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Chapter 3: Welcome Back, Black Widow
His voice was soft, almost teasing.
“Long time, Black Widow.”
I didn’t flinch. I’ve learned that in this game — reaction is weakness. My hand moved slowly to my thigh, where my second gun was strapped beneath the slit of my black dress. But the cab driver just smiled in the rearview mirror, eyes full of secrets.
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"Who sent you?" I asked coldly.
"You’ll see soon enough," he replied, starting the engine. "But don’t worry, tonight’s not the night you die."
Comforting.
Destination Unknown
I noticed we weren’t heading toward my safehouse. The roads curved in the wrong direction.
No streetlights. No people. No noise. Just the hum of the engine and the tension that sat like a knife against my spine.
"I didn’t tell you where to go," I said.
He chuckled. "But he did."
Rafael.
My fingers tightened on the grip of the hidden gun.
I was done running. If Rafael wanted a reunion — I’d give him one.
But I’d be the one writing the ending.
The Warehouse
The cab stopped in front of an abandoned warehouse near the Mumbai docks. Rusted gates. Broken windows. Darkness that could swallow a city. Perfect place for a trap.
As I stepped out, the driver handed me a phone. It was already on a call. A voice spoke:
“Zara. Don’t make the same mistake twice.”
"Rafael," I whispered.
"Put the gun away. You’ll need both hands free."
"For what?" I asked, stepping inside the warehouse, heels echoing on the metal floor.
"For the truth," he said. "And maybe... survival."
Face to Face (Again)
A spotlight flicked on.
There he was.
Rafael.
Same scar, same cold eyes. But older. Colder. More dangerous.
He wore black — always black. His shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing the same silver chain he wore the night before Berlin.
"You’re alive," I said.
"And you’re still lethal," he replied. "But someone else is more dangerous now."
I aimed my gun. "Why did you set me up in Berlin?"
"I didn’t. They did. And now they’re coming for both of us."
The Real Enemy
He walked toward a table in the center of the room. On it were files — dozens of them.
Names, photos, surveillance shots.
And one familiar face: Mine.
He pushed another file forward. It was marked: "Project Scorpion - Phase II"
"What is this?" I asked.
"A kill list," he said. "And you're at the top."
He handed me a photo. My stomach dropped.
It was Farooq.
Dead.
Shot between the eyes — five minutes after I left him.
"They knew you’d go to him," Rafael said. "They're watching everything."
Betrayal from Within
My hands trembled — not from fear, but fury.
"They’ve turned the agency against us," I said. "RAW. MI6. Maybe even CIA."
He nodded. "It’s not just about Berlin anymore. They think we know too much. About the arms deals. About the political blackmail. About... the poison shipments."
"And we do," I whispered.
Suddenly, the lights shut off.
Gunshots echoed.
Glass shattered.
A flashbang detonated just feet away from us.
We were under attack.
Escape or Die
I dropped to the ground, rolling behind a steel pillar. Rafael fired three shots into the darkness, hitting one of them — I heard the grunt.
Three more shadows moved in.
Trained. Fast. Silent.
I pulled the pin from a smoke grenade in my purse and launched it toward the entrance. The room filled with gray fog and chaos. Screams. Fire. Sparks.
I grabbed the files from the table, nodded at Rafael, and ran toward the back exit.
He followed. Barely.
Into the Fire
We burst into the night, lungs full of smoke, hearts pounding.
A car screeched around the corner — not ours.
A woman stepped out. Tall. Blonde. Ice in her eyes.
"Zara Malik. Rafael Cortez. Welcome to your funeral."
She raised a silencer.
I didn’t hesitate.
One shot.
Straight to her knee.
She collapsed screaming, but we didn’t stop.
We disappeared into the shadows, wounded but breathing.
New Target. New War.
Back in the stolen car, I opened the final folder.
It read:
"Target #6 – Prime Minister’s Daughter. New Delhi. Classified Mission: Black Widow"
I looked at Rafael.
"This is bigger than both of us," I said.
He nodded. "And it’s only just begun."
To Be Continued…
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