The st few days had blurred into a grind for John, a gangster’s version of clocking in, except the hours flipped upside down, night swallowing day like it owned it. Felt more like a nine-to-five than his straight life ever did, just with shittier lighting and a paycheck in blood and crates. Rafael would summon him basically every day with the same routine: a quick bark about the job, some vague nudge about “new stuff,” then nothing. No meat, no bones, just the same dry crumbs. Always cargo, always the east docks, like the script was stuck on repeat. John couldn’t tell how long this undercover hamster wheel would spin. Seo-young’s “week or so” promise was ticking down fast, and he was still wading through the same murky puddle, no deeper in, no way out. They hadn’t spoken a word since their st meeting.

  Tonight, he sprawled on that creaky foldout cot in the storage unit again, the air damp and thick, music bleeding through his earbuds. One of the few scraps of sanity he could cling to in this messy gig. Miyuki Nakajima’s “A Ride On The Gentle Luminous Dragon” hummed low, a voice he couldn’t decode, as Japanese lyrics were a mystery for him, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t need words to feel it. The melody wasn’t loud or wild, but it carried a weight, an epic pull, like some quiet hymn for the nobodies still kicking. It hit John square in the chest, stirring up thoughts he didn’t usually let loose: Maybe the simple shit, a pin, honest, upbeat living is the real gold. Too bad the world doesn’t hand that out to most of us, though. He sank into it, the music wrapping around him like a lifeline, tugging him somewhere far from this rotting undercover mess.

  Then his phone buzzed, slicing through the haze. He yanked one earbud free, squinting at the screen. Seo-young, finally. The text glowed sharp: “Doesn’t matter what you’ve got so far. Pull out now. We’ve confirmed. Their shipment’s a new strain of dope. We’re moving soon.” His gut lurched. He ripped the other earbud out, music dying, and punched her number, but the line went ft, dead air. She’d gone dark, a typical cop move before a big py, aiming to cut off leaks from any mole in the ranks.

  This is gonna be fucking bad.

  He was actually panicking, desperate to get hold of Seo-young. Her text completely removed John’s recent suspicion against her, but screamed danger for herself. But before he could even leave the storage unit, another buzz jolted him. Rafael’s sb of a bodyguard this time: “Boss wants you. Now.” Same old song, right on cue, like the universe was ughing at him. John stared at the screen, wheels spinning. Two calls to action, pulling opposite ways, one to run, one to dive deeper. He sucked in a breath, dialed a quick number, someone he could trust, then grabbed that leather jacket he got for this gig and bolted for Rafael’s den. No time to overthink it. The game was shifting, and he needed to react, now.

  Rafael’s office hadn’t changed a lick, cigar smoke still hung heavy, a thick, bitter shroud that cwed at the lungs and stuck to the walls. Every time John stepped in, the itch to light up one for himself gnawed at him, but he’d learned his lesson after that first stunt. No more pying cowboy with a cigarette here. He would wait, patient as a saint, till he was clear of the ir to spark one.

  Tonight, though, Rafael threw a curveball. Not lounging in that oversized leather throne, legs kicked up like a kingpin on cruise control. He was on his feet, pacing almost, like he’d been waiting for John to darken his door. The second John crossed the threshold, Rafael reached into that fancy cigar box of his, plucked out a fat, dark stick, and held it out. “Lalo, you’ve been doing well tely. Rex tonight. Have a cigar with me. Let’s have a casual chat.”

  John’s pulse ticked up. He loved a smoke, no denying it. Though he was not some hardcore cigar nut, the offer still hit a nerve. The cigar invite fshed him back to his eighteen, his old man slipping him a primo Cuban, grinning like a kid pulling a fast one. “Don’t tell your mom I gave you this.” A common, warm memory he had with his family, the taste still sharp in his mind, smooth, rich, damn near perfect, even if he’d hacked his guts out after sucking it down like a cigarette.

  But now? Staring at Rafael’s outstretched hand, that same itch didn’t feel right. Something sour curled in his gut. He waved it off, casual but firm. “Nah, sir, I’ll stick to my cigarettes.”

  Rafael’s face twitched just a flicker, a muscle jumping under his eye, and for a split second, a glint of wariness sharpened his gaze. Then it was gone, smoothed over like it never happened. “Suit yourself then,” he rumbled, voice low and even. “You are allowed to smoke here today. Light up and then we can chat properly.”

  John paused, lips parting as the words sank in. A beat of hesitation flickered through him, brain chewing it over, but he slid a cigarette from his pack anyway, setting it between his lips with a slow, deliberate roll. Before he could even fish out his lighter, that sb of a guard, the one he had clocked in the throat days back, lurched forward from behind Rafael’s desk, flicking a lighter to life. Fme dancing, he held it out, but low, way low, barely chest-high on John, who stood a full head shorter than the meathead.

  This was odd as hell, but the why was clear as day to John. He didn’t bite. Didn’t even gnce at the fme. He stepped back, putting a good stretch of hardwood between him and the desk, and sparked his own light, the cigarette fring red as he sucked in a drag. Smoke curled from his nose as he locked eyes with Rafael, voice cutting through the haze. “So, today’s my st day, huh? My execution date?”

