Michael returned the cat gently to Monica’s lap. It settled immediately, curling against her. Monica let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft and genuine kind, and looked up at him with appreciation in her eyes. “Thank you.” She said, “He usually doesn’t chase things like that. Guess the music wasn’t exciting enough for him tonight.” Michael smiled faintly. “Jazz has a way of sneaking up on you. It doesn’t demand attention. It waits until you’re ready to listen.” Her brows lifted slightly, surprised. “That’s… actually a very good way to put it.” She glanced toward the stage, where the band was easing into a slower tune again. “Most people think it’s just background noise.” Michael added calmly, “That’s because they’re listening for noise. Not conversation.” Monica studied him for a moment, curiosity replacing her initial caution. “You sound like someone who knows jazz.” “I’ve been learning.” He admitted, “There’s a lot more to it than people give it credit for.” She was pleased

Monica ran into the snow in worry, looking side to side as the cold bit at her cheeks. Her breath came out in small clouds, each one trembling with unease. Zeus meowed softly at her feet, weaving around her ankles as if sensing her distress. She quickly bent down, scooped him up and tucked him securely beneath her coat, then wrapped the thick fabric around his small body. “Feeling better, Zeus?” She whispered, pressing her cheek briefly against his head. His purr vibrated faintly against her chest, a small way of comforting her outside the club. Her eyes kept searching. The alleyways around the jazz club were narrow and poorly lit, snow piling up against brick walls and metal dumpsters. The music from inside was now muffled, almost distant, replaced by the eerie quiet of the night. Monica’s heart thudded painfully as fear crept in. She took a cautious step forward, then another. Then she heard it. A loud groan, raw and full of pain, echoed from somewhere nearby. Her head snapp

The day came quickly. Michael didn’t wait for the sun to rise fully before moving. He was already dressed when he stopped by Barry’s room and knocked once. “Barry. Up.” A groan came from inside. “Man… it’s barely morning.” Michael opened the door anyway. “I need you to look into someone. Now.” That got Barry sitting up. “That serious?” “Yes.” Michael crossed his arms. “The name is Lionel. Connected to the Rivera family. Past or present, I don’t care which. I want everything.” Barry rubbed his face, already waking up fully. “Lionel Rivera?” “Not sure…” Michael said. “Could be a former associate. Could be something buried. But when Richard said the name last night, Monica froze. That wasn’t nothing.” Barry nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll dig.” “Dig deep.” Michael added. “If it exists, I want it. If it doesn’t, then I want to know why.” Barry swung his legs off the bed. “Give me the day.” “That’s all you get.” Michael said, then turned and left. The hours dragged. Michael tr

Richard began slowly, as if the weight of the story demanded careful handling. “Lionel Smith.” He said, folding his hands together on the table, “Was once a trusted friend of the Rivera family. Long before Monica inherited anything. Long before the guards, the walls, the cameras.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “He advised them on business, investments, acquisitions. Every suggestion he made turned into gold. The Riveras trusted him completely.” Michael listened without interruption, his expression unreadable. “But beneath that polished image,” Richard continued, “He carried a hunger that never went away. Lionel didn’t come from wealth. He grew up watching people like the Riveras live lives he could only dream of. The money he earned wasn’t enough for him. He wanted power. Real power. The kind of power that bends cities, families, legacies.” Richard’s gaze dropped briefly, as if replaying memories he wished he could erase. “So he planned it. His takeover. Slowly. Patiently. H

Michael didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t rush. He simply reached for Monica’s arm and leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “We have to go.” Her breath caught. “But-” “Shhh,” Michael murmured, firmer now. “Right now.” There was something in his tone that cut through her panic sharper than the shotgun ever could. Not fear, but control. Urgent, deliberate control. It made her heart pound harder. This wasn’t a suggestion. This was survival. He guided her down, slow enough not to draw attention, pulling her beneath the tablecloth. The dim lighting and the sudden chaos of the room worked in their favor. Michael crouched with her for just a second longer. “Stay.” He whispered. His eyes locked onto hers, steady, grounding. “I’ll find the back exit.” Monica grabbed his sleeve instinctively. “Don’t leave me.” His jaw tightened. He leaned closer, forehead almost touching hers. “Listen to me.” He said quietly. “If we panic, we die. If we sit still and wait, we die.