"Where are you going?" Grant asked. His eyes stayed fixed on the laptop screen where grainy footage looped again and again, the rooftop, the rifle barrel, the limp.
"Somewhere," I said. I didn't look back.
I grabbed my Porsche keys from the marble counter. The metal felt cold against my palm. I walked out of the penthouse.
The door closed with a quiet click behind me. I left Grant with the screens and the silence. I didn't tell him about the small folded paper I had slipped into my pocket right after the gunshot. The one I picked up from the curb while everyone stared at my bleeding ear. One word typed in clean black letters.
firm.
That single word was enough to pull me out into the night alone.
I didn't want Grant anywhere near this. He had already cleaned up too many of my messes. If this was a trap and things went wrong I didn't want his blood on my hands too. I had enough ghosts already.
The elevator ride down was quiet. Just the soft hum of machinery and my own breathing. I stepped into the underground garage. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
My Porsche sat waiting in its spot.
Black.
Sleek.
Fast.
Like me on a good day. I slid behind the wheel. The leather seat creaked under my weight. I started the engine. It growled low and hungry. I pulled out slowly at first then floored it the second I hit the ramp. Tires chirped. The car shot forward into the city streets.
I drove hard. No music. No thoughts of slowing down. Wind rushed through the open windows and tore at my hair. The graze on my ear burned every time I turned my head.
Dried blood flaked off and stuck to my shirt collar. I ignored it. Pain was nothing new. It had been my constant companion for five years. Ever since I walked into my father's study and found him slumped over his desk with a single hole in his chest and blood soaking the Persian rug.
I gripped the wheel tighter. Knuckles turned white. My mind kept circling back to Martino.
Don Martino. The man who stepped in the day after the funeral. He offered me a place.
Power.
Protection.
He reminded me that in this city you either had connections or you had a grave. He gave me the first one. In return he asked for loyalty. And for me to marry his daughter.
Jessica.
I had known her since we were kids. Backyard games. Family dinners. She used to follow me around with those big eyes full of hero worship. Somewhere along the way that turned into something else. Obsession. Love. Whatever you want to call it.
She believed every lie I fed her. Every promise I made in the dark when she forced me to kiss her.
She cried when she caught me with other women. Screamed.
Threatened to swallow pills. Cut herself. I always talked her down. Always pulled her close. Always made her feel like she was the only one even when she wasn't.
Three months.
That was the date I finally agreed to. Three months until the wedding. Three months until I stood in front of a priest and said words I didn't mean. Martino pushed for it. Jessica begged for it. I gave in because it bought me time. Time to find the person who killed my father. Time to cut every tie and disappear before the ring went on her finger.
Because I didn't love her. I pitied her. Pity for falling so hard for a man who saw her as a chain around his neck. Pity for thinking sex and sweet words meant anything real. Pity for believing I could change.
I sped through a red light. Horns blared behind me. I didn't care. The city blurred past. Neon signs. Tall buildings. People living normal lives. People who didn't know what it felt like to wake up every morning with revenge sitting heavy in their chest.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Once. Twice. I ignored it. It buzzed again. Persistent. I pulled it out. Glanced at the screen while weaving through traffic.
Jessica.
Text after text lighting up.
*Baby where are you? Daddy said you left the station alone. I'm worried.*
*Antonio please answer. I need to know you're okay after everything today.*
*You promised me we'd talk more after this morning. Remember? In the hotel? That was special for me. For us.*
I cursed under my breath. Shoved the phone back into my pocket. But it buzzed again almost immediately.
*If you're ignoring me I'll come find you. You know I will. Don't make me worry like this. I love you too much for this silence.*
Her words twisted something in my gut. Not guilt exactly. More like annoyance mixed with that pity. She always did this. Flooded me with messages. Made everything about her feelings. About us. There was no us. Not in my head. But I couldn't ignore her forever. Martino would hear about it. And right now I needed him on my side until I unraveled who killed my father.
I pulled over for a second at a dark curb. Typed back quickly.
*I'm fine. Handling business. See you tomorrow at the memorial.*
Sent.
