The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 180

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest**

**Chapter 180**

**Gemma’s POV**

With every step Zina and I take, the air around us thickens with uncertainty, our footsteps echoing like whispers of doubt against the crumbling facade of the facility ahead. It looms ominously, a relic of a forgotten age, resembling a storm-battered ship that seems poised to capsize at any moment.

Rusty streaks mar the exterior walls, remnants of rain that once kissed the surface but now seem to have evaporated into the ether. The windows, coated in layers of dust and grime, appear as if they’ve been sealed shut by the passage of time itself. Yet, as we draw closer, something catches my eye—a series of fresh tire tracks etched into the dirt, a suggestion that perhaps this place is not as abandoned as it initially appears.

Just then, Zina nudges me gently with her elbow, her voice barely a breath. “Are we really sure this is where our big payday is waiting for us? It looks like a museum exhibit from a bygone era.”

I shoot her a glance, my heart swirling with uncertainty, but before I can voice my thoughts, two guards beckon us to enter through a side door. The moment we step inside, the dusty corridors narrow, yet they gleam with an unexpected sterility, as if we’ve crossed the threshold into a realm governed by a different set of rules.

The tall man leading us strides confidently ahead, not once glancing back as he ascends a set of steel stairs. He approaches a retinal scanner, its ominous red glow pulsating like a heartbeat, and leans in with an air of unwavering resolve.

With a hiss, the heavy doors part, revealing an interior that starkly contradicts our preconceived notions based on the dilapidated exterior.

As the doors swing open, Zina freezes in her tracks, her eyes widening in disbelief. The room is cloaked in shadows, dominated by sleek black consoles that stretch endlessly, filled with rows of quantum processors. It feels as though we’ve stepped into a high-tech fortress, one capable of dismantling an entire nation’s infrastructure in mere moments.

The only illumination comes from the soft electronic glow of numerous monitors, while a cool breeze wafts from hidden vents, wrapping around us like a whispered secret, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Whoa…” Zina breathes out, her voice barely above a whisper, and just then, a figure emerges from the shadows between the stations. The tall Russian who guided us here gestures toward him with a subtle nod.

“Your delivery from Moonlight.”

The man waiting for us is someone I recognize from his profile—a notorious figure in the underworld. Smith, the godfather of the Nassau Island Mafia, is not one known for wasting words or smiles. Yet, as his penetrating gaze lands on us, a flicker of amusement dances in his eyes, while the Russian departs without a backward glance.

His salt-and-pepper hair stands in disheveled wisps, as if he has been running his fingers through it in frustration or deep thought.

“We extend our greetings to Moonlight; your reputation precedes you,” he states, his voice smooth yet laced with authority.

I extend my hand into his, shaking it firmly. The moment our hands connect, I feel the weight of his serious demeanor shift, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of our situation.

He slides a small drive across the table, his expression turning grave. “Your mission is to infiltrate the core system of Yerise and implant a virus. I trust you have devised strategies to navigate their firewall, as there is a catch.”

I appreciate his directness; it aligns perfectly with my own approach.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, my curiosity piqued, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.

“You have a mere four hours to complete the task. Any longer, and their countermeasures will lock you out—or worse, trace your steps back here,” he warns, his tone grave and unyielding.

I grasp the drive, feeling its weight in my palm, a tangible reminder of the stakes we are playing for.

“I’ll finish well before that,” I assert confidently, determination flooding my veins.

His eyebrows arch, a mix of surprise and admiration flickering across his face, as if he underestimated my resolve.

“If you find yourself exposed, we will deny any association with you. No one will come to your aid, regardless of how dire the situation becomes. However, should you succeed, the rewards will be significant,” he adds, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips, as if he knows the bait he’s laid out is irresistible. Beside me, Zina’s jaw tightens, but I give her a reassuring nudge. “We’ve got this.”

Smith doesn’t press further. He gestures toward two stations equipped with headsets and secured access lines.

“Make yourselves comfortable. If you require assistance, simply ask one of the guards,” he instructs before departing, leaving us in the charged atmosphere of anticipation.

We settle into our chairs, and as soon as Smith is out of sight, I pull up the familiar interface of the firewall that had thwarted us the previous night. This time, however, I come armed with a plan.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify