recruits are gearing up for the mission. Ziana is barking orders, her voice sharp and commanding. Mickey can’t help but watch her, a flicker of admiration in his eyes.
"Morningstar!" she snaps, catching him staring. "Gear up or get out!"
He smirks. "You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re bossy."
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t rise to the bait. "Keep talking, and I’ll make sure you’re the first one through the door tonight."
Mickey chuckles but grabs his gear. As he adjusts his vest, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He glances at the screen and his stomach drops.
It’s a message from Him. The psychopath who’s been toying with both him and Ziana.
You’re walking into a trap, Morningstar. But you already knew that, didn’t you?
Attached is another photo of Ziana, this time from earlier that day, pacing the training field. She looks unaware of the lens aimed at her, but Mickey knows better.
His blood runs cold, but he forces his face to remain neutral. He can’t afford to let Ziana see his panic—not now.
---
As the recruits pile into the transport vehicles, Mickey’s mind races. The plan is to breach the warehouse under the cover of darkness, secure whatever intel they can, and get out. Simple enough on paper.
But Mickey knows Lupi Di Sangue. Their warehouses are fortresses, guarded by men who won’t hesitate to kill.
As they approach the target, Ziana’s voice cuts through the tense silence. "Remember your training. Stick to your squads, follow orders, and don’t do anything stupid."
Mickey leans toward her, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Define ‘stupid,’ ma’am."
Ziana shoots him a withering glare. "For you, Morningstar? Breathing."
The other recruits stifle nervous laughs, but Mickey just grins. "Noted."
---
The warehouse looms ahead, its towering walls illuminated by harsh floodlights. The air crackles with tension as the recruits spread out, their movements careful and deliberate.
Mickey stays close to Ziana, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of trouble. His heart pounds as they approach the entrance, the weight of his conflicting loyalties pressing down on him.
Suddenly, a shout echoes from inside, followed by the unmistakable sound of gunfire.
"Move!" Ziana orders, drawing her weapon.
The recruits surge forward, and Mickey has no choice but to follow. As they breach the warehouse, chaos erupts.
Men in suits—Lupi Di Sangue’s enforcers—open fire, their faces twisted in rage. The recruits scatter, returning fire as best they can.
Mickey’s gaze locks onto a familiar figure in the chaos—one of his own men, hidden among the enforcers. Their eyes meet for a split second, and Mickey shakes his head subtly.
The man hesitates, then nods, retreating into the shadows.
Ziana, oblivious to the silent exchange, shouts for backup. "Morningstar! Cover me!"
Mickey moves to her side, his heart racing. He’s walking a razor’s edge, and one wrong move could bring everything crashing down.
As they push deeper into the warehouse, Mickey’s phone buzzes again. He glances at the screen and freezes.
Tick tock, Mickey. How long before she figures out who you really are?
Before he can react, Ziana’s voice cuts through the chaos. "Morningstar! What are you doing? Move!"
Mickey shoves the phone back into his pocket, his jaw tightening.
This is far from over. And the next move might cost him everything.
- Writer