Her reply came in seconds.
*Tomorrow? But I want to see you tonight. Please Antonio. I can't sleep without knowing you're safe. What if something happens to you like it did to your dad? I'd die without you.*
I stared at the words. Her fear. Her clinginess. It made me want to throw the phone out the window. But I typed again.
*Go to bed Jessica. I'll be fine. Love you.*
The lie came easy. Always did.
She sent back a string of hearts and kissing emojis. Then one last text.
*Promise me you'll be careful. You're my everything. Can't wait for our wedding. Three months baby!*
Then the phone rang. I thought it was her but it was Martino.
Short angry breaths, someone, a female spy had just robbed him and being his right hand man,I was in charge of hunting the bitch down.
I pocketed the phone. Floored the gas again. Her messages lingered in my head like smoke. Clogging everything. Reminding me how trapped I felt. Three months. That's all I had to end this. Find the killer. Break free.
The firm appeared ahead. Leonard & Associates. My name in gold letters across the top floors. The clean public face of everything I did in the shadows. I pulled into the underground executive garage. Parked in my reserved spot. Killed the engine. The sudden silence pressed in hard.
I sat there for a minute. Listened to the tick of the cooling engine. Felt my pulse in my ears. The graze still throbbed. I touched it. Fingers came away sticky with fresh blood.
I stepped out. Gun already in my hand. Silenced Glock from the glove compartment. I checked corners. Shadows. Exits. Nothing moved. I walked to the private elevator. Swiped my card. Doors slid open. I rode up alone.
The doors opened on my floor. Hallway empty. Lights dimmed for night mode. I swiped the card again at my office door. Beeped green. Pushed inside.
The space felt too still. Too quiet. I flicked the main lights on. Desk clean. Files stacked. Bookshelves were full. Everything looked normal. But the air felt thick. Heavy. Like someone had been here recently and left their hate behind.
I pulled a cigarette from the pack in my pocket. Lit it with the Zippo my father gave me when I turned eighteen. The flame flickered. I inhaled deep. Smoke filled my lungs. I exhaled slowly,watching it curl toward the ceiling.
Then the card reader beeped again.
Someone else had access.
My heart kicked hard. I dropped low. Dove under the massive dark desk. Cigarettes were still burning between my fingers. Smoke trailed up in thin lines.
Black boots stepped inside. Slow. Deliberate. Careful steps. Someone who knew how to move without being heard.
I held my breath.
Footsteps padded closer.
A low curse slipped out. "Fucking son of a bitch…"
Voice muffled. Masked. Not one I recognized immediately.
The boots stopped right in front of the desk.
Smoke drifted up past the edge.
He saw it.
A gloved hand reached down.
I moved first.
I shot up from under the desk. Shoved the burning cigarette straight into his left eye.
He grunted in pain. Stumbled back. A hand flew to his face. A gun came up on the other hand.
I stared straight down the barrel.
"Shoot me," I said. Voice calm. Steady.
He hesitated. Finger on the trigger. Shaking just enough to notice.
I closed my eyes. Fake surrender. Buying seconds.
"You're pathetic Tonio."
That voice.
I knew it in my bones.
I opened my eyes.
He ripped the mask off with his free hand.
Vicenzo.
My oldest friend from college. The one who taught me how to fight dirty when I first stepped into Martino's world. The one who drank with me until dawn after bad nights. The one who hated women now because one woman had broken him beyond repair.
Blood and tears streamed from his burned left eye. The cigarette had done its job.
"Are you that desperate to die?" he snarled. "Look what you did you bastard. Now every bitch in the club will call me a one-eyed monster."
I let out a long breath. Lowered my gun. Dropped back into my leather chair.
"You taught me that move," I said. I pulled a fresh cigarette from the pack and offered it to him.
He glared at me for a long second. Then snatched it. Lit it with his own lighter. Inhaled deep. Winced when the smoke hit his burned eye.
"Not even sorry you arrogant mafioso bastard."
"You know I don't do sorry. You scared the shit out of me. You apologize."
He shook his head. Blew smoke toward the ceiling. "How did you get that key?"