  The room froze. Rafael’s mask didn’t crack, but the guards stiffened, meaty hands twitching like they were itching to move. John didn’t give them the chance to react. He barreled on, words sharp and steady. “First time, if I reached for that cigar, you could get my hand pinned, easy. Second, I lean in to let chuckles here light my smoke, that lighter’s so low and I’d have to brace on the desk. Then another easy grab, hands lock. Both times, you could've got me by the wrist, and I’m done. That about right?”

  No one answered, since they didn’t need to. Every bastard in this room knew the score. They were seasoned hitmen, all of them. A killer’s hands get tied, and it’s lights out, simple as that. The air thickened, heavy with the unspoken. John took another slow drag, letting the silence stretch, then flicked his gaze to Rafael. “Gotta hand it to you, though, Rafael, you’ve got style.” He nodded at the wall, where those sleek bck daggers gleamed, edges catching the dim light. “No wonder you’d skip the gun for something with a little more fir when you decided to off me.”

  This wasn't entirely a gamble on John's part. He’d done his homework on Rafael through his system. Not only did he know that Rafael was a man of bdes over guns, but something more, important enough for John to read his behavioral patterns.

  The second John’s words hit the air, both sbs yanked their guns free, barrels snapping up to paint him with twin bck eyes. But Rafael waved them off, a zy flick of his hand, like swatting flies. “You know, Lalo, actually, John, I like you,” he said, voice low and rough, almost warm, if John didn't know he was gonna kill him today. “You got guts, sharp as a bde, and a streak of that old-school honor shit. Reminds me of my good old days, back when I was cwing my way up. That scumbag Big D, running his dope leash on those girls? You handled him clean. His new name’s One Ear now. Me? I’d have gone harder though, crushed him ftter, but he’s working for someone up the chain, my chain. So my hands were stuck.”

  He then snorted, tossing a mocking gnce at his guards. “Most punks these days are like these two dumbasses. They look tough, but inside? Spineless. Fsh some cash, and they’d lick the floor clean.” He rubbed his nose, a quick, rough swipe, then leaned in, eyes glinting. “But sorry, kid, you and that dy cop? You’re both dead today, cause you dug too damn deep, way out of your depth.”

  John’s gut twisted. Seo-young was in the crosshairs too, which was the reason why he was so desperate to reach her after her text message. But right now, his own neck was the priority. He needed time, a crack to wedge open. “Rafael, trust me, the fondness is mutual. I like you too.” Not a lie at all. After reading the info provided by his system about Rafael, he simply couldn't despise this man. Old-fashioned gangster, full of that special gangster kind of honor, but still used as a fucking pawn by people up there, kinda like John himself.

  John kept shooting back, voice steady, smoke curling from his cigarette as he tapped it. “Your pn’s damn near fwless. Guy like you, obviously a mastermind. So don’t you wanna hear where it’s got a hole?”

  Rafael’s lip quirked. He knew John was stalling, pin as day, but he nodded anyway. Trading words with someone on his level? That scratched an itch. They had time to burn, and hell, it might even be fun. John caught the glint in his eye and pressed on, gesturing at the room. “One thing before I start, can we flip on some real light in here? Every fucking time I walk in, I wonder why you people just keep it so dim. You’ve got that huge mp up there. I mean, don’t your eyes ever ache?”

  The trio stared at him, thrown off, brows creasing like he’d asked for a goddamn pony. John shrugged, pying it cool. “What? I’m a dead man anyway, right? Least let me go out in the light. I like to be on the side of the light.” The jab hung there, thick with double meaning, and Rafael caught it clean. A dry ugh rasped out of him. John was surely a ballsy son of a bitch, slinging filth in the shadows but still posturing like some knight in shining armor. Not that it cshed, really. Rafael got it, deep down. He’d started out the same way once, dreaming of corralling the scum, keeping their mess on a leash, thinking it would cut the world’s rot by half. A younger, dumber Rafael, maybe.

  With a nod from Rafael, John flipped the switch, and the office’s big overhead mp bzed to life. For the first time, the room shed its murky skin, light flooding every corner, glinting off the gold-trimmed decanters and the daggers on the wall. The two sbs flinched, squinting like bats yanked into daylight, brows furrowing as they adjusted. John and Rafael? Nothing. Just locked eyes, both smirking faintly, sizing each other up under the new gre.

  “I noticed it the first time you dropped that ‘new stuff’ bomb on me,” John began, honoring their deal. He leaned into it, smoke still trailing from the cigarette dangling at his lips. “Back at the start, I was braced for you to avenge Rex, blood for blood, Reaper style. But no you didn’t. Instead, you call me in for a private little chat. That’s when I knew you wanted something from me. I couldn’t pin what it was, though. Then you hit me with the ‘new stuff’ line, shit you didn’t even need to say. I’m a new guy; everything’s ‘new stuff’ to me, right? Didn’t mean much on its own, just an itch I couldn’t scratch. Until…” He fished his phone from his pocket, swiped it open, and fshed the screen at Rafael. The psycho killer’s draft email glowed in bck and white. “This. Looks like one of your buddies couldn’t keep his sick little impulses in check. Had to leave me a preview of his next masterpiece.”

