The evening had settled over Calder in layers of copper light and exhaust by the time Luca finally stepped out of work.
His feet hurt.
Not in any dramatic way. Nothing was bleeding, broken, or likely to require medical attention. They simply ached with the steady, irritating complaint of someone who had spent most of the day standing, crouching, carrying boxes, and volunteering for jobs no one had technically asked him to do.
The work itself was manageable.
Better than manageable, really.
It was stable.
That word had become almost embarrassingly valuable.
He had a schedule taped inside the front cover of his notebook. He knew when he was expected to arrive, what he would be paid, and which days he could reasonably call Mateo without pretending he was not exhausted. Nobody had suddenly vanished with his paperwork. Nobody had told him the housing attached to the job had fallen through after he crossed state lines. Nobody had smiled apologetically while explaining that the position they promised him had never been guaranteed in the first place.
He had shown up every morning.
The door had opened every morning.
For now, that was enough.
The wind moved between the buildings and carried the smell of rain from somewhere beyond the river. Luca pulled his jacket closed and continued down the block, passing a laundromat, a convenience store with one flickering letter in its sign, and a narrow restaurant releasing the smell of garlic and fried onions onto the sidewalk.
His stomach immediately reminded him that lunch had been half a sandwich eaten while standing beside a stack of inventory boxes.
He checked the cash in his wallet without fully stopping.
Not much.
Enough for the bus, technically. Enough for something cheap to eat, technically. Not enough for both without making tomorrow mildly more complicated than it needed to be.
The apartment was not impossibly far.
That was the kind of lie that became easier to believe if he did not check the actual distance.
Luca put the wallet away and kept walking.
His phone vibrated inside his jacket.
He pulled it out expecting a message from work. Instead, Mateo’s name appeared across the screen, followed by three messages sent in rapid succession.
MATEO: You alive?
MATEO: That was not a joke answer the question.
MATEO: Mom asked if you found a place yet and I said yes so don’t ruin my lie.
Luca slowed near the corner, a reluctant smile pulling at his mouth.
LUCA: I’m alive.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
MATEO: Suspiciously vague.
LUCA: I’m walking home from work.
MATEO: You have a home now?
Luca looked up from the screen.
Traffic slid past beneath the evening lights. Across the intersection, someone argued through an open car window while a cyclist cut between lanes with the confidence of a man who had never once considered mortality.
He typed, erased it, then typed again.
LUCA: I have somewhere I’m staying.
Mateo took longer to answer that one.
MATEO: Is it safe?
Luca’s first instinct was to say yes.
That was what he always did. He took whatever information would worry Mateo and filed the edges off until it could no longer cut anyone.
Yes, the job was real.
Yes, the city was fine.
Yes, he was eating.
Yes, the man whose apartment he was staying in was mostly normal.
That last one would have required a definition of normal generous enough to become meaningless.
Luca thought of Vince’s apartment: the perpetually dim kitchen, the couch Luca had been pretending was temporary for nearly a week, the weapons stored with more care than the groceries, and the collection of battered mugs that suggested Vince had either stolen them from several unrelated kitchens or been losing matching sets for years.
He thought of Vince asleep upright in the chair two nights ago, one hand still wrapped around his phone, after insisting he was not tired.
He thought of waking the following morning to find a clean towel folded outside the bathroom door because Luca had mentioned once—only once—that he could not find the extras.
Safe was relative.
LUCA: Yes.
Another pause.
MATEO: Do you trust whoever you’re staying with?
Luca exhaled slowly through his nose.
That question was worse.
He trusted Vince not to steal from him, though Luca owned almost nothing worth stealing. He trusted him not to throw him out without warning, despite Vince repeatedly referring to the arrangement as temporary. He trusted him to complain whenever Luca cleaned, cooked, repaired something, replaced something, or bought groceries—and then quietly use whatever Luca had fixed by the end of the day.
He trusted Vince to be dangerous.
There was something oddly reassuring about that, at least. Vince did not disguise what he was beneath perfect manners and vague promises. He looked like trouble, spoke like trouble, and occasionally left the apartment carrying enough weapons to make the definition official.
Luca preferred obvious danger to kindness with hidden paperwork.
LUCA: Enough.
Mateo replied with a single question mark.
Luca put the phone away before the conversation could become an interrogation.
He crossed with the light, cutting down a quieter street where the buildings shifted from small storefronts to older brick apartments pressed close together. The sidewalk was cracked in several places, lifting around tree roots and forcing him to watch his steps.