"You gave it to me yourself. One of your blackout drunk nights."
I didn't remember the night. I nodded anyway.
Vicenzo had been there through everything. When Dad died he didn't ask questions. He just showed up. Trained me. Covered for me. Drank with me. Never judged the women. Never judged the blood on my hands. His own heart had been carved out years earlier when his girlfriend left him for her childhood sweetheart. After that he shut down anything soft. Anything that could hurt twice.
We sat in silence for a minute. Smoke filling the room. His eye looked bad. Swollen. Red. He dabbed at it with his sleeve.
"You should get that looked at," I said.
He snorted. "And explain how my best friend burned it out? No thanks. I'll ice it later. Been through worse."
I leaned back. Studied him. "What are you doing here anyway? Creeping around like a thief in my office."
He took another drag. "Heard about the shot at the station. Came to check on you.
Saw your car in the garage. Figured you'd end up here if you were going solo. You always do when shit gets real."
I nodded. "Note led me here. 'Firm.' Someone's playing games."
Vicenzo's good eye narrowed. "Games that end with bullets. You think it's connected to your old man?"
"Everything's connected to him," I said. "Five years and the case is still cold. Now this. Arrest. Shot. And Martino just called. A female spy stole the gold bars. Trillions gone."
Vicenzo whistled low. "Fuck. A woman? In Martino's inner circle? That's bold. Or stupid."
"Or planned," I said. "Someone's hitting us from inside. Weakening everything before they go for the kill."
He rubbed his chin. "You suspect Martino himself?"
I hesitated before looking away. "Can't rule it out. He's the one who pulled me out of the station today. Like a favor. But favors from him always come with strings. And Jessica…"
Vicenzo laughed dry. "Ah the princess. Still clinging like a vine? She texted you yet?"
My phone buzzed again right on cue. I pulled it out. More from her.
*Antonio, why aren't you home yet? I'm at your place waiting. Grant said you left suddenly. Please come back. I need you tonight. After what happened in the hotel… I can't stop thinking about it. About us. About our future.*
I showed Vicenzo the screen. He shook his head.
"She's a mess Tonio. Always has been. Remember that time in college? When she showed up at our dorm unannounced because you didn't call her back for a day? Cried in the hallway until you let her in."
I remembered. Vivid. Her mascara running. Her begging for attention. I took her in. I kissed her quiet. Sent her home with promises. Same as always.
"She's worse now," I said. "Threatens suicide. Tells Martino everything. I'm three months from being locked in forever."
Vicenzo leaned forward. "Then why not end it? Tell her the truth. You don't love her. Never did."
I rubbed my temples. "Because Martino would cut me off. And I need his resources to find Dad's killer. Once I have that I'm gone. City. Her. All of it."
He nodded slow. "Fair. But watch her. If there's a female spy she fits. Obsessed. Close access. Motive if she knows you're faking."
The thought hit hard. Jessica as the spy? Stealing gold to what? Hurt me? Hurt her father? It didn't fit. But doubt crept in.
My phone buzzed once more.
*If you don't answer I'm calling Daddy. He'll find you. Please Antonio. I love you. Don't do this to me.*
I typed back.
*Busy with work. Go home. See you tomorrow.*
Sent.
Vicenzo watched me. "You're playing with fire keeping her on the hook."
"I know," I said. "But fire's all I have left."
We talked more. Deeper. Like old times. He told me about a lead he'd been chasing quietly. A whisper from one of Martino's old enemies. Something about Viktor—the guy with the limp from the footage. Vicenzo thought he was holed up in a warehouse on the east side. "We hit it tonight?" he asked.
"No," I said. "Tomorrow at the memorial. Everyone shows. We watch. Then we strike."
He agreed. We planned the details. Entrances. Exits. Weapons. Backups.
By the time we finished the room was thick with smoke and strategy.
Vicenzo stood. "Let's get out of here before your princess sends a search party."
I nodded. We walked out together.
The hallway stretched empty.
But the night felt heavier.
Jessica's texts burned in my pocket.
The hunt was on.
And tomorrow everything will change.