The next day, Jack—who had failed the training assessment—returned to the precinct and reported to his old superior.
"Being a narcotics officer's rough, huh?" the man said, studying Jack's face. The light in his eyes seemed dimmer than before. He sighed. "You heard about Harris. Killed in the line of duty. That's narcotics for you—the highest fatality rate in the whole department. If you want to back out now, nobody's going to laugh at you. Plenty of people can't even handle patrol, but you've got real talent."
"How did Harris die?" Jack asked, expression flat. The shock from last night had mostly worn off.
"Killed in the line of duty."
His superior knew the full story—knew about the Russians—but didn't say more. "Official statement goes out tonight. You can read it then."
That phrase… killed in the line of duty.
That was supposed to be Jack.
But Jack knew better.
Harris had crossed too many lines, gotten too tangled up with the mob. This wasn't some heroic ending—it was the consequence of breaking the rules. Sooner or later, someone stronger, meaner, and far less restrained shows up to settle the score.
"Head back to your unit for now. Take a couple days off if you need it. Come back when you're ready," his superior said. He genuinely liked Jack; the department needed guys like him—young, capable, and just sharp enough to use their authority without dragging the badge through the mud.
"No need."
Jack placed an application on the desk. "Sir, I'm requesting a transfer to Major Crimes."
The boss blinked.
"…What?"
Seriously?
Did Harris's death not scare you straight?
"Jack," he said slowly, setting the application down without opening it, "why?"
"I've learned a few rules recently," Jack replied calmly. "I want to try my luck in Major Crimes."
The boss frowned, then opened the file.
The name listed under supervising detective—
Vincent.
That Vincent.
The workaholic legend of Major Crimes. The guy who solved bizarre cases like they were crossword puzzles and ruined marriages at the same pace—so much so that half the department had attended at least one of his weddings… and some had attended more than one.
Compared to Harris, Vincent was a saint.
But working under him?
That was a different kind of hell.
Could Jack handle that pressure?
Auto repair shop.
The Triad guys didn't dare stall. They delivered the two modified cars ahead of schedule, fulfilling Luca's request down to the letter—no one wanted to find out what happened if they didn't.
After the cars arrived, Luca came by personally to inspect them, then stepped aside with Brian to talk about the biker gang.
"They've been in the shop the whole time," Brian said. "Fixing cars, upgrading parts. Haven't seen them go out on any runs."
He frowned. "You sure they're the ones hitting the trucks?"
"They are," Luca said casually. "Even if it's not fuel, they're stealing something."
He stood outside the garage, glancing in now and then like a bored customer.
"Take it slow, Brian. Guys like that always slip up. And dealing with crews like this… that's your specialty, isn't it?"
Brian nodded. That part was true—cars made for easy conversation.
"The race is in three days," he added. "Dom and his crew will be there. So will Johnny from the Triads. They've got history—there's definitely going to be a showdown."
He rattled off a list of underground racers.
Luca didn't recognize a single name.
Names didn't mean much anyway. With drivers, everything came down to the car. Most of those guys had the same baseline skill set—nothing special unless you were someone like Brian or Dominic Toretto.
People like them?
Different breed.
And if Dom ever crossed paths with international-level players… that might actually get interesting.
Assuming the story even went that far anymore.
Luca's involvement had already knocked things way off script.
At that moment, he felt it—someone watching.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mia quickly looking away.
Right.
Mia.
"Brian," Luca said lightly, "I hear you've been seeing Mia lately?"
Brian didn't even hesitate. "Just gathering intel. Dom's cautious, so I figured I'd start with his sister."
Luca just smiled.
Funny how things worked out.
He hadn't told Brian to do that, but somehow, the kid met Mia and things just… happened.
Then again, Brian had always been smooth. In the original storyline, Mia wasn't the only one he got close to—he'd gone undercover multiple times, infiltrated crews, even gotten friendly with women tied to major players.
Mia, though?
She was the one who stuck.
"Look, Mia's a good person," Brian added quickly, almost defensively. "I think she knows what's going on, but she's not really involved."
