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The chandelier’s crystals caught the light like stars, refracting it across marble walls polished to a mirrored sheen. The restaurant was the kind of place that didn’t need to advertise; it was only known through whispers, referrals, and the sheer cost of walking through its doors. The maître d’ greeted Valentina with a bow, though he didn’t ask for her name.
He already knew.
She let him pull out her chair, slid into the velvet upholstery, and crossed one leg over the other. Every gesture was intentional; every angle of her posture communicating control. Power.
Across the table, her companion was already waiting.
Lucian D'Arco.
On paper, he was the European Secretary of Energy Trade. In reality, he was something else entirely: a shadow broker with hands dipped into stolen tech, illicit fuel reserves, and private armies that could easily level towns, if he wanted to. Valentina had dealt with his kind before: men who thought their money gave them leverage. They were useful, until they weren’t.
“Contessa,” he said smoothly, raising his glass in greeting. His hair is silver at the temples, combed so sharply it could cut glass. His suit costs more than most New Yorker's rent for a year, but the smirk is the real uniform. “Always a pleasure.”
Valentina smiled as though he were charming, not dangerous. “Lucian. I’d say it’s been too long, but I think you prefer distance until you need something.”
“Need?” He laughed softly, controlled. “Such a crude word. Let’s say I’m interested in a simple… transaction.”
She lifted a brow. “Transactions imply an even trade. What you’re angling for, from what I hear, is a one-sided arrangement.”
The waiter appeared then, all starched linen and quiet hands, pouring them wine older than both of them combined. Lucian let the silence linger, the faint clink of crystal echoing, before he leaned forward.
“I'm after a certain... Ghost.”
Valentina stilled. Not visibly — never visibly — but in her mind, calculations were already shifting like chessboard pieces. Still, she smiled and asked, "And you didn't call a paranormal investigator?"
Lucian laughed. Fake, of course. But an effort, nonetheless, to get into her good graces.
“She’s not a commodity,” Valentina said lightly, swirling her glass. “She’s one of my New Avengers. That team is—”
“Image work,” Lucian interrupted, eyes glinting. “Yes, yes. Your grand debut, your precious symbol of Earth’s protection. But tell me, Contessa, isn’t it precisely now, in the formative stage, that swaps are easiest? Before the world becomes too attached?”
Valentina tilted her head, letting him believe she was considering his angle. The truth? She’d already anticipated this conversation months ago.
“You see her as an Avenger,” Lucian continued. “I see her as an asset. A property, if we’re being honest. Her talents are wasted playing superhero. Phase-shifting, infiltration, destabilization... let's face it, those aren’t rescue skills. They’re offensive, surgical. She belongs in operations where her… unique talents can thrive.”
“And those operations, naturally, would benefit you,” Valentina said dryly.
His smile sharpened. “Of course. But don’t pretend your Avengers aren’t property too. You give them missions. You decide where they go, what they risk, when they bleed. Ownership by another name.”
Her smile didn’t falter, though her nails dug lightly into her palm beneath the tablecloth. She hated when men like him thought they were clever.
“Lucian, darling,” she said smoothly, “the Avengers aren’t exactly nameless soldiers I shuffle like cards. They’re the face of something bigger. And faces matter. Ava matters. Do you know how many young women see themselves in her? Our numbers among female demographics have spiked the moment she stepped onto the stage.”
He waved a hand, dismissive. “Public moods shift. Heroes come and go. The original ones did.”
“Oh, but not in this climate.” Valentina leaned in, voice velvet but edged with steel. “If I present Earth’s guardianship and suddenly one of them disappears, people ask questions. Questions that unravel funding. Questions that unravel me.”
Lucian studied her, eyes narrowing. “So you’re refusing.”
“Did I say that?” she countered, setting her glass down with a soft click. “No, Lucian. I’m saying you need to understand what it costs. And in Ava’s case…” She let her lips curve, feigning reluctance. “I’ve grown rather attached. Always liked her spunk. Which means, unfortunately for you, the price goes a lot higher.”
For the first time, his expression flickered. Interest. Wariness.
