Gezza pushed the doors of the library open, and the hinges screamed, and the city heat beat his face. Sneakers meet broken sidewalks, The Vault scheme a-humming.
He fished his phone--screen broken, throbbing--Victoria Blake: 17 missed calls, 3 days. Snubbed her too long. Swip answer, swip answer, swip answer, swip answer.
Her voice, her voice, Thompson, her voice, bossy edge, hitching breath. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Busy, boss," Gezza drawled, sleazy grin in a shop window, cocky swagger in his walk. "Miss me?"
An interval—wet gulp, passion eating her out. "We need to talk. Now."
---
Seven seals—next, her empire. Skyscraper lobby gleamed—marble, security cameras, his reflection in polished steel.
He paused at the revolving door, city lights pulsing below. Soon, this building's mine.
He tilted his head up, glass tower stabbing the night, Victoria's floor glowing like a violet rune. Sneakers scuffed forward.
Door clicked behind him. Time to seal the boss.