His bag pulled at his shoulder. He switched it to the other side and rolled the stiffness from his neck.
The first few days at Vince’s apartment had felt like trespassing.
Luca had tried to leave as little evidence of himself as possible. He folded the blanket every morning, kept his belongings inside the bag, showered quickly, and avoided opening cabinets unless Vince had already pointed out what was inside them.
By the fourth day, Luca had repaired the loose handle on one kitchen drawer.
By the fifth, he had reorganized the refrigerator after discovering three expired cartons of milk and something in a plastic container that might once have been pasta.
Vince had stared into the cleaned refrigerator for a full ten seconds before asking who had given Luca permission to judge him.
Luca had said the bacteria.
Vince had told him to get out.
Neither of them had moved.
That morning, Luca had noticed Vince’s second coffee mug sitting beside his own before Vince had woken up.
He had made coffee for both of them without thinking.
That was the problem.
Temporary arrangements were not supposed to develop routines.
They were not supposed to become places where Luca knew which cabinet stuck in humid weather or that Vince left the television running at low volume because silence made it harder for him to sleep.
Luca needed to find somewhere else before staying became easier than leaving.
His phone vibrated again.
He ignored it this time.
A dark vehicle passed him.
Luca barely noticed it at first. Calder was full of dark vehicles with tinted windows and drivers who regarded speed limits as unhelpful suggestions.
Then the brake lights flashed.
The vehicle slowed several yards ahead of him.
Luca’s steps faltered.
It did not pull into a parking space. It simply stopped near the curb, engine idling, the rear end angled slightly toward the street as another car honked and swerved around it.
Luca shifted his bag and glanced behind him.
The block was not empty, but it was quiet enough that he became abruptly aware of the distance between the nearest open business and where he stood.
The vehicle reversed.
Not quickly.
That somehow made it worse.
Luca’s grip tightened around his bag strap as the vehicle rolled backward until the passenger window aligned with him. He had already marked the entrance to the laundromat behind him and the convenience store at the next corner.
The tinted glass lowered with a smooth mechanical hum.
Vince stared at him from behind the wheel.
Luca looked at him.
Vince looked back.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Vince’s bleached hair was disordered as usual, falling toward his eyes like he had either run his hands through it too many times or slept somewhere he should not have. He wore a black jacket over a faded shirt, one sleeve pushed to his elbow, exposing the old scars crossing his forearm.
His expression carried the exhausted irritation of a man who had just discovered a personal insult walking beside the road.
“What are you doing?” Vince asked.
Luca glanced down at himself as though the answer might have changed. “Walking.”
“I can see that.”
“Then this feels like a poor use of both our time.”
Vince’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Luca looked toward the sidewalk stretching ahead. “It’s a fairly common method of transportation.”
“Why are you walking from work?”
“Because work ended.”
“Luca.”
There was a warning in his name now, though Vince looked too tired to make it convincing.
Luca stepped closer to the window and rested one hand against the strap of his bag. “I missed the bus.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
“How recently?”
“Close enough that I still remember the pain.”
Vince glanced toward the road behind him, then back at Luca. “There’s another one.”
“In thirty-eight minutes.”
“So wait.”
“I could be halfway there in thirty-eight minutes.”
Vince looked slowly toward the direction of the apartment, then back at Luca again.
“You’re not halfway there.”
“I said I could be.”
“You’re barely out of the district.”
“That sounds judgmental.”
“That sounds like geography.”
A horn blared behind Vince. He lifted one hand without looking away from Luca and made a gesture toward the driver that was not especially diplomatic.
The other car accelerated around him.
Luca watched it go. “You’re making friends.”
“I have enough.”
“That is an extremely generous estimate.”
Vince’s mouth flattened.
Then his gaze dropped briefly toward Luca’s shoes, traveled to the bag pulling at his shoulder, and returned to his face.
“Get in.”
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You did stop beside me and begin a conversation. There was an implied question.”
“Get in the car before I leave you here.”
Luca looked down the road.
Then he looked at Vince.
“You just reversed half a block.”
“I can reverse away too.”
“Very threatening.”
Vince reached across the center console and shoved the passenger door open.
Luca stepped back before it hit him.
“You could have warned me.”
“You could have gotten in the first time.”
Luca stood there another moment, mostly on principle.
The seat inside was warm. The walk ahead was long. His feet were beginning to pulse inside his shoes, and the cold wind had found its way through the seam of his jacket.