She smiled, slow and predatory. “Here’s the deal. You want Ava? Then you need to be clever. I won’t gift-wrap and deliver her to you. But… there might be opportunities."
"I'm listening," he said.
Of course he was. "I can put her in the field. On a mission. And you know missions, there's a thousand ways they could go wrong. Teams get separated. She might end up, oh I don't know, at the wrong place, the wrong time.”
His gaze sharpened. “You’re dangling.”
“Of course I am.” Valentina leaned back in her chair, enjoying the taste of the wine now. “If your people can extract her in the middle of chaos, then congratulations, she’s yours. But if you fail…” Her smile widened. “Well, you’ll lose millions in resources, dozens, if not hundreds of men, and worst of all? You’ll have a pack of assassins masquerading as heroes ripping your empire - or your face - to shreds. That’s the risk.”
Silence fell between them. Tense, electric.
Then Lucian chuckled low in his throat. “You’re cruel.”
“I'd like to think that I’m practical. And let’s not forget, dangling even the possibility costs money. A lot of it. My operations aren’t exactly cheap.” Her mind ticked through the endless list: suppression campaigns, new facilities and weapons, Avengers branding polished... but none of that left her lips. Instead, she simply gave him a look that said it all.
“How much?” he asked flatly.
She named a figure. One that made his fingers tighten around his glass before he schooled his features again.
“That’s robbery.”
“That’s business,” she replied sweetly. “And you’re paying for the privilege of trying, not succeeding. Remember that.”
For a long moment, he weighed her. Valentina could practically hear the calculations behind his eyes: the resources, the mercenaries, the tech he needed to get what he wanted. His empire was vast, but not infinite. Still, men like Lucian never backed away from a gamble.
And Ava?
Could be used in a lot of ways to get more.
Finally, he gave a single nod. “Done.”
They sit back, the deal unspoken but sealed.
Valentina let herself savor the moment. She didn't care whether he won or lost. If he pulled it off, she'd get her payday and lose a headache. If he failed - and oh, he would fail— she'd still get her payday and the satisfaction of watching him burn.
She rose before he could. “Lovely chatting, Lucian. I wish you luck. You'll need it.”
Then Valentina glided from the room, her heels quiet against the carpet. Already, her phone was buzzing with alerts of the incoming transfer to one of her shell accounts. Already she was calculating how many contractors, machinery, and PR spin it would buy her.
She didn’t look back. Men like D'Arco belonged in her rearview mirror, clinging to the fantasy that they were in control.
Let him think he’d won. The real victory was already in her purse.
Everyone else could bleed for it.
The briefing had been short, sharp, and very unusual, in that Valentina herself had delivered it. After all, she preferred her strings on them invisible, delivering orders directly into their ears only when it suited her.
That alone told John Walker this mission wasn’t business as usual. If Val had flown in to actually meet with them, then he figured it meant this one mattered as fuck.
“The device is unstable,” she’d said, eyes sweeping across the table where the team - minus Alexei and Bob - sat. “If it ignites, we’re looking at a crater where this city used to be. Containment is non-negotiable. Stop the detonation, save the city, win hearts in the process. It's great PR, which you all desperately need." She paused. "Questions?”
None of them had asked. She’d left the room with her heels clicking so loudly John was sure he'd hear them in his sleep.
Now, hours later, the team was in motion - boots crunching gravel as they moved through the skeletal remains of an abandoned shipping yard. Rusting containers loomed overhead like mausoleums. Wind howled through broken glass.
“Smells like a setup,” Yelena muttered to him, a small knife already in between her fingers.
“Everything smells like a setup to you,” John scoffed, though a curl of unease twisted in his gut.
Because he could smell it, too.
Behind them, Bucky said nothing, his eyes scanning shadows. Ava walked a step farther behind.
The side warehouse door groaned as John pushed it open. Inside was the device - exactly like Val's intel said it would be. A sphere humming with sickly light, wires snaking from its core into the concrete floor. Too easy. Too exposed. There were no guards, no resistance, nothing. Just the device - like it’s practically waiting for someone to dismantle it.
