CHAPTER 34: ARMS SHIPMENT

"This is another one I got," Maxine said to Alisha, her voice low but tinged with anticipation as she handed her a thick pile of glossy photographs.

The image was crystal clear despite the fact that the woman in it wore a shawl draped over her head, concealing part of her face. The wind, however, had swept the fabric just enough to reveal her features, and there was no mistaking it. The woman was Katherine.

But it wasn’t just the exposure of Katherine’s identity that caught Alisha’s attention. It was what she was doing. Katherine was pressed against a man, kissing him with the kind of hunger that made it look like the world around them had ceased to exist.

The man wasn’t Nathan. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, his tan skin glistening under the sunlight. Blonde hair was slicked back messily, framing a strong, bearded jawline. His frame was muscular—broad shoulders, thick arms, the kind of build that suggested he practically lived in the gym.

Alisha’s eyes lingered on his biceps for a fraction of a second, a flicker of a memory surfacing—the memory of Dante’s toned body in that hotel room.

She quickly shoved the thought aside, forcing herself back into the present.

"I don’t think Nathan is the father of that boy," Maxine said, her tone almost too casual for the bombshell she’d just dropped.

Alisha glanced up, catching the sly glint in her friend’s eyes. Even without looking directly at her, she could practically feel the grin stretching across Maxine’s face.

She couldn’t even blame her. This was the kind of discovery that could demolish Katherine’s perfect image in a single blow—proof so damning that even Katherine’s silver tongue wouldn’t be able to talk her way out of it.

The hypocrisy was almost laughable. Katherine had killed Eva for Nathan, supposedly out of love, loyalty, or whatever twisted justification she’d crafted, only to betray him in the end.

Alisha had once assumed Nathan was the father of Katherine’s son. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

"That’s not all. You need to look at this..." Maxine’s voice broke her thoughts. She handed over her phone.

The video that played was grainy, but the setting was unmistakable—a gym. The background was filled with the clanking of weights, grunts of exertion, and the faint thump of bass-heavy workout music.

Then the camera angle shifted abruptly, following someone through a narrow hallway until it stopped outside the restroom.

What came next was the kind of thing that made Alisha’s stomach turn.

"Did you see that? They were having sex in the restroom," Maxine said flatly.

Alisha didn’t respond at first, her lips pressed into a thin line as she forced herself to keep watching as Katherine received back shots.

Steam fogged up parts of the camera’s lens, muting some details but not nearly enough. Katherine’s face was visible—eyes rolled back, mouth open—as the same man from the photo thrust into her from behind. The sound of the shower running barely muffled their moans.

The clip was short, but it was more than enough.

"How did you get this?" Alisha finally asked, handing the phone back with steady hands.

"After I got that picture of Katherine and Mason," she nodded toward the man in the video, "I decided to dig deeper. Turns out Mason’s a gym instructor. The day I tracked him down, someone told me he’d stepped into the restroom. He was taking forever to come out, so I went to check. And..." Maxine’s lips curled into a smirk, "...I caught this."

Alisha allowed herself a small, approving smile. "That’s perfect. Keep the video, but make sure you have several copies stored somewhere safe."

Maxine chuckled. "Please. This isn’t my first time on the job."

**

It was nighttime,

The forest was alive with sound, crickets chirping, owls calling out into the dark, the rustle of leaves whispering secrets to the wind.

In the midst of the trees stood a squat, concrete building, dimly lit by floodlights. Men armed with rifles moved in and out of its shadowy interior, their boots crunching on the gravel. Parked outside were several large, unmarked vans.

From the shadows, Alisha took in the scene. Her entire body was dressed in black, face covered except for her eyes.

"What do you think they’re planning to do with all those weapons?" she murmured, her voice low but sharp.

Beside her, Jace kept his binoculars trained on the building. "Could be they’re selling them to military generals. Or..." his tone shifted, darker, "...they’re sending them to opposition forces to stir up conflict. Personally, I’m betting on the latter."

Alisha’s eyes narrowed.

She hadn’t been planning on getting involved tonight—she was on her way home when Ryan’s text had come through about a suspicious shipment. But she couldn’t ignore it. First, they uncovered illegal drug sales targeting the poor. Now, it was arms trafficking. The rot seemed endless.

