Forty minutes north of Manhattan, nestled between old-growth trees and protected by state-of-the-art security systems lay Tatiana's true residence which also served as her command centre. The modernist structure of steel, glass, and concrete had been designed by an architect who specialized in privacy.

The building was angled to avoid satellite imaging and strategically positioned to allow clear sightlines of approaching vehicles while remaining largely invisible from the road. Tatiana had went the extra mile to surround the building jammers that would disrupt unauthorized drones to deter unwanted espionage.

Midday sun filtered through bulletproof windows as Tatiana descended barefooted down the floating staircase to the main level where four men waited in her command center. Unlike the sparse Chelsea apartment Massimiliano knew about, this space revealed her true purpose.

Multiple monitors displaying surveillance feeds, encrypted communications equipment, weapons secured in biometric safes, and a wall dedicated to the De Luca organization's structure, properties, and operations.

"Report," she said.

Viktor, her second-in-command since her return to New York, gestured toward the central monitor. "Massimiliano's schedule is consistent with previous patterns. Morning meetings at the import office, lunch at Cipriani with the harbormaster, returning to the De Luca building by two. Security detail unchanged."

"And the listening devices?"

Alexei, former FSB tech specialist, tapped a tablet, bringing audio files onto the main screen.

"Three active bugs placed over the past week. Coverage of his regular booth and two adjacent tables where he conducts most business. The bugs are periodically removed and rotated to avoid detection, never placed for more than two hours at a time." The man's fingers tapping against the screen. "We've captured approximately seventy percent of his conversations at Nocturne."

"Including this." He pressed play on a selected file.

Tatiana recognized the voice in the recording as belonging to Miguel Escobar, representative of the Colombian connection: "...shipment arrives on the fifteenth. Two containers. Documentation shows bananas from Ecuador."

Massimiliano's voice followed: "The usual split?"

"Sixty percent product, forty percent actual fruit. Your customs contacts confirmed?"

"Handled. Walsh is on vacation that week. Peterson takes the inspection. He knows to process it quickly."

Tatiana's eyes narrowed as she processed the information. "The fifteenth. That's ten days from now."

"Yes." Viktor moved to a physical map of New York Harbor. "Container arrives at Red Hook Terminal. Based on previous patterns, they'll move it to their warehouse in Queens before distribution."

"Value?"

"Conservative estimate: thirty million wholesale." Dmitri, their financial analyst, consulted his notes. "Their largest shipment this year."

Tatiana circled the table, mind working through angles, contingencies, risks. "Security?"

"Standard protocol for their shipments," answered Reza, a former Mossad operative who handled tactical planning. "Eight to ten men at the dock. Another dozen at the warehouse. Nothing they haven't done before."

"They're confident." Tatiana's lips curved into a smile. "Complacent even."

"What's the play?" Viktor asked, already knowing the answer wouldn't be what most would expect.

"Not the police." Tatiana stopped at the harbor map, tracing the route with her finger. "We take it ourselves."

"Thirty million in product?" Dmitri's eyebrows rose. "What's the endgame? We're not equipped for distribution at that scale."

"We don't distribute." Tatiana turned, facing her team. "We destroy ninety percent of it publicly. Make it look like a rival faction. The remaining ten percent we sell through Escobar's competitors to finance our next moves."

Silence.

Then Dmitri exhaled sharply. "You're talking about setting fire to thirty million in product?"

"No. I'm talking about setting fire to De Luca's reputation."

"The De Lucas lose the product, the money they've already paid the Colombians, and the trust of their suppliers." Viktor nodded slowly. "Plus, we trigger internal suspicion about who might have betrayed them."

"Precisely." Tatiana moved to her planning board, already visualizing the operation. "We hit them financially while sowing discord within their ranks."

Viktor gave a low chuckle. "Ballsy. He'll retaliate."

"Massimiliano will suspect outside involvement," Reza said. He wasn't wrong about being cautious but she's prepared.

"Let him." Tatiana said, her eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. "By the time he figures it out, we'll be three moves ahead."

For the next hour, they outlined the operation leaving nothing out.

The precision of their planning reflected years of preparation and the elite training of each team member. These weren't ordinary criminals, they were specialists Tatiana had recruited over five years.

After they departed, Tatiana returned to her personal study — the one room in the house dedicated not to planning but to memory. Unlike the tactical command center, this space held the remnants of her true identity.

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Photos of her father. Newspaper clippings documenting the rise and fall of the Moretti family. Her mother's jewelry, recovered from a safety deposit box Tatiana had tracked down years after the murder.

She opened a desk drawer, removing a small, worn photograph of herself at seven years old, standing beside her father at a gathering of families. In the background, barely visible; a young Massimiliano De Luca, watching her with curious eyes.

Time had changed her appearance. Now older, her features had sharpened and her hair darkened. She was no longer that child in the photo.

But Massimiliano? He was the same. The same piercing gaze, the same effortless confidence. Handsome even then, devastatingly so now.

She had harbored the smallest of crushes on him back then, drawn to the quiet intensity he carried even as a boy. Seeing him now, in person, in full control of the world he commanded...it stirred something she hadn't expected, a flicker of attraction beyond the remnants of a childhood crush.

It was distracting, annoying even how her body sometimes reacted to him even before her mind could shut it down. But she pressed the feeling down, buried it beneath the weight of revenge, where it belonged

"Soon," she whispered as her gaze darted back to her father's image. "We're getting closer."

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Nocturne pulsed with its usual Thursday night energy. Powerful men conducting business behind the illusion of social drinking, women strategically positioned to extract information or forge alliances, security personnel maintaining the delicate ecosystem of controlled danger.

Tatiana moved through her bartending duties as usual, every movement calculated to maintain her cover while allowing her to monitor key conversations.