Yelena tilted her head, muttering under her breath, “I might be mistaken, but bombs don’t usually sit pretty like desserts, do they?”
And John’s instincts were still screaming wrong, this is wrong, you know this is wrong at him - but by then it was too late.
Because the ambush hit them in the face like thunder a second later.
Countless mercenaries suddenly spilled from catwalks above them, armored and ready. Not all were armed with rifles, however; some were holding specialized tech. Sonic emitters that cracked bones with invisible waves. Shockwave gauntlets that slammed bodies into steel. Drones humming with power. All pointed at the four of them in the middle.
Then the trap snapped fully shut.
From behind them, Ava moved first. She blinked out, ghosting through one merc and reappearing with a crack of her fist against another’s helmet. But an emitter from above suddenly shrieked, and her body flickered in response: caught mid-phase, half-solid, half-not. Pain rippled through her frame.
Then Bucky was up there and lunging, metal arm catching the emitter before it discharged again. He ripped it apart with a snarl.
John slammed his shield into the nearest merc, sending him sprawling. “Ghost, on your feet! Circle up!” he barked to the rest.
Soon, the warehouse erupted into pure chaos.
Yelena was a blur of knives, her grin just as sharp and merciless. Bucky was pure fury, every swing of his arm breaking bone, tearing steel. On the ground, John anchored them, shield flashing, voice cutting through noise. And Ava? She refused to go down. Even destabilized, she clawed her way free of every grasp, phasing whenever she could, never surrendering an inch.
But the mercs were coordinated. They weren't just attacking; they were herding. Every move was meant to split the four of them, isolating Ava in the process. Soon, John realized the ugly truth: this wasn’t about protecting the device at all.
This was about Ava. They wanted her solid. They wanted her helpless.
She was their target.
“Hold the line!” he shouted, blood in his mouth, fury in his veins. He slammed into another wall of attackers. "No one gets her, goddamnit! Barnes! Yelena!"
Except that's also the moment when Ava went down hard.
Another emitter had blasted her mid-phase. It sent her crashing hard into a concrete wall, solid and gasping. Three mercs soon closed in with restraints that sparked electric blue in their hands.
They intended to box her in, now.
“No!” John’s voice was ripped right out of his throat. He barreled through the melee, shield up, crashing into them with all the force he had; the restraints and the men holding them simply shattered against it. Then he was standing where Ava was, hauling her to her feet, steadying her with his hand on her waist when her legs faltered.
“I’m fine,” she snarled, teeth bared as she pushed him off, but her voice shook. “Save the gallantry for someone who needs it, Walker.”
“Like hell,” he growled back. "They're after you!"
"No shit," she responded. "The emitters told me that already, Captain Obvious."
Bucky covered them, firing shots sharp and precise, while Yelena slit the throat of the last emitter wielder above. One by one, the mercenaries fell, their high-tech toys broken, their formation unraveling.
But the four of them weren't done.
The rest was a blur of complete mass destruction: emitters shattered under Yelena’s knives, drones swatted from the air by John’s shield even before they could launch, soldiers folded like paper under Bucky’s feral brutality. And Ava moved like living fury and lightning, flickering through squads and dropping them with precision strikes.
When the last man fell, the silence around them was thick. Bodies sprawled, drones sparking on the floor, the device that they came for, still untouched.
Not that it seemed to matter; sometime during the brawl, it sputtered and died on its own anyway - and yet they were all still standing.
Smoke curled toward the ceiling. Ava leaned against a crate, chest heaving, blood at her temple. John stood over her, shield lowered but ready, eyes still scanning for any danger coming her way.
And for a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Bucky’s metal hand flexed on his knee, knuckles creaking. He glanced at Ava, voiced out what John was thinking: “Somebody set this up. Knew we’d be here. Knew how to hit you.”
“They planned every detail except one,” Yelena muttered, pulling a bloodied rag from her pocket to wipe her blade. Her voice was low, steady. “Us.”
The word settled like iron in the air.
"Idiots." Then she grinned. "Well. Dead idiots now."