And it wasn’t just the guns. Inside that building were hostages—men, women, even children—bound and gagged.

"We need to get them out and take these bastards down," she said, already chambering a round in her pistol.

Jace caught her arm before she could move. "Hold up. You’re not just charging in there without a plan."

Before she could argue, Ryan spoke, his voice grim. "We don’t have much time. They just pulled a girl, who looks barely sixteen, away from her mother." Through the binoculars, Alisha could see the girl struggling, her muffled cries barely audible from this distance.

That decided it.

"Fine. Here’s the plan," Alisha said. "Ryan, you and Jace get the hostages out. I’ll take a team and handle the guards, then secure the weapons."

No more words were needed.

The next hour was chaos,

Gunfire echoed through the forest, sharp and deafening. By the time the dust settled, the ground was littered with bodies, crimson pooling beneath them.

The hostages, now free, clung to their rescuers, some sobbing, others in shock.

Ryan pried open one of the crates in the warehouse, his whistle low and disbelieving. "This is... a lot of guns."

Alisha stepped up beside him, her gaze sweeping over the cache. Assault rifles, sniper gear, heavy weaponry—some models she didn’t even recognize.

"I don’t think these were meant for resale," Jace said, his voice cold. "Whoever brought these in is gearing up for a war."

A name instantly surfaced in Alisha’s mind—Dante’s father. Lucas had already told her he’d be campaigning for president after securing his senate seat.

Before she could respond, a sharp grunt came from behind her.

She turned just in time to see one of the armed men, bloodied but alive, stagger to his feet. A pistol was clutched in his shaking hand, his eyes burning with rage.

"You assholes," he spat. "You destroyed everything!"

The gunshot rang out before she could move. Pain ripped through her side as the bullet lodged deep into her waist.

Alisha hissed, her knees threatening to buckle.

**

Dante was at his home, trying to figure out his father’s plans. After his talk with Lucas Tedoro, he didn’t want to think that his father might have been involved in what happened to Alisha’s parents.

But if there was one thing he knew, it was that his father never left a mess for others to find. His crimes were polished, wrapped in silk, and locked away so tightly that even the wind wouldn’t dare whisper about them.

Besides, the accident had happened nearly two decades ago. Digging into it now would be like stepping into a bottomless grave—one you’d never climb out of.

Not only that, why would he want to involve himself in that? He’d already buried himself too deep with all his father’s dirty tricks and he didn’t want to get even more buried, and besides, finding Alisha’s parents’ real killers wasn’t in the contract.

Their deal was to only become a pretend couple to fool the public and help her find her missing sister.

Once the internet stopped sharing lewd edited photos of him, and he’d found her sister, they would instantly get a divorce.

That sound of divorce didn’t taste well in his tongue, making him frown in distaste.

He decided to close his laptop and take a break.

He didn’t remember his father and Greg meeting up in their family’s mansion since he was still a child when the incident had happened. And even if they did, they wouldn’t speak about someone’s death in his presence.

Stressed, Dante decided to head downstairs for a cup of water when he suddenly heard a shattering sound echoed in the living room, as if a glass had just broken.

Dante was immediately high on alert now, as he sneaked into the kitchen.

His first thought wasn’t fear. The mansion was secured like a fortress, the estate’s gates impossible to breach without clearance. No stranger could simply walk in. If someone was here, it was someone who had permission.

Or someone who shouldn’t be here at all.

Moving quietly, Dante padded toward the open kitchen, his eyes narrowing at the faint movement in the dark. A shadow bent low, rifling through the cabinets.

He flicked the light switch on.

The figure jerked upright, spinning toward him with wide eyes—eyes that, a second later, hardened into a glare.

"Why would you sneak up on me like that?!" Alisha’s voice was sharp, but the way her hand flew to her ribs told another story. She winced, her lips pressing into a thin line as if the pain was something she refused to let him see.

Dante’s brow furrowed. "And why wouldn’t I? Where are you coming from? It’s three in the damn morning."

She shot him a scowl. "Who are you yelling at?"

That’s when he noticed it—the faint, dark stain seeping through her shirt, the crumpled, bloodied bandage discarded on the counter. Her eyes fell on the bandage and instantly, her heart sank.

His stomach went cold.

"Who hurt you?"