Elena POV:
The sterile fluorescent lights of The Family Logistics Hub buzzed above my head as I walked straight into the Capo of Operations' office.
I did not knock.
The Capo looked up from his desk, his brow furrowing at my sudden appearance.
I let a plain manila folder fall onto the center of his desk; the slap of paper against wood was the only sound in the room.
"My resignation and transfer papers," I said.
The Capo froze, his eyes darting from the folder to my face.
"You are our Gold-Tier Fixer, Elena. You have held that title for seven consecutive years."
"I know."
He leaned back in his leather chair, a look of deep regret settling over his weathered features.
He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his jaw.
"I remember when you and Dante first ran the most dangerous new aerial routes together."
He pointed a finger at the wall, toward the sprawling map of our territories.
"You two brought in record profits. The Don himself attended your grand engagement banquet. You were a fortress together."
I offered him a bitter smile.
"Those were glorious memories, Boss. But they are dead to me now."
"I will inform Dante tonight," I added, "though I doubt he will care."
The Capo did not try to stop me.
He knew better than to argue with a woman who had already buried her heart.
I left the compound and returned to my apartment just past ten in the evening.
The place was dark and empty.
There was no sign of Dante, only the peculiar stillness of a room where no one has breathed for hours.
I tossed my keys onto the counter and went to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.
My burner phone lit up on the marble island with a sharp chime.
I picked it up and saw a notification from a social media app.
Mia had posted a new picture, and she had tagged my account, a small, deliberate cruelty.
The photo showed two glasses of expensive champagne clinking together in a dimly lit VIP booth.
The caption read: "Thank you to my amazing Mentor for spending the entire afternoon with me. So excited for the VIP concert tomorrow!"
I stared at the screen, my jaw tightening.
Dante had claimed he was just dropping her off at her safehouse last night.
It was plain he was never coming home tonight.
This blatant disrespect had become his standard behavior over the past three years.
I set the phone face down on the counter, as if to smother the image.
I walked into the living room and opened my encrypted laptop.
Several secure invitations sat in my inbox from various domestic crews who had caught wind of my potential departure.
I bypassed all of them.
I clicked on a highly classified message from The Corsican Union.
They were the allied Parisian Syndicate, a ruthless and efficient organization operating across Europe.
My finger hovered over their offer to join their elite logistics team, then pressed down, confirming the transfer.
A new window popped up, and I quickly booked a one-way, untraceable flight to Paris for two days later.
I watched the loading bar fill the screen, a strange sense of calm washing over me.
Five years ago, Dante had walked into a catastrophic ambush on the Paris smuggling route.
It was a bloody massacre where he had lost his best men.
Since that day, Paris had been his ultimate trauma and a strictly forbidden zone.
He refused to fly the route, and he forbade me from ever taking assignments there.
He used to say that even hearing the word Paris made his blood run cold.
I closed the laptop as the flight confirmation appeared on the screen.
I stared at the confirmation number glowing on the screen, a strange sense of finality washing over me.
By going to Paris, I was ensuring our paths would remain severed for good.
And for the first time in eight years, I felt completely free.