  Rafael’s face darkened, a shadow creeping over his features, brow creasing tight. He knew that tone in the draft, reeked of the serial rapist-killer tearing through Nexis City tely. Problem was, it didn’t fit his pybook. Whatever he and his ‘associates’ had cooking, this wasn’t part of the deal, and John caught the flicker of confusion in his eyes under the stark light.

  “No such thing as coincidence that clean,” John pressed on, pocketing the phone. “Whether you knew it or not, this freak’s one of yours. That draft tipped me off that my email was compromised. So I called in some… let’s say ‘tech support.’ Traced it back, and guess what? The IP pinged a server you Reapers control.” He let out a low, dry ugh, shaking his head. “Gotta hand it to you, Rafael. An old timer gangster keeping up with the digital age? Impressive! But it’s all dirty work for you, huh?”

  Rafael’s jaw twitched, the cigar pinched between his fingers smoldering down to a faint ember, neglected too long. John didn’t wait for a comeback, barreling ahead. “Don’t worry, I’m not good enough to hack your servers and snag your precious secrets. Tracing that IP was my limit. Got a friend who could’ve dug deeper, who’s nerdier than me by a mile, but I handed him a bigger job instead.” He didn’t eborate. Rafael didn’t need to know about Liam, and Liam’s task wasn’t Rafael’s business now, not yet.

  John paced slow, hands rising casual-like as he edged closer to the desk, signaling he just wanted to talk, not fight. Rafael didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Two guns stayed trained on John’s chest, pinning him in pce.

  “So, you cracked my email,” John went on, voice cutting through the haze. “You knew I wasn’t some ‘Lalo’ from the beginning. Threw my fake rap sheet at me, drugs, arson, all that jazz, just to show you’d vetted me, let me think I was clear, ease me up. Looking back at our first dance, every damn step actually pyed to my script, exactly what I had anticipated, and that rexed me bit by bit. Honest;y, I should’ve seen it sooner, should’ve been on edge the second you didn’t gut me for Rex. This whole undercover gig? A setup from day one. You and the cops, my guess it’s Commissioner Miller, cooked it up together, some eborate trap to figure out how much I’d sniffed out about the shipments. That’s the ‘something’ you wanted from me. And now you’ve got your answer. I don’t know shit about the cargo. So today’s the day you tie up the loose end, right?”

  Rafael exhaled slowly, reviving his cigar. Taking a pull, smoke coiled as he squinted, his voice gravelly but calm. “Spot on, kid. That’s the game. Anything else you wanna get off your chest before we’re done?”

  John didn’t flinch at Rafael’s words. Hands still raised, he ambled slow and deliberate, drifting toward the massive window beside the desk. Those thick curtains still stayed cmped shut, choking out the world beyond. He stopped there, pnting himself, and turned his head just enough to keep Rafael in his sights.

  “Aside from singing your praises, I’ve got nothing else,” he said, voice smooth as gss. “Even after I sniffed out the trap, I couldn’t rule out if the cop I was linked with was in on it too, screwing me from the other side. So I kept my mouth shut, didn’t ping her, didn’t feed her a damn thing. Not until I got word she was part of some ‘operation.’ By then, it was too te. Couldn’t reach her. My suspicion against her got her killed too. So, just to let us both die with some crity, how about you tell me this: I always thought those shipments were for human trafficking, but why every batch of ‘new stuff’ you had me haul was just pills, something that didn’t even sound like dope?”

  Rafael’s face tightened. He crushed his cigar into the skull-shaped ashtray, embers hissing out with a rough twist of his hand. His voice came out clipped, edged with heat. “Enough, kid. I’ve heard plenty. My pn’s fw? Not keeping my partner on a tighter leash. Got it. You’re clever, really clever. Killing you’s a waste, honestly. I’d have put you to work for me in another life. But brains don’t mean shit now. You still walked into your own death trap. The cargo? You’re a dead man soon, so you don’t need to worry about it anymore. Look, I’ll give you this: no harm comes to your family. Reapers won’t even go near them. You have my word for it. Besides, we’re not dumb enough to tangle with those merc bodyguards you’ve got on payroll. So, you ready to go out easy now?”

  John just grinned, that same cocky, unshaken curve of his lips. He eased his right hand down, slow as sin, and plucked the cigarette from between his fingers, setting it to his mouth. “At least lemme have this one st drag,” he muttered, smoke curling as he inhaled deep. Then, just as slow, he raised his hand again. But this time, it wasn’t a surrender. Two fingers flicked up, a crisp, deliberate V for victory, bold as brass in the bright light.

  Thrown off by John’s gesture, Rafael paused for a split second, just long enough to forget to give his final order. And it was at that moment that his st chance to take John out slipped away.

  Too te.