Chapter 2 MARKED FOR VENGEANCE

The blood was not washed away by the rain.

It merely made it more widespread.

The night was heavy with diesel, smoke, and death as Cain stood under the shattered awning of a bus stop that had collapsed. The bodies of guards, dealers, and lookouts were strewn all over the wet pavement around him. In a language Cain didn't understand, the final one had pleaded for his life. However, the sound of desperation was the same in all languages.

They had been warned by him.

Now he was coming. closer to Victor. His third target in as many weeks was this distribution complex on the outskirts of the city that was masquerading as a textile plant. But Cain had read between the lines and studied the manifests. He didn't care about the medicines. or weapons.

He wanted the ones moving them. The ones tied to Victor.

Ignoring the distant screaming, he stepped over the blood-slick concrete. The civilians had already left. Those who weren't well were not innocent.

Cain made a surgical motion. into the rear office. through the door that was locked. Instead of kicking it in, he picked it quietly and slowly. It was no longer necessary to attract attention.

Sweat and secrets filled the air inside.

Behind the desk sat a man with trembling hands and a revolver. He was perhaps in his early thirties, younger than Cain had anticipated. His hair was oily, his tie was twisted, and a gold chain was piercing his neck like a noose that was about to tighten.

"This is not necessary for you to do," the man stumbled.

"I'm not here for you," Cain said.

He shut the door after himself. The panic button beneath his desk caught the man's attention. Cain saw. He remained silent.

"I have information for you. Regarding the shipping. Regarding Rykov's actions

Cain interrupted him.

"The port should come first." The man blinked "In three nights," Cain said, Port Seraph you are listed as a guest.

The man's expression shifted. Confusion replaced fear "How are you aware of that?"

Cain remained silent.

The man adamantly stated, "I-I am not my inner circle." "I just oversee the flow between the Eastern corridor and

Cain fired once.

The glass trophy behind the man's head was broken by the gunshot.

The ensuing quiet was as cold as the steel in Cain's voice.

"I won't ask you again." The man took a swallow. "Victor never attends those occasions. They send his lieutenants. Some of the men you will meet would rather die than betray him.

Cain took a step ahead. "They will all pass away."

Meanwhile, on the other side of town...

With one leg hanging carelessly over the chasm, Aria Vale sat on the brink of a high-rise balcony. Around her, the skyline glistened like shattered glass.

She wore black tonight because it went with her mood rather than for stealth.

She gazed at the file in her hands while lighting a cigarette. She saw Cain's face staring back. Satellite images, poor scans, and a grainy picture of him moving through flames.

She flipped the page to the surveillance photo taken three nights ago. Cain crouched beside a burning convoy, rifle in hand, the same cold expression etched into his jaw.

He had a poetic quality to him. Like a deceased man who chose not to remain in his grave. Killers weren't romanticized by Aria. She was taught not to.

Cain, however, was unique, controlled with a purpose. His movements gave her all the information she needed to realize that he wasn't careless. He was a man following a bloody line.

She was also meant to stop him.

Her communication crackled. "The textile outpost is no longer in contact with us."

"Cain?" she inquired.

"Probably identical signature with a sigh, Aria extinguished the cigarette. She wondered how far a guy could fall before he vanished entirely as she gazed at the city lights below.

With a sigh, Aria extinguished the cigarette. She wondered how far a guy could fall before he vanished entirely as she gazed at the city lights below.

"Allow me to get in touch?"

"Negative. Just observe. Keep your cover intact. She smiled.

"You are aware that he is already aware that I am observing?"

The line was silent. "Maintain distance" follows. She pocketed the earpiece and responded, "Sure." "Distance." But she already knew in her gut. When they eventually met, there would be no distance between them.

Cain observed the neon Perched on the edge of an old parking garage, Port Seraph signage flash like dying stars.

The harbor came alive tonight, with guards stationed every twenty feet, ships docking, and freight flowing.

But he wasn't paying attention to the task, It was the faces. For the next three nights, he committed the list of guests to memory.

A few members of Victor's group had already shown up early. weapons merchants. cartels liaison. dishonest Politicians in expensive suits. Among them was renowned enforcer Marco Kellis.

Sadistic and former military.

By "cleaning" crime scenes with warm corpses and suppressing opposing viewpoints, he had risen in Victor's ranks. Cain had followed his trail for months. Marco was here tonight. Cain had a small window.

With his eyes fixed on the port, he silently made his way down the parking garage. He wasn't going in with a lot of fire. Not quite yet. The stakes were too high.

Cain had long before discovered that exactness, not confusion, was the key to retaliation.

An hour later, dressed as a dockworker, Cain crept into the rear hallways of the Port Seraph loading area.

Nobody gave it a second glance. Everyone in this place was paid to ignore it. He walked silently and undetectable like fog till he arrived at the staff break room.

The route to the surveillance suite was straightforward from there. Inside are three guards. One is dozing off, one eating, the other reading.

They didn't see Cain come in.

As the last body hit the floor, Cain exhaled and sat down in the chair.

He returned to the feeds from earlier that night. He went over the footage, which showed Marco shaking hands with powerful individuals.

One in particular caught his attention.

Wearing a snake-skin coat and showing off his gold teeth, the man laughed. Grigori Veselov. collaboration with Russia. Victor's personal messenger.

Cain took a step forward. Veselov was handing Marco a flash disk. Cain was able to capture the faint trace of an insignia a dragon coiling around a triangle despite the awful camera angle. Victor's personal emblem.

After wiping the security footage and printing the frame, he pocketed it.

Not even a hint.

No loose ends.

He turned to go but stopped. There was a flicker of movement in the glass behind him. His gun out, he whirled. Nothing. But his instincts told him otherwise. He peered into the gloom, but there was nothing there. No sound. No sign. But for the first time in years, Cain felt like he was being watched. Aria Vale dropped the lens of her scope and pulled her coat tight across the harbor. Although it wasn't her purpose, she couldn't help but get that close. Watching Cain move through the harbor as like he owned it was almost mesmerizing.

"You're either the storm or the solution," she whispered to herself while saying this. Cain went back to his safehouse later that evening. He put Veselov's printed photo on the table. After drawing a pen circle around the symbol, he pulled out a drawer. Dozens of pictures with red pen markings were within. Everybody is linked. The structure of Victor's network was not linear. It was an online platform. However, he was dissecting it. One bloody piece at a time. His gaze was fixed on the board. The next link was Veselov. Furthermore, Cain rejected the idea of coincidence. The individual was not far behind Veselov if he was carrying Victor's emblem. The old picture in his pocket came back to him. His parents. Their grins. The snow. He had been broken by that event.

But the broken pieces didn't stay scattered.

They became blades.