Chapter 6 Monster with a human faces

CHAPTER SIX – MONSTERS WITH HUMAN FACES

The dockyard was silent, except for the distant cry of a tugboat and the low hum of refrigerated crates.

Marcos moved like smoke, each step calculated, invisible to the guards who thought they were alone out here.

He wasn't armed. He didn't need to be.

He was the threat.

Behind a row of stacked shipping containers, he caught sight of him.

Kosta Varga.

Still built like a slab of concrete. Still moving like he owned the night. He was overseeing a transfer-no paperwork, no uniforms, just crates marked with foreign serial codes and the smell of dirt-covered money.

Mia was here. Right here.

Marcos emerged from the shadows without warning.

Varga's men twitched.

Varga didn't.

"Marcos fucking De Luca," he said, pulling off his gloves. "And here I thought they'd buried you under concrete and shame."

"Missed you too."

Marcos stopped five feet from him. No smile. No weapon. Just pressure.

"You met with Mia Maren two nights before she died."

Varga cocked his head. "You came here for ghost stories?"

"I came for names."

"So you're her little sister's new muscle. Thought she looked familiar."

Marcos' jaw clenched.

"I'm not working for her. I'm protecting her."

"From what?" Varga said. "The truth?"

He took a slow step closer. Marcos didn't move.

"Mia had a habit," Varga said. "She asked questions that weren't hers to ask. About shipments. About names. About Bianca."

Marcos stiffened.

"Don't bring her into this."

"Too late. Mia was meeting with her. Quiet meetings. Private numbers. She thought she had a source. But your precious Bianca?"

He leaned in.

"She set the girl up."

"You're lying," Marcos growled.

"She used Mia to feed disinformation-just enough to bait her into meeting a contact that didn't exist. We all thought your father ordered the hit. But he didn't. Bianca did."

"That's not possible."

"Why do you think she's been cleaning the docks personally these days? She's not just covering tracks. She's tying up ends."

"You said Mia died because she was getting close."

"No. Mia died because she trusted the wrong monster."

Marcos's fists curled.

The dock wind cut between them. The silence felt like a loaded chamber.

"You want proof?" Varga said, backing away slowly. "I've got Mia's original contact logs. Her burner. You want it?"

"Why are you giving this to me?"

"Because I've been in this game too long. And I know the family always eats its own. Bianca's next move? It's you."

Hours later, in his car, Marcos sat in silence with the burner phone Varga tossed to him.

No passcode.

Just one video on it.

Mia, sitting on a dock bench, hair pulled into a messy bun, cigarette in hand.

She looked scared. Not of the dark. Of what she'd uncovered.

"If anything happens to me, tell vanessa it wasn't her fault. Tell her I didn't stop. Not because I was brave. But because I was already too deep. And I thought-I thought Bianca might help me."

Her voice cracked.

"She didn't."

The screen went black.

Across town, Vanessa stared at the corkboard she'd built on her bedroom wall.

Photos. Strings. Scribbled names.

In the center: Mia's photo, taped next to a grainy printout of Bianca De Luca.

She hadn't said anything to Marcos yet.

But something in her stomach-call it instinct, or maybe grief's sharpened edge-had started whispering the same thing:

Bianca knew. Bianca was there.

She didn't know that Marcos had just watched the same confirmation, in Mia's own voice.

Didn't know the person she was beginning to trust was suddenly standing in the middle of the war she'd been building in silence.

That night, a text lit up Vanessa screen:

MARCOS: We need to meet. Tomorrow. In person. Safe place. No questions. Just trust me.

She stared at it.

Paused.

And typed:

Vanessa: Okay.