Long before vaults were ripped from concrete walls and kings were dethroned in Rio, a plane descended onto the tarmac with the kind of authority that silenced runways. Out stepped a man not known for diplomacy—Luke Hobbs.
An agent of the Diplomatic Security Service, Hobbs had been dispatched under direct orders. His targets: Dominic Toretto and Brian O'Conner, now internationally wanted fugitives after a series of escalating events that had begun in Los Angeles and scattered across continents.
Hobbs didn't ask questions. He read files, scanned faces, and remembered every word.
But one name stuck out more than the others. Not because it was highlighted, but because it was… scratched out and re-added by hand.
"Leonardo DeMarco. Watch, do not engage. Suspected non-aligned operator. High-level threat potential."
It wasn't the type of note someone left by accident.
Hobbs frowned. He didn't like variables. Especially variables that were ghosts on paper but left footprints in real-world operations.
When Hobbs arrived in Rio, the city was already halfway into a civil war.
Hernan Reyes, the local kingpin, held Rio in a chokehold. His influence extended through the police, judiciary, transport sectors—even some of the airports. The kind of grip that couldn't be shaken with a warrant. Only shattered.
Dom's crew had already set the table.
Hobbs tracked them to the Rocinha district after a tip-off. Standard extraction plan: roll heavy, full tactical unit, cut off escape routes.
What happened instead was chaos.
Reyes' men, already tipped off, ambushed Hobbs' team before they even breached the building. The first explosion took out the rear vehicle. Gunfire poured from above. Local streets lit up with screaming, panic, and the metallic rattle of assault rifles.
That's when Dom showed up—not running, not hiding—but dragging a wounded DSS agent behind cover.
Brian followed, taking cover behind a car hood, laying suppressive fire. Vince was there too, roaring orders and pulling another wounded man behind a concrete barricade like a battlefield medic.
They weren't enemies in that moment.
They were the only reason Hobbs didn't lose everyone.
After the firefight, Dom and Hobbs faced off in a bombed-out alley behind the neighborhood.
"You saved my men," Hobbs growled, lowering his rifle. "Why?"
Dom was already walking away. "We were never the bad guys."
The deal was made. Reyes had to fall. Dom's crew wanted freedom. Hobbs wanted justice. Leonardo stayed in the background, unseen by Hobbs but certainly not unknown.
The heist moved forward.
The planning was a dance of precision: blueprints, schematics, traffic flows. Leonardo ran the simulations. Gisele and Koko trained the crew for precision maneuvers. The plan was to rip Reyes' vault straight from under police protection and drag it across half the city.
It worked.
And then it cost them.
During the high-speed extraction, Vince was assigned to one of the diversion convoys. He rode escort for the decoy vault with Gisele.
It was supposed to be clean.
It never was.
An unmarked SUV came in fast. Gisele's car was the target. Vince swerved to block it.
The impact was hard—metal on metal. The side window exploded. A staccato of gunfire followed. Vince took two bullets to the chest.
Leonardo arrived thirty seconds later, tires screeching. He dove from the vehicle and slid beside Vince, who was already bleeding out onto the cracked pavement.
Gisele sobbed, hands trembling as she tried to apply pressure. "We need a medevac—he's—he's not—"
But Vince, breathing hard, reached up and grabbed Leonardo's arm.
"Tell Mia..." he whispered, "I kept my promise. I came home."
Then his eyes closed.
The grave was simple. No ceremony. Just the crew, gathered in a quiet cemetery outside Rio, surrounded by the green blur of trees and the warm silence of dusk.
Mia cried. Brian held her close. Dom stared at the marker—no words, just a chain left on a rough stone. The chain Vince had always worn.
Gisele clung to Leonardo's hand. He didn't speak. Just stood beside her.
Another name added to the cost of survival.
A week later, Hobbs returned.
This time, there were no guns. No chase. No threats.
He found Leonardo at a rail yard, overseeing the dismantling of stolen police vehicles and the repurposing of armored parts into exportable shells. Organized. Efficient. Cold.
Hobbs approached, alone.
"Clean work," he said, not unkindly.
Leonardo didn't turn. "You're here for a reason."
Hobbs handed him a file. Sealed. Official. Labeled with a classification code rarely seen.
"Next time the world burns," he said, "open this."
Leonardo took it, tucked it into his duffel.
"If anyone asks…" Hobbs began.
Leonardo turned, looking him in the eye for the first time. "We've never met."
Hobbs gave a single nod. "Good man."
Present Day – California Estate
The jet touched down on private tarmac just past sunrise. California was a soft blue gold outside the window—familiar and still, compared to the chaos of Rio.
Leonardo stepped off the plane with a quiet exhale. He carried a single duffel bag and the weight of memories he wasn't ready to unpack.
Alfred was waiting beside the car, sharp as ever in a tailored three-piece suit.
"Welcome home, Master Leonardo."
Leonardo smiled faintly. "I've missed hearing that."
Alfred opened the door. "Your mother is expecting you. I believe she made your favorite tea."
Leonardo chuckled. "Of course she did."
The drive through the DeMarco estate grounds felt surreal. Wide, manicured roads. Immaculate hedges. Elegant silence.
Inside the mansion, it was exactly how he left it.
But warmer now.
He walked into the foyer—and there she was.
His mother.
Elegant, poised, strong as ever. Her dress flowed gracefully, her hair pulled back in a neat bun. Her smile, when she saw him, was the kind that shattered defenses.
He dropped the duffel bag without a second thought.
She crossed the marble in three strides and wrapped her arms around him.
"You're too thin," she whispered.
"You're still too observant," he murmured, resting his head against her shoulder.
She pulled back and looked at him properly. "Koko sent photos, but they don't compare. I still say she should've invited me on that little vacation of yours."
Leonardo grinned. "She would've made you hike the Andes."
"She said you almost got sick."
"I blame the altitude."
"I blame your stubbornness." She smiled wider. "Still, I'm glad you took time off. I was worried you were burning out."
"You handled everything fine?"
"Oh, Alfred and I split responsibilities. I signed the big papers, he made sure no one blew anything up."
Leonardo laughed. "Sounds about right."
She walked him to the sitting room. The tea was already prepared, steam curling above porcelain cups.
"I like her, you know," his mother said suddenly.
Leonardo blinked. "Koko?"
"Yes. She's a little stiff, but I can tell she adores you. And her insights during our brief lunch—she's very sharp."
Leonardo sipped his tea to hide his expression. "She's loyal. That's rare these days."
"She's more than that," his mother said quietly. "She's dangerous. But I trust your judgment. I've always trusted it."
There was a long silence.
She touched his arm gently. "It really was just a vacation, wasn't it?"
Leonardo met her eyes.
He saw the vault again. The bullets. Vince's eyes closing.
Then he smiled.
"It was. Just a vacation."
Later, after everyone had retired for the night, Leonardo sat alone on the balcony of his room.
He reached into the hidden compartment of his coat and drew out a small envelope—elegant, sealed with an insignia that shimmered faintly.
The Summon Ticket.
Still unused.
Still waiting.
He held it for a moment, then returned it to the vault behind the false drawer in his desk.
Some powers weren't meant to be rushed.
He leaned back in the chair, gazing at the stars.
For now, the war was over.
But peace was a luxury he knew would never last.