Brian The Outlaw

The Pentagon's core office. Through the thick bulletproof glass, a vast training ground stretched into the distance.

Five-star General Kyle Bell stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the gold stars on his epaulettes gleaming under the lights.

He turned slowly, his gaze sharp as a blade, fixing on the young soldier standing at attention before him.

"Brian," Kyle said, his voice carrying an authority that left no room for argument, "when you go back to civilian life, your file will be completely encrypted. On the surface, you won't be the decorated soldier everyone calls a legend. You won't be the sole instructor of the Blood Eagle Special Forces. You'll go back to being what you were — a rapist. That stain will follow you for the rest of your life. Understood?"

Brian Cavaleri. Twenty-six years old. The youngest brigadier general in American history.

Brian snapped to attention and saluted.

"Understood."

"Does that bother you?" Kyle studied him.

"Nothing to be bothered about." Brian gave a self-deprecating smile. "General, you know I grew up an orphan. Before I enlisted, I was just a street thug — fighting, causing trouble, living like my life meant nothing. The military gave me a second chance. If the country needs me to be a pawn, then I'll be a pawn."

Kyle looked at the soldier he had trained with his own hands, and something complicated flickered in his eyes.

He walked to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out a yellowed top-secret file, tossing it onto the table.

"This isn't as simple as you think." Kyle lit a cigarette. "Eight years ago, you were convicted and sent to prison for a crime committed while drunk. But just one month later, you were released on bail and sent straight to a military camp. Did you really think that was just a regular recruitment?"

Brian frowned slightly. "Wasn't it a special exemption — serving to redeem myself because the front lines needed men?"

"They don't give that kind of exemption to a rapist." Kyle exhaled a slow breath of smoke. "The person who got you out of prison and sent you to that camp — that wasn't me. That was someone so far above my rank that I have no right to ask questions. Brian, your true background is something even the Pentagon's intelligence division couldn't fully dig up. This order to discharge you — that also came from that same person."

Brian's pupils shrank. He stared hard at the file.

He had always thought he was just a lucky prisoner. He never imagined that his entire life had been a move on someone else's chessboard from the very beginning.

"Who is it?"

"I don't know." Kyle shook his head. "If you want answers, go back to New York and find them yourself."

Kyle stubbed out the cigarette and pressed both hands on the desk, his voice turning heavy. "But before you go looking into your past, you have a debt to repay."

"A debt?"

"The girl you hurt that night — her name is Elena Corleone." Kyle slid a photograph across the desk. "There was something wrong with the case file from back then. Based on intelligence we've recently confirmed, that night, your drink wasn't the only one that was spiked. Hers was too. You were both victims."

Brian picked up the photo. The girl in it was young and innocent-looking.

Something hit him hard in the chest. A guilt he couldn't put into words began to spread through him.

"What happened to her?"

"It's not good." Kyle let out a long sigh. "After that night, she got pregnant. The following year, she gave birth to a baby girl — enduring endless insults and humiliation to do it. The scandal nearly got her thrown out of the family. For years now, she and her daughter have been treated like servants in the Corleone household, looked down on at every turn."

Kyle looked straight at Brian, speaking each word slowly and deliberately. "Brian, you destroyed her life."

It hit him like a thunderclap.

Eight years of fighting and bleeding — Brian had believed he was serving his country. But he had never once thought that in another corner of the world, an innocent woman had been suffering through hell for eight years because of him.

And he had a daughter he had never even met.

Crack.

The shock and rage broke through every wall he had.

Brian's entire body surged with a killing intent he couldn't contain. His right hand slammed down on the desk — and the heavy custom-built military hardwood desk split clean down the middle, splinters flying in every direction.

"General." Brian's eyes had gone bloodshot. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. His voice was cold — completely empty of warmth. "I'm going back to New York. From this day on, my life belongs to that mother and her daughter. If anyone dares lay a hand on either of them — I will leave nothing of them to bury."

Kyle looked at the destroyed desk. He didn't get angry. He just waved his hand. "Get out of here. Don't embarrass the Blood Eagles."

Two days later. New York City. Outside the Bright Angel Hotel.

A black SUV with no markings sat quietly in the shade of the trees.

In the back seat, Brian was dressed in plain clothes, eyes closed, resting.

In the front seats sat three men with hard, sharp faces in dark suits.

Carl, Arthur, and Gerard — three Blood Eagle Special Forces veterans who had made enemies tremble on the battlefield — now sat like the most loyal of guards, waiting in respectful silence.

"Boss, we've got the full picture." Carl Reid turned around and handed over a folder. "Today is the seventieth birthday banquet of Roger Corleone, head of the Corleone family. They're a second-tier family in New York — decent, but not top-tier."

Brian didn't open his eyes. "And Elena?"

Arthur Bailey picked up where Carl left off, a trace of anger in his voice. "Elena's life in that house is worse than an animal's. Tonight, Roger plans to announce at the party that he's marrying her off to Keith Ward — the eldest son of the Ward family. Keith is known in their circles as a spoiled, vicious playboy. The things he does to women — they call him 'Satan' for a reason. The Corleones are throwing her into a fire pit to buy themselves a business deal with the Wards."

Bang.

Gerard Cooper drove his fist into the steering wheel. "Those bastards. Boss, just say the word and we'll go in there and tear the whole place apart right now."

Brian slowly opened his eyes. They were ice — nothing but ice, as far as you could see.

"Carl, stay with the car." Brian pushed the door open and stepped out. "Arthur, Gerard — with me."

"Yes, sir."

Brian straightened his collar. "Starting today, no one gets to make my woman suffer. Not the Corleones. Not the Wards. No one."

Bright Angel Hotel. Third-floor banquet hall.

The Corleone family was having a night to remember.

Roger Corleone, the family patriarch, sat at the head of the table in a bright red silk suit, face flushed and beaming, soaking in the flattery of New York's finest.

"I hear the Corleones are joining with the Ward family — congratulations on a double celebration!"

"Ha, thank you, thank you! We hope to have everyone's continued support." Roger couldn't stop smiling.

Laughter and clinking glasses filled the hall — the whole room dripping with the glamour and phoniness that came with old money.

But in the farthest corner of that glittering hall — squeezed next to the restrooms and the service entrance, at a small table with a tablecloth that was slightly worn — sat two people who looked like they belonged somewhere else entirely.

A young woman in her early twenties. She wore a simple dress, faded from too many washes.

Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. No makeup. And yet her face was the kind of beautiful that stopped people cold.

But the eyes that should have been bright and alive were filled instead with a tenderness and sadness too deep to shake.

Elena.