The restaurant was empty except for them. Mia had reserved the entire place. Twenty tables. Fifty chairs. All for a conversation between two people.Santino arrived exactly at eight. Mia was already there. She wore a red dress that hugged her body. Her hair was down in natural waves She looked beautiful but dangerous, "You're late," she said."I'm exactly on time.""In our world, on time is late."Santino sat across from her. The table was set for two. Crystal glasses. Silver cutlery. A single red rose in a crystal vase."Nice touch.""I thought you'd appreciate it."The recording device was in his shirt pocket. So small he'd forgotten it was there. But now it felt heavy as a lead. "You said we had things to discuss."Mia smiled. "We do. But first, dinner."A waiter appeared from nowhere. Poured an expensive red wine. "To new beginnings," Mia said, raising her glass."What kind of new beginnings?""The permanent kind."They drank, and the wine tasted perfect. "Is it drugged?" Santin

The penthouse was gone as Santino stood across the street. Fire trucks. Police cars. Ambulances. Red and blue lights painted the building.The home he got recently reduced to rubble and smoke."How bad?" he asked. Zara stood beside him. Her laptop bag over her shoulder. Always ready to run."Top two floors. Completely destroyed.""Anyone hurt?""The doorman. Pierre. He's in surgery."Santino's jaw tightened. Pierre had worked there for years. Had grandchildren. "Professional job," Zara continued. "Whoever did this knew what they were doing." A paramedic walked past. Blood on his uniform. "Did they find anything?" Santino asked."That's why I called you."Zara pulled out her phone. “Look at this,” she said, showing Santino a photo. “It was taken inside the building. Before the explosion.”In the photo, a white envelope. His name is written in elegant script. Santino narrowed his eyes. “Where was it?”“Your mailbox. Delivered this morning.”He took a closer look. The handwriting… it f

The church was the same one from the night before with empty pews. Flickering candles. The smell of old incense.Santino knelt in the front row. His mother's blood was still on his hands. Literally.He'd tried to wash it off in the hospital bathroom. But some stains don't come out.Three shots. He'd heard three shots. But he didn't know who fired them. Or who had fallen.The police weren't talking. The hospital was sealed off. No information.Zara found him there an hour later. "I've been looking everywhere for you," she said."Any word?"She sat beside him. "The official report says a patient had a psychotic episode. Shot two security guards before being subdued.""And my mother?""Critical condition. That's all they'll say."Santino stared at the altar. The cross. The promise of redemption. He'd never been religious. But right now, he needed something to believe in."There's more," Zara said quietly."Tell me.""I ran facial recognition on Marcus Durand. The man who came to see you

The Geneva safehouse smelled like burnt coffee and old cigarettes. Santino watched Zara's fingers dance across three keyboards, screens reflecting in her dark eyes like electric storms.“This code is harder than my grandma’s chin chin. Who made this? Lucifer?”"You never sleep," he said, setting a fresh cup beside her elbow."Sleep is for people without enemies." She took the coffee without looking away from the scrolling code. "You want to hear something funny?""Try me.""I was seventeen when I first hacked a bank. Johannesburg Commercial. I thought I was Robin Hood." She laughed, but it held no humor. "Stole from the rich, give to the poor. I mostly gave it to myself."Santino pulled up a chair. The safehouse was quiet except for the hum of electronics and distant traffic. Outside, Geneva slept peacefully, unaware of the digital war being fought in this cramped room."What happened?""Got caught. Not by the bank but by someone bigger. They offered me a choice: prison or work for th

The Barcelona hotel room cost more per night than most people made in a month. Mia stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, naked except for his shirt, watching the city sprawl toward the Mediterranean."You're tense," she said without turning around.Santino lay on the silk sheets, studying the curve of her spine, the way his shirt hung just below her thighs. Even now, knowing what he knew, his body responded to her."Long week.""Poor baby." She moved toward the bed like water, graceful and inevitable. "Let me help with that."Her hands found his sho