Pride was a wonderful thing until it had to carry groceries uphill.
He climbed into the car.
Vince pulled away from the curb before Luca had fully closed the door.
“Seat belt,” Vince said.
Luca caught the handle above the window as the vehicle moved into traffic. “You could wait until I’m inside before trying to kill me.”
“If I wanted to kill you, the walk would’ve handled it.”
“The walk was not that bad.”
“You look like someone dragged you behind a truck.”
“That might be your face reflected in the window.”
Vince glanced at him.
Luca clicked the seat belt into place and settled the bag between his feet.
For a minute, the car filled with the low hum of the engine and the faint music playing through the speakers. Something heavy with too much bass rattled quietly beneath their conversation, though Vince had turned it down enough that Luca could barely make out the lyrics.
The interior smelled faintly of smoke, leather, and the bitter coffee Vince drank regardless of the hour.
Luca rested his head back against the seat.
Relief moved through his legs almost immediately, so sharp that he hoped Vince did not notice.
He did.
Vince’s eyes flicked down and returned to the road.
“You should’ve called.”
Luca turned his head. “For what?”
“A ride.”
“I didn’t know you were nearby.”
“You have my number.”
“That does not mean I’m going to summon you every time my feet hurt.”
“I wasn’t asking you to summon me.”
“It sounded suspiciously like that.”
Vince made an irritated sound beneath his breath.
Luca watched the buildings pass outside his window. They were headed east, but not along the usual route back to the apartment.
He noticed after the second turn.
The third confirmed it.
“The apartment is the other way.”
“I know where I live.”
“Good. I was concerned this arrangement had even less supervision than I thought.”
Vince tapped his thumb once against the steering wheel. “I have a meeting.”
Luca waited for more.
None came.
“And?”
“And I have a meeting.”
“You stopped to offer me a ride home.”
“I stopped because you looked pathetic.”
“Again, very kind.”
“I didn’t say we were going straight home.”
“You did not say we were taking a criminal field trip either.”
Vince’s head turned slightly. “Who said it was criminal?”
Luca looked pointedly at him.
Vince returned his attention to the road.
“Fair,” he muttered.
Luca sat a little straighter. “What kind of meeting?”
“The boring kind.”
“That answered almost nothing.”
“Then it was a good answer.”
“Who is it with?”
“People.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Most of them are barely people.”
Luca rubbed one hand over his face, fighting the urge to laugh despite himself. “How long?”
Vince hesitated.
That was not encouraging.
“How long, Vince?”
“An hour.”
“You said that like a man lying to the police.”
“I say everything like that.”
“Also not reassuring.”
Vince changed lanes, moving toward the older part of the city where narrow buildings gave way to renovated hotels, private clubs, and restaurants with discreet signs and no prices visible from the street.
Luca studied the route.
“You could have dropped me off first.”
“I’d be late.”
“You are late.”
“I’d be later.”
“That seems like a problem created by stopping for me.”
Vince’s jaw shifted.
“You were walking.”
“I remain aware.”
“It’s cold.”
“I own a jacket.”
“You barely own that jacket.”
Luca looked down at the worn fabric. “It has sleeves and a zipper. Legally, I believe it qualifies.”
Vince’s hand tightened briefly around the steering wheel.
The concern had slipped out too plainly.
They both noticed.
Vince covered it first.
“You’re staying in the car.”
Luca turned toward him. “At the meeting?”
“Outside the meeting.”
“That sounds safe.”
“It is.”
“You have a very unusual definition of safe.”
“You live with me.”
“Temporarily.”
Something shifted in Vince’s expression.
It was there for less than a second, disappearing before Luca could decide whether it had been annoyance or something quieter.
“Right,” Vince said. “Temporarily.”
The word settled between them with more weight than it deserved.
Luca looked back through the windshield.
They crossed beneath the glow of an old theater sign, its gold lettering reflected in the wet patches gathering on the road. A few drops had begun tapping softly against the glass, the rain finally reaching the city after threatening it all evening.
He should have been relieved.
A ride was a ride. The meeting was an inconvenience, nothing more. He would wait, Vince would finish whatever criminal business required his presence, and then they would return to the apartment where Luca would heat something inexpensive for dinner and pretend not to notice when Vince ate half of it while claiming he was not hungry.
Simple enough.
Entirely temporary.
Vince reached toward the console and turned the music lower.
“Listen to me when we get there.”
