How long ago had it been?

When had Jean-Claude Bellerose first set his eyes on this path?

He tried to pinpoint the moment—the first ember of fury, the first time he had looked at the world and felt disgust curdle in his gut.

He had been young, mid-teens maybe, when he had first felt it—that deep, inescapable revulsion with the way things were.

The way justice failed.

The way the system failed.

The way people just turned a blind eye.

Even then, he had wanted to be more.

Not a cop. Cops were leashed. Weak. Corruptible.

Not a politician. They were the worst of all.

No—he had wanted to be like the masked crime fighters of legend.

The ones who made criminals afraid. The ones who used violence and fear to control the world around them.

That craving for control had given him purpose, had driven him forward, had made him obsess over strength, discipline, and power.

It had pushed him to train his body, sharpen his mind, forge himself into something greater.

And in his dreams, even back then, he had pictured it.

The mask. The mission. The fear in their eyes.

The moment he became what lawbreakers feared.

Long before the first night he donned a mask, before the first punch thrown in the name of justice, Jean-Claude Bellerose had already decided—

His crusade would be a lonely one.

He had always assumed it had to be.

The kind of work he was destined for—the kind of war he wanted to wage—was not one that left room for companionship.

But then he had met her.

Laura Locke.

She had been different.

Smart. Beautiful. Talented.

She had a burning desire for justice that matched his own, something that set her apart from everyone else.

And from the moment he first saw her in their criminology class, he had wanted her.

At first, it was just an interest, an attraction, something natural.

But it grew.

It became an obsession—a need.

Jean had imagined it over and over in his mind.

Making her his.

Ensuring no one else touched her.

Ensuring no one else even tried.

She belonged with him—someone who understood her, someone who could match her fire, someone who would lead her down the same path.

She just didn’t know it yet.

Approaching her was easy.

Jean had always known he was desirable.

Strong. Tall. Charming.

Women noticed him. Men respected him.

And Laura?

She had responded just as he had expected—like most young women would to the attention of a confident, dominant man.

But casual flirtation wasn’t enough.

He watched. He studied.

He learned her—every subtle reaction, every flicker of interest, every moment of hesitation.

Jean was nothing if not meticulous, and when he set his sights on something, he got it.

And Laura?

She was going to be his.

Not just another pretty face to entertain him for a fleeting moment—no.

From the first day he saw her, he had loved her.

Wanted her.

Wanted to shape her, mold her, make her his one and only.

So he did what he did best.

He tailored himself to her, not in pretense, but in calculation.

He wasn’t just attentive—he showered her in affection.

He made her feel like she was the center of his world—because, in his mind, she was.

Their relationship had ignited like dry tinder—fast, intense, consuming.

And once she was his, Jean had no intention of ever letting her go.

He had felt like the happiest man on Earth when Laura Locke said she wanted to go steady with him.

Like he had just won the jackpot.

Like every moment of patience, every calculated move, every whispered affection had been worth it.

She was his now.

And that meant no one else—no other man, no other woman—could ever have her, even for a moment.

Jean loved her.

Loved her in a way that felt all-consuming, in a way that made him ache at the very thought of her eyes lingering on someone else, even in passing.

He loved her so much, in fact, that she had been the first and only soul he had ever confided in about his dream—

His true purpose.

The vision of donning a mask, of fighting the good fight in the shadows, of shaping Montreal with his own two hands.

And she had listened.

She had understood.

And that, more than anything, had sealed it for him.

Laura wasn’t just his girlfriend.

She was going to be his partner in all things.

His partner in life and his partner in the fight against crime.

Laura had felt the same fire, the same need to expose wrongdoing, to drag the corrupt and the criminal into the light so the world could see their sins laid bare.

That was the birth of the Midnights.

Because he and Laura had vowed themselves to this cause—

To train together.

To support each other.

To stand side by side.

And when the time finally came—when they were ready—

They had stepped onto Montreal’s streets together, masked and armed, ready to make a difference.

To become the darkness that criminals feared.

To make Montreal theirs.

And they had.

Or at least, they had tried to.

For a time, it worked.

They started small, moving carefully, building their reputation from the shadows. Every takedown, every bust, every criminal left bleeding in an alleyway felt like a victory—a step toward the Montreal they wanted to create.

But the logistics of this life started to wear on Jean.

They weren’t government-funded heroes.

They weren’t superpowered vigilantes.

They weren’t wealthy benefactors with endless resources.

They were just two people trying to do their best in a city that was drowning in crime and corruption.

And then, reality set in.

Money was a problem.

Keeping up with the gear, the safehouses, the medical supplies—it all cost something.

More than that, Jean started to feel something else—a deeper frustration.

He wanted to give Laura the life she deserved—a life without worry, without struggle—but that wasn’t possible when every night was spent patching wounds and counting costs.

And worst of all?

No matter what they did, no matter how many criminals they took down, it was never enough.

The corrupt? The mobsters? The ones who truly ran the city?

They just kept coming.

Jean started to realize the ugliest truth of all.

They could never really stop them.

Not all of them, anyway.

Six months ago, everything changed.

Jean had been on patrol alone, the night like any other—until he ran into them.

A group of men, well-dressed but unmistakable, their presence radiating the kind of quiet authority that only came from belonging to something bigger.

