CHAPTER 45: WELCOME TO CISILI

Vincent felt pain the moment the water swallowed him, the impact sharp and brutal, as if he had struck a floor of stone instead of liquid.

The icy shock clawed through his skin and into his bones, stealing his breath before he could even gasp.

He tried to move, to fight against the current, but his limbs felt heavy, his body sluggish and numb as the cold seeped deep inside him.

His chest burned, his lungs screamed for air, yet the river offered only silence and darkness.

’Is this it? Is this how I’m going to end?’

He thought faintly, the moonlight above him blurring into pale streaks as he sank deeper and deeper into the black water.

’I... I regret it.’

He regretted not doing it better. He regretted selling Lucien instead of killing him outright.

If he had done that, he could have sent the Don’s head to that bastard Basilisk, forced him to wail and suffer in turn, a small revenge for everything that had been done to him.

At least then someone like Vincent could have left a mark on this world instead of fading away so pathetically.

But even as his consciousness slipped, the one face he saw was Lucien’s.

The warmth of their laughter echoed faintly in his drowning mind; the drinks they shared, the fights they survived, the victories they celebrated together.

"Vincent, I’m glad you’re still here with me when no one else is. Let’s destroy everyone in our path next year, and the next, and some more until nothing is left but us!"

The memory of that New Year’s night pulsed through the cold, cutting deeper than the water itself.

At that time, he thought Lucien was a fool to believe in him. But now... who was the real fool?

"Lucien, I..."

His thoughts broke apart with the last bubbles leaving his mouth. The cold pressed harder, crushing, dragging him under.

Just as his vision dimmed completely, a rough hand grabbed his shirt and yanked him upward.

He burst through the surface, choking, coughing, lungs burning as air finally filled them again.

It was the Giant North, glaring down at him through dripping hair.

"Don’t you die on me!" he growled.

The current dragged them in every direction, but Victor kept his grip on Vincent, pulling him against his broad back as he fought toward the shore.

The water was freezing, numbing every muscle, and by the time Victor felt sand beneath his feet, Vincent’s body had gone limp.

"Finally, something warm..."

Vincent thought faintly as the faint heat of Victor’s body touched his skin, before his consciousness slipped away completely.

Victor hauled him onto land, rolling him onto his back. The little alpha’s chest rose unevenly, his breath shallow and ragged, blood still leaking from the gunshot wound near his ribs.

"This baggage is not only a burden, he’s chaos wrapped in flesh," Victor muttered.

He tore his shirt in half, folded a palm-sized wad of cloth, and pressed it firmly against the wound.

"Breathe shallow. Don’t die on me."

He wound the rest of the cloth twice around Vincent’s chest, tying it under his arm, tight enough to stop the bleeding but not crush the ribs.

Once satisfied that no fresh blood seeped through, he hoisted Vincent onto his back again and trudged through the woods, heading for the city lights in the distance.

***

When Vincent’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing he saw was light, harsh and white, stabbing straight into his pupils.

He winced and lifted an arm to shield his face, feeling a deep ache in his chest when he moved.

His hand brushed the rough texture of bandages wrapped tight around him.

Vincent forced himself to sit up. The room around him was small, cramped, and smelled faintly of disinfectant and metal.

A single flickering lamp hung from the ceiling, casting weak light over a tray of surgical tools, scattered gauze, and a stained cloth.

The bed beneath him was little more than a cot, one he’d only ever seen in backstreet clinics.

"Where the hell..." he muttered under his breath, swinging his legs off the bed.

Pain flared up his side, but he ignored it and pushed himself to stand.

He moved toward the door, stopping when voices drifted in from the next room.

"All the roads and the sea blocked off by them? Are they out of their damn minds?!" Victor’s voice snapped, rough and irritated.

A man laughed, deep and amused. "Welcome to Cisili, brother. You’re in Lucero’s territory now. This city doesn’t answer to the government, it belongs to them."

’You think they just blocked the land and sea? Their men are at the airport too."

There was a pause, followed by the click of a remote.

"Also, you’ll want to see this."

The television crackled to life, the anchor’s voice cold and polished. "Breaking news: the two terrorists responsible for the Chapel Del Silenzio bombing have finally been identified."

"Both suspects remain at large and are believed to be hiding within Cisili City. Authorities confirm they have no ties to any known terrorist group."

"If you see these suspicious men in the street, please call the authority—"

The tv then turned off as Vincent already knew the pictures they showed.

From the other room came a string of curses in Russian as Victor slammed the table harder.

"They’re calling us terrorists?! пиздец! I should’ve left that bastard to die!"

His companion sighed. "You’re already dead, Victor. And don’t expect help from the boss, he’s busy cleaning up Lunox’s mess."

Victor kicked a chair. "It’s all because of that damn

Vincent rubbed his temples, feeling the dull throb in his skull. He couldn’t even argue. It was his fault for trying to kill Salvatore.

That old man was mad enough to turn the whole city upside down in retaliation.

But a lockdown didn’t mean they were trapped. Not here, not in Cisili.

He exhaled slowly, glancing toward the window where the faint lights of the city shimmered through dirty glass.

He knew these streets better than most. And if Lucero’s men wanted to cage him in, he’d just have to find another way out.