He glanced at Luca's smile and felt a chill.
"I'm not covering for her," he added. "If she's involved, I won't hold back."
Because he knew exactly how Luca handled things.
If that crew was confirmed guilty, they wouldn't just lose the stolen goods—they'd lose everything. Prison would be the best outcome.
Worst case?
They'd disappear.
And Brian really didn't want to see Mia end up like that.
Luca could hear it in his tone.
The kid was slipping again—sympathizing with the "enemy," getting soft.
Then again… Dom's crew wasn't exactly a typical enemy.
After Luca left, Brian went back inside and got to work on his bright green Mitsubishi.
"From now on, she's my girl," he muttered under his breath.
"What did your boss say?" Mia asked, walking over. "He like the car?"
"He said it's fine," Brian laughed. "Honestly, he doesn't know much about cars. Doesn't care about builds—just wants speed. Whoever's faster wins."
"He doesn't know cars?" Mia blinked. "Then how'd you meet him?"
Brian sighed dramatically. "Long story. One day at a beautiful sunny day, I'm in New York looking for work…"
And just like that, he started making stuff up.
Across the shop, Dominic Toretto watched the blond flirting with his sister again, and somehow his already shiny bald head looked even darker.
He pulled Brian aside.
"I hear you've got a date tonight."
"With Mia," Brian admitted.
Dom leaned in slightly. "If you hurt her… I'll break your neck."
Brian swallowed. "Not happening. I promise."
Great.
Now he had pressure from both sides—Luca on one end, Toretto on the other.
Perfect.
"Come with me," Dom said suddenly.
He led Brian into a garage and revealed a black modified car.
"That's My dad car."
Maybe it was because Brian was getting close to Mia, but Dom's guard dropped a little.
He started talking.
About the past.
About the race.
About the crash.
His father had driven that car in a high-speed race. Got clipped by another driver. Went off the track.
The car exploded.
Burned.
He died.
Dom had watched the whole thing.
And he never let it go.
He found the guy responsible, beat him half to death… and accidentally killed him. That landed him in prison.
"Now?" Dom said quietly. "I live my life a quarter mile at a time. Nothing else matters. Only when I'm behind the wheel—when the car's pushing its limits—that's when I feel free."
It hit Brian harder than he expected.
Because he got it.
He really did.
He'd had the same thought before—
Better to die racing than live without it.
Brian realized something in that moment.
He had Dom's trust.
And yeah… getting close to Mia had definitely helped.
The two walked out of the garage together.
But as Brian stepped outside, his thoughts drifted.
To the Dove of Peace.
Compared to Dom, Luca had never opened up like that.
Not once.
Because that kind of honesty?
That was a weakness.
Dom had shown his.
Luca never would.
Which meant one thing—
A real leader wasn't just strong.
He was unreadable.
Unbreakable.
Brian glanced at Dom beside him, conflicted.
To be fair, Dom was a good man.
So why did he have to steal from Luca?
Brian sighed quietly.
Because whatever happened next…
It wasn't going to end well for the thieves.
Three days later, the high-speed race kicked off in the Mojave Desert.
Around noon, Luca arrived in his brand-new GTR, with Mathilda and Elle Driver riding with him.
Mathilda had been having the time of her life in Los Angeles. Luca took her out whenever he had time—Hollywood, sightseeing, the works.
And when Luca was busy?
Elle took over.
Which mostly meant casinos.
Lots of casinos.
Vegas wasn't ready for them.
No one knew how much they'd won, but Luca had noticed something interesting—Mathilda now had an extra bank card, and she'd proudly declared it was for buying him gifts.
Luca could only accept the kid's "filial piety" with a mix of pride and mild concern.
On the way to the racetrack, Elle suddenly spoke up.
"Hey, Dove… the Black Mamba you've been thinking about? She's coming to watch the race."
Luca was about to respond—
When Mathilda shot him a sharp, suspicious look.
"What Black Mamba?" she asked slowly. "The one you've been thinking about?"
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