The bug she'd placed under Massimiliano's regular table was working perfectly, transmitting information to her team outside of the area.

She spotted him the moment he entered. Dark suit, no tie, that constant expression of smugness and boredom. He scanned the room before his eyes found her.

She nodded professionally when their eyes met, then continued preparing a Manhattan for a Wall Street type who'd been overtipping all night.

Massimiliano made his way to his usual booth, where representatives from the Rossi family already waited. Business as usual, except for the way he kept glancing at her every now and then.

Near midnight, when the Rossi representatives had departed, he walked to the bar directly, sliding onto a stool at the quieter end.

She poured his whiskey without waiting for his order.

"Have we met before?" The question came suddenly. His eyes squinted slightly as if to fit a missing puzzle piece into place.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Does he remember? Has he recognized me already?

She raised an eyebrow, keeping her expression neutral despite the adrenaline flooding her system. "Only here, Mr. De Luca."

"You're certain?" He let the silence drag a second longer than necessary. "I have a good memory, Tatiana. And I never forget someone who's worth remembering."

She allowed a small professional smile while screaming internally. "Likewise, but I think I'd remember meeting you."

He furrowed his brows at the disrespect but continued on regardless. "Tatiana." He said as he watched for any reaction. "That's an unusual name."

"My mother liked Russian literature." The answer came easily, too easily. Rehearsed.

"Interesting." He said, causally unbuttoning his jacket. "My father once knew a Tatiana. Daughter of a business associate."

Her pulse quickened at that revelation.

"It's a more common name in certain circles." She met his gaze steadily, trying to keep her heartbeat at a regular rate.

"Perhaps." Massimiliano said, with a quiet voice, his mind drifting back to the past.

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Summer, 1996. The annual gathering of families at the Moretti estate in the Hamptons. Seven-year-old Massimiliano stood beside his father, uncomfortably formal in a suit tailored to his small frame, bored by the adults' conversations but trained never to show it.

His attention wandered to the other children,sons and daughters of powerful men, future inheritors of empires built on blood and fear. Most were like him,quiet, watchful, already learning the weight of legacy.

Except for one.

A girl with fierce hazel eyes and a stubborn set to her jaw stood beside Alessandro Moretti, her small hand clasped in his. Unlike the other children, she didn't put on a fake show of good behavior like the rest of them. When their eyes met across the garden, she didn't look away demurely as girls were taught to do. Instead, she stared back, challenging, unimpressed by the De Luca name that made grown men tremble.

"Who is that?" he asked his father.

Lorenzo followed his gaze, his expression softening slightly. "Alessandro's daughter. Tatiana. Strong-willed, that one. Like her mother."

There was something in his father's voice when he mentioned the mother. A complicated tone young Massimiliano couldn't quite decipher.

Later, when the adults retreated for private discussions, he found her sitting alone on the dock, legs dangling above the water.

"You're not supposed to be here," she informed him without looking up. "This is Moretti property."

"My father is meeting with yours. I'm allowed." He sat beside her despite her scowl. "I'm Massimiliano."

"I know who you are." She remained unimpressed. "Everyone knows the De Lucas."

"What's your name?"

She hesitated, seeming to weigh whether he deserved an answer. Finally: "Tatiana."

"That's Russian."

"My mother is Russian." She glanced at him sideways. "Is that all you wanted? To ask obvious questions?"

Her dismissiveness stunned him. No one spoke to a De Luca that way, not even other children from powerful families.

Before he could respond, she laughed at his expression. A bright, genuine sound at odds with the solemnity of the gathering. "You look like someone just told you Santa isn't real."

That laugh...

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"Massimiliano?"

He blinked, his gaze broke away from the amber swirl of whiskey in his hand.

The memory of the past receding as Tatiana's voice, present-day Tatiana, pulled him back to Nocturne.

But the echo of that childhood laugh lingered.

"Sorry." He took another sip of whiskey, studying her with renewed intensity. "Just...remembering something."

"Must be quite the memory."

"It is." He swirled the amber liquid again before looking at her. "A gathering, years ago. A girl who wasn't afraid to speak her mind."

Tatiana's expression revealed nothing as she wiped down the bar. "Sounds memorable."

"She was." His eyes never left her face, searching for confirmation of the connection forming in his mind. "Her father was an associate of my father's. Temporarily."

"Business partnerships come and go." She shrugged, the gesture perfectly casual. "Especially in New York."

"This wasn't in New York." He leaned forward slightly. "It was at an estate in the Hamptons. The Moretti estate."

For the briefest moment, so quick that he might have imagined it, something flickered behind her eyes.

Recognition? Alarm?

But her expression remained unchanged.

"Sounds like quite the exclusive gathering." She moved to serve another customer, creating distance between them.

Massimiliano watched her retreat, the fragments of memory refusing to form into a coherent picture.

The girl on the dock had been a Moretti, he remembered that clearly.

But this woman called herself Hayes.

The timeline didn't make sense either. That girl would be...34 now? Tatiana appeared younger. And her files had stated that shes 28, although that could also be fabricated.

He stood up, buttoning his jacket.

As the doors of the elevator closed, he caught a final glimpse of her face, watching him with an intensity that matched his own.

In the privacy of the descending elevator, Massimiliano pulled out his phone, dialing Antonio.

"Sir?" His security chief answered immediately despite the late hour.

"I need you to pull the old files on the Moretti family. Everything we have."

"The Morettis? They've been gone for…"

"Just do it." Massimiliano cut him off. "Specifically, I need information on Alessandro Moretti's daughter."

"May I ask why, sir?"

Massimiliano watched the floor numbers descend, the nagging sense of recognition refusing to dissipate.

"Because I think we might have a ghost in our midst."