Ava’s hands trembled. She clenched them into fists. “I don’t care who’s behind this. I want a name.”
“You’ll get one,” John said fiercely, leaning forward. “We’ll all get one.”
Bucky’s gaze was fixed on the shadows, jaw set like stone. “And when we do… we end them.”
"Damn right." Yelena’s knife clicked back into its sheath. “No one hunts family and walks away.”
Family. John met Ava's eyes, held her gaze. Right.
Then the comms chose that moment to flare alive.
“Status? Is this thing on?”
John bit back a curse. He didn’t know if he could report without tearing Val a new one for her false intel that nearly got Ava killed. He started to answer, but Yelena beat him to it, spitting the words like broken glass.
“Pretty device wrecked, got ambushed in the process. Just another regular boring Tuesday, Valentina. You owe us vodka for the stitches.”
A pause. "And all of you are--"
"Accounted for," Bucky responded carefully, his eyes moving through each of them until finally landing on Ava. "Alive."
There was the faintest laugh on the line, low and pleased. “Alive and the city saved, that's all I wanted to hear. Exfil in three blocks, kids. Black SUV. Don’t bleed on the leather. It's new.”
Then the comms went dead.
The restaurant hasn’t changed: linen pressed, crystal gleaming, chandeliers dripping light from above like glistening stars.
But Lucian D'Arco had.
He arrived late, she noticed with satisfaction. Power made men punctual; loss made them hesitate.
He was hesitating a hell lot now.
Lucian sat without ceremony to her left, movements tight, a man whose carefully constructed composure was cracking at the edges. Still, his breeding showed in the set of his shoulders, the precise knot of his tie. European Secretary of Energy Trade, decorated statesman, patron of charities that laundered blood money into opera tickets and gala halls - Lucian was nothing if not charming and polished.
But not tonight. Tonight, his eyes were rimmed in red, his jaw locked against the fury eating him alive.
“You cost me men,” he said at last, voice low, every word pulled through his teeth. “You cost me millions.”
Valentina arched a brow, swirling the wine lazily. “Correction, darling: you cost yourself. I merely dangled an opportunity. Lunging at it like a starving dog was entirely your decision.”
His fingers curled against the linen tablecloth, knuckles blanching. “You played me, you bitch.”
She tilted her head, smiling as though he’d complimented her. There went polished and charming, then. “Please don’t pout. I gave you exactly what you asked for: a chance. And you blew it.”
"This isn't over, Valentina." His eyes burned across the table. “I will get her. One way or another. She will be my property,” he added, steady now, the patrician arrogance sliding back into place. “With or without your fucking consent.”
Valentina laughed, soft and musical, the sound sliding like silk threaded with razors. She leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table, as though confiding something delicious.
“Oh, Lucian. You poor, stubborn man. You’ve already lost her. And worse? You’ve just bought yourself enemies you cannot afford to face right now.” She tapped a manicured nail against her glass, watching the ripples in the wine. “Because as of this moment? There’s a girl who can phase through walls vowing to put a bullet between your eyes. And she’s flanked by a super-soldier with a century-long grudge, a reformed assassin with knives in places you can’t even begin to imagine, and a very patriotic hammerhead with a bent shield who’d happily level your pretty villa in the Riviera just to keep her breathing.”
She let that hang, savoring the image of his empire burning in the hands of her people. Her Avengers.
Lucian’s jaw worked, but he said nothing. His silence was telling.
Valentina rose smoothly, collected her bag, and looked down at him with a smile so bright it could cut glass. “So, my darling secretary, I suggest you spend less time dreaming of what you can’t have…and more time covering your tracks before they come knocking at your door.”
Then she glided out into the night, her account swollen with his money, her team intact, and her position stronger than ever.
On the curb, she pulled out her phone. One name glowed on the screen: Bucky Barnes.
“Hello, James,” she purred when he answered. “You might want to sit down for this. That attack on you and Ava? I’ve got the name I know you’re already burning to kill. And isn’t it nice, how I always deliver?”
And with that, Valentina stepped into the dark, victorious as always.