Page 31 of Forged

Her mouth curves into a mocking smile as she reaches into her coat and pulls out another folded scrap of paper. She holds it up to the lens, just like last time, and opens it.

Doing your fucking job, Marchetti.

My jaw tightens as the words burn across the screen.

Hale freezes the frame, the message hovering in stark white against the dark grain of the footage.

Cash exhales. “Another message for you.”

“She is dead set on riling you up, Chicago,” Hale says, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m not riled up,” I hiss. “She's being helpful, in fact. She’s giving me clues to her motivation. She thinks she’s the problem solver, and yes, taking down members will help, but she’s not stopping the corruption like she might think she is.”

Cash’s gaze sharpens. “She’s creating a fucking battlefield.”

“Wait.” I pause. “There has to be a pattern or a reason for her chaos. First, it was soldiers, now she’s zigzagging through leadership.”

Hale looks at me, brow creased. “You’re right.” He paces, hands moving while he speaks. “Lieutenant, then a lower logistics member, then back up to a Capo, then a Hacker, now she’s back up to second in command.”

I nod. “Which means she’s going to take out a lower member next.” I tap a pen in my palm. “Logistics or Tech? Who would you take out next if you’ve been killing and they still won’t back down? Who would you go after if you wanted to hit where it hurts?”

Cash walks to the intel board that lines the wall. He stands in front of it for a moment, then he pulls a picture and throws it on the table.

“Their women.”

Hale runs his hand through his hair. “Fuck. Veleno will face hellfire if she even goes near one of their wives.”

I pick up the picture of the Maravilla matriarch, his mother. I know in the deepest parts of my soul that if anyone came after Vi, I would go on a killing spree.

“We have to stop her before she does anything that stupid.” I walk to the board and pin the picture dead center. “I’m going to direct our reinforcements from Chicago to detail Cecilia Maravilla. She’s our priority now.”

Cash nods. “Well, we might need more men, because that wasn’t the only thing I have for you today.”

Hale presses play on the next file. Early morning light barely cut through the haze clinging to the asphalt. Two black SUVs roll into an abandoned lot and come to a stop.

The first door opens and Maravilla himself steps out, broad shoulders stretching his jacket, ink crawling up his throat—a snake, the Maravilla symbol.

From the second vehicle, Anthony Falco emerges.

They meet in the center of the lot. Their handshake is brief, but it tells us everything we need to know. Then they disappear into the building together.

Hale lets out a quiet curse. “Well,” he mutters. “There’s our apocalypse.”

Cash’s voice drops. “If Falco and Maravilla are aligning, Austin becomes a war zone. And Chicago becomes the prize.”

“Veleno can’t fight both of them. The last count we had on their numbers was just under a hundred and fifty,” I state.

Cash’s gaze meets mine, unblinking. “We can’t protect her if they align their forces.”

I rewind the scene and study the frozen frame on the screen—Falco’s hand grasped in Maravilla’s. The calm certainty in both men’s posture is unsettling.

Two wolves deciding which territories they want to carve up next.

“Lone Saints stay out of their line of fire,” I say. “Period. I’ll reinforce your borders.”

Hale straightens. “How much reinforcement are we talking about?”

“Enough to hold your routes and your clubhouse without drawing attention,” I reply. “I’ll send for another fifty men. Meanwhile, make sure your men keep recruiting, but vet more carefully than ever.”