Tonight was collection night. The twin always showed up, took the money Mr. Torres earned, and slipped into the alley to meet whoever came to collect.
No one knew I had overheard everything. The twin didn’t care that employees lost their jobs because of him. That bag held money he had never worked for. Money that cost me my job and stripped others of theirs. He didn’t deserve a single dollar, yet he appeared every time as if it already belonged to him.
Heat climbed up my throat. The thought of Cole waiting for food, trusting me, burned hotter than the fall did.
It wasn’t my place to care about Mr. Toress being drained by his brother, but somehow I was the one suffering here. Why should I die because of someone old enough to face his own debt? I had a brother to take care of, and that man clearly had no such worries.
I rushed down the stairs, aware that what I was about to do would cost me. But I had nothing left to lose.
He didn’t deserve that money. I did. And so did every employee he helped get fired.
My heart hammered as I reached the back of the restaurant. Rain soaked through my clothes, but the unease crawling through me had nothing to do with the cold. I had one goal: to take the briefcase.
I needed a plan.
They say villains are made, not born. That was true. People faced pressure and difficult situations, which forced them into roles they never planned to play.
I was about to become athief. Not someday, not hypothetically, buttonight.And the funny part was that it would be my first time.
If I wanted that bag, I had to get it before the pickup. But how was I supposed to walk to him as a stranger and leave with a briefcase full of cash in less than ten minutes?
Chapter Two
Dmitri Konstantinov
Blood slipped between my fingersas I dropped a card marked with a skull. It landed beside the bastard sprawled on the floor, a man who recently developed the unfortunate illusion that he possessed courage.
I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped my hands as I stepped back. This was a clean way to end the evening. The man himself was not worth the effort, but the card had to stay. Whoever hired him would find it soon enough and understand exactly what it meant. When you send someone to watch me, you should at least be prepared to collect the body.
I took a cigar from my pocket, lit it, and enjoyed the first slow drag while scrolling through his phone. The idiot had been following me for days, snapping pictures as if I were some kind of celebrity. I had to give him credit, though. The man had an eye for photography. Most of the shots were surprisingly good.
But I stopped at one photo that personally offended me. The angle betrayed him. My face looked wrong there. Flat and ordinary. I touched my jaw with my thumb, tracing the sharpline the camera somehow ruined. The man had a talent, just not enough taste. I deleted the photo and slid into his emails.
The emails were sloppy. A batch of nervous updates, half-written excuses, and messages sent by a man who clearly preferred a camera to a brain. Still, they gave me what I needed. One name appeared too often to be a coincidence, threaded through every report like a leash. Levi.
So the photographer had been sending my pictures to Levi. That alone made the evening worthwhile.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and looked around the room. The office was cramped, furnished with cheap furniture that wobbled if you leaned on it the wrong way. It did not match the confidence the man carried as he followed me around the city with a camera.
If someone were paying him to watch me, they were paying him poorly. Men don’t risk my attention for pocket change. And those who did rarely lived long enough.
I opened a few drawers, more out of habit than hope. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, drifting through the building and reminding me that my time here was limited.
I was not interested in everything he owned. I only wanted what led to Levi. Anything that explained why someone developed such enthusiasm for photographing me.
There was not much, only a few useless papers and a handful of receipts. Nothing was worth carrying except for two things. I took the laptop from the desk and slipped a thin file under my arm. The contents caught my attention.
That was enough. I left through the back exit of the old building and walked down the narrow alley toward my motorcycle.
Levi had taken an interest in me. Now it was only fair that I returned the favor.
I rode straight to my club. The best one in Miami, thoughmodesty has never been one of my stronger qualities. People came there to drink, dance, and spend money they would regret in the morning. I provided the space for that. Naturally, they had to be grateful.
The music was already shaking the walls when I stepped inside. Lights flashed across the crowd, glasses clinked at the bar, and the air smelled like perfume, alcohol, and bad decisions.
My kind of place.
I walked past the busy floor and headed for my office. Once seated behind my desk, I opened the dead man’s laptop and powered it on. If I could find out where Levi was tonight, the evening would become even more productive. One dead spy and a new guest to interrogate. Efficient.