The three men in suits at the back stood at once, their chairs scraping against the tile. Without a word, they walked out of the café and slid into a black sedan waiting by the curb.Zion’s eyes darted toward the door, then back to Dane. “Okay,” he said, voice shaky. “The truth is… yes, they gave me money to reach out to you. Nothing more. I swear. But I also wanted to see you. We haven’t met in a long time.”Dane’s jaw tightened. “Can I take your word on that? Because if that were true, you wouldn’t have lied.”Dane continued as he leaned closer. “If you or the people who sent you wanted to know about my past, you could have asked when I joined the mafia. You would already know everything about me. So tell me…” He dropped his voice. “Do you recognize this name? Do you work for the Coin Flipper?”Zion’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean? Coin Flipper? I don’t know who that is. What the hell is that?” His voice trembled.It looked like a lie. Dane’s knuckles whitened on the knife.“I’m

“Okay, fine,” Dane muttered at last, jaw tightening, shoulders shifting as if to shake off the weight of her stare. “Since you insist… I went to meet a friend. It’s been a while.”Jane’s lips curved into something between a smirk and a sneer. “A friend? You?” She let out a low laugh, sharp as glass. “That’s rich.” Her eyes gleamed, dissecting him like prey. “You’re a man of shadows, Dane. You joined Butcher’s house with nothing but the clothes on your back. No phone. No ties. No one to call your name. And suddenly, you claim to have… a friend?”The word friend dripped from her tongue like poison.Dane forced himself to keep his breathing steady.Jane took a slow step forward, arms crossed. The faint perfume on her skin clashed with the stale tang of gun oil that lingered in the hall. “Tell me—who was in the slum? Who’s this mysterious friend that could reach you when no one else could? Or is this just another one of your slick lies?”He said nothing, only shifted his weight, eyes flic

“So, boss… is that all you wanted to ask me?” Dane said carefully, standing stiff near the door, his hand lingering on the knob longer than necessary.Butcher leaned back in his leather chair, a thin coil of smoke curling from his cigar. The faint glow at its tip reflected sharply in his eyes. He tapped ash into the tray, letting the silence stretch before speaking.“No,” he said finally, gravelly and deliberate. “I just wanted to remind you—don’t go outside without my permission. Are you forgetting about the Coin Flipper?”The name hit Dane like a weight. He stiffened but forced a calm nod. “No, boss. I haven’t forgotten.”He hesitated, brow furrowing. “But… it’s not like you to smoke. I thought you didn’t smoke.”Butcher’s gaze sharpened. His lips curved faintly, but it wasn’t a smile. “You’re trying to change the subject.”“No, sir—” Dane began.“It’s fine,” Butcher cut him off, waving a hand. His tone carried quiet authority, worse than anger. “I don’t know what you were doing out

Dane’s jaw clenched. “But if you’re right,” he said slowly, “you told me they’re top-tier assassins. Some even more skilled than me in combat. Is that true?”Butcher didn’t blink. “Yes. It’s true. I did say that. Any problem?” His voice was calm, but the faint glow of his cigar cast a hard glint across his eyes.Dane’s frown deepened. “Isn’t that going to be tough for me? Do you even know his exact location?”Butcher leaned forward, the leather of his chair creaking. “It will be tough. Few might fight you. A few of the top-tier assassins might test you. Or maybe only one. In my sense, it might be just one—someone who wants to measure your Hydra combat strength. Because that’s the kind of man he is.”The older man tapped the edge of his cigar, ash falling into the tray. “One, it’s either he wants to take you out and kill you, but the coin is still going to decide that. Two, if he sees you fight, he might stop and ask himself: should he kill you, or should he take you as his main? He al

It’s going to be a rough day,” Dane muttered as he crossed the doorstep.He moved quickly. In his room he changed into the suit Butcher had provided, laced his leather shoes, and checked the weapons one more time. He’d learned to look the part — an important lesson the boss had drilled into him: appearances can open doors. He slid the Beretta into a jacket holster, cinched the Uzi under his suit, and tested the weight of the micro-camera pinned to the lapel. It was small, almost unnoticeable, but it felt like a second pair of eyes.When he was ready he walked back to Butcher’s office. “Sir, I’m ready,” he said.Butcher didn’t look surprised. “Good. Don’t get carried away — your life is at stake.”“Understood.” Dane swallowed and bowed his head briefly.Butcher tapped a cigarette into an ashtray and pushed a folded note across the desk. “I’ll send the location. Two hours from here. Sleazy Street.”Dane read the address and felt his pulse quicken. “Two hours. Got it.”“One more thing,”