The Italian Mafia.

He had expected a fight.

Instead, one of them made him an offer.

Not money. Not power.

Something better—information.

A lead on the whereabouts of a dangerous supervillain.

And all Jean had to do was look the other way.

At the time, he had told himself it was for the greater good.

It wasn’t betrayal.

It was strategy.

Because he and Laura could never stop all crime—not really.

Not in a city where corruption ran this deep, where syndicates operated like well-oiled machines, always adapting, always rebuilding.

So why not use that corruption?

Why not cut a deal that would allow them to put a stop to someone like La Muse—to her latest scheme, to criminals worse than the Mafia itself?

It was just one deal.

One compromise for the greater good.

But then, more offers came.

More intel.

And then—the rewards.

If the Midnights leaned on the right people, put pressure in the right places, the Italians would pay him for his trouble.

And more than that—they gave him intel he could never have gotten on his own.

At first, the money went toward gear—better weapons, reinforced armor, the kind of tools they always struggled to afford.

Then, it went toward something bigger.

The townhouse. The life he wanted to give Laura.

And the intel?

It made the Midnights into something unstoppable.

They weren’t just vigilantes throwing punches in the dark anymore—they were a force to be feared.

They were cracking down on some of the biggest operations in Montreal—because they had an inside track no one else had.

And the cost?

Simple.

Look the other way.

Focus on the enemies of the Italians, and let the rest sort itself out.

And everything was going so well.

Laura was in the dark.

She thought his side job as a freelance investigator had finally hit its stride, that the money, the townhouse, the resources—all of it—was a result of his hard work, his brilliance, his dedication.

And the best part?

As smart as she was, as perceptive as she could be, Laura had a blind spot.

Him.

She never second-guessed his lies, never dug too deep.

And the few times she did?

It was so easy to maneuver her.

To make her doubt herself instead of him.

A carefully chosen phrase, a shift in tone, a soft apology at just the right moment—

Jean knew exactly how to guide her thoughts.

Exactly how to keep her where he needed her.

And with Laura at his side, with the Midnights feared, with the city bending to his will—

He had everything.

He was in control.

She was his.

Montreal was his.

And for the first time in his life—Jean-Claude Bellerose finally had absolute control over his own life.

But just like that, she had shown up out of the blue.

The Vulpes.

This fox-eared thief from Toronto, here to stick her nose where it didn’t belong—in the Ruso Family’s business.

And worse?

She wasn’t just getting in his way.

She was charming Laura.

Jean had watched quietly, his hazel eyes picking apart every interaction, every small smile shared, every friendly exchange of banter.

He had heard the tone they used with each other—easy, amused, familiar in a way that made his stomach tighten.

He had seen the micro-movements between them, the subtle shifts in Laura’s posture when she spoke to Vulpes—not guarded, not dismissive, but open.

And that? That was unacceptable.

Laura was his.

Montreal was his.

And the Vulpes needed to be dealt with.

She had to be thrown off the trail of Alfonso Ruso, made to understand that this was not her city, not her problem.

Because Jean-Claude Bellerose had spent too long building his empire, shaping his world, bending it to his will.

And he wasn’t about to let some masked interloper from Toronto ruin it.

The Italians had wanted him and Laura to lean on the people hunting Alfonso Ruso—to apply pressure, eliminate threats, and clear the way for the Ruso family’s golden boy to slip away unnoticed.

They had paid him well for that task.

But when they had learned that Vulpes was here?

Oh, that had sweetened the deal.

Don Carmine Ruso, the big boss of Toronto, had a price on her head—a bounty placed by a man who loathed her with every fiber of his being.

The little fox had bled his operations dry, had cut too deeply, cost him too much money.

And now?

Now, Jean was about to cash in on that grudge.

This ambush, this trap he had orchestrated so carefully, had netted him enough money to live comfortably for a long, long time.

Long enough for him and Laura to live the good life for a while.

Would the Italians kill the Vulpes?

Oh, they would try.

And Jean certainly hoped they succeeded.

Because then?

Then, he could console Laura.

He could be there for her, play the loving boyfriend, hold her through her grief, use her pain to strengthen their bond.

He would redouble his vow to stand by her side, to fight the scum of Montreal—

And never let her question who was really pulling the strings.

It wasn’t the first time he’d turned a blind eye to the blood the Italians spilled.

Why should he care?

If they killed other criminals—so what?

They weren’t innocents. They weren’t his problem.

And the Vulpes?

She wasn’t just some masked vigilante from Toronto.

In his eyes, she was a thief—one who had dared to steal from him.

Not just his city, not just his control—

But his Laura.

The way she looked at her, the way Laura smiled at her, trusted her—

It made something ugly and possessive coil in his gut.

Vulpes was muscling in on his life, trying to plant herself in something she had no right to touch.

Jean had sacrificed too much, suffered too much to build this life for himself and Laura.

No one was going to take that from him.

And if the Italians wanted her gone?

Then they were just doing him a favor.

And he smiled to himself, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips, because somewhere across Montreal, in an old, bloodstained meatpacking plant, his Vulpes problem was about to sort itself out.

One way or another.

Whether by bullet, blade, or butcher’s hook, the Italians would see to it.

And when it was over?

Jean-Claude Bellerose would be exactly where he had always been—

In control.