Luca glanced at him.
The sarcasm had disappeared from Vince’s voice.
Not entirely. Vince seemed structurally incapable of sounding completely sincere for longer than several seconds. But something sharper had entered beneath it.
“You stay where I put you,” Vince continued. “You don’t wander. You don’t tell anybody where you work, where you’re from, who your family is, or why you’re staying with me.”
Luca stared at him.
Vince kept his eyes on the road.
“And if someone offers you something,” he added, “you say no.”
“What kind of something?”
“Anything.”
“A drink?”
“No.”
“Food?”
“No.”
“A chair?”
“Use your judgment.”
“You’ve given me very little information on which to base it.”
“If anyone outside house security asks you a question, lie.”
“What if they ask my name?”
“Especially then.”
Luca studied his profile for a moment. The scars, the dead-tired eyes, the careless hair, and the tension now visible in the line of his shoulders.
“This is not a normal meeting.”
“No.”
The admission came too easily.
Luca let out a slow breath and looked forward again.
Ahead of them, at the end of the block, a tall building rose from behind a row of black cars gathered beneath a gold-lit awning. Men and women in dark clothing stood near the entrance, too still and too alert to be ordinary security.
Vince guided the vehicle toward them.
Luca watched one guard recognize the car and immediately step aside.
Another reached for the radio clipped beneath his coat.
No one attempted to stop Vince.
No one even looked surprised to see him.
For the first time since climbing into the passenger seat, Luca understood that the meeting was not merely something Vince had been ordered to attend.
Vince belonged there.
The realization sat uneasily in his stomach.
He had known Vince was involved in something dangerous. It was difficult to miss the weapons, unexplained injuries, late-night calls, and people who treated his bad moods like weather warnings.
Knowing it privately inside an apartment was different from watching an entire guarded entrance make room for him.
Vince pulled toward the curb.
Luca looked at the line of expensive cars, the armed security, and the tall doors waiting beneath the awning.
Then he looked at Vince.
“You could still take me home.”
Vince put the vehicle in park.
“No time.”
“That is rapidly becoming less comforting.”
Vince opened his door, then paused with one hand on the handle.
Across the street, a black SUV sat beneath a dead streetlight with its engine running. The windows were dark enough to reflect the rain rather than reveal anything behind them.
Vince’s attention caught on it.
His expression tightened.
One of the guards near the curb noticed the same vehicle and touched his radio.
Vince looked across the car at Luca.
“Change of plan. Stay close.”
It was not the same instruction as staying in the car.
Luca noticed.
Before he could ask what had changed, Vince stepped out into the rain.
Cold water sprayed across Luca’s face as he opened the passenger door. He flinched, grabbed his bag from between his feet, and climbed out just as Vince came around the front of the vehicle.
“You said stay close,” Luca reminded him, pulling the door shut. “Not get soaked.”
“I assumed you could manage both.”
“That was optimistic.”
Vince did not answer. His attention remained divided between the entrance and the dark SUV across the street.
The building stood at the end of the block like it had been designed to make people feel underdressed before they ever reached the door. Pale stone climbed four stories above them, broken by narrow windows glowing with muted amber light. There was no bright sign announcing what the place was, only a small bronze plaque mounted beside the entrance.
THE GILDED HOUR
The lettering was thin and understated, the kind of name that assumed anyone meant to enter already knew where they were.
A dark-red awning stretched from the doors to the curb, protecting a line of polished cars and their waiting drivers from the rain. Gold light ran along its underside, reflecting against the wet pavement and the black umbrellas held by several guards.
None of them looked like ordinary restaurant security.
Their suits had been carefully fitted around shoulder holsters. Their attention moved continuously, checking hands, windows, vehicles, and the people approaching from either end of the street. Two stood beside the main doors. Another remained near the curb, speaking quietly into a radio concealed beneath his coat.
His gaze passed over Vince first.
Recognition came immediately.
His shoulders shifted—not relaxing, exactly, but adjusting.
Then he noticed Luca.
The change was small.
It still made Luca’s mouth go dry.
The guard’s eyes traveled over his damp work clothes, worn shoes, old bag, and complete lack of anything resembling a reason to be there. He looked from Luca to Vince and waited for an explanation.
Vince gave him none.
He started toward the entrance.
Luca tightened his grip on the bag strap and followed.
The older of the two guards stepped partly into their path.
“Slader.”
Vince stopped beneath the awning.
The man’s tone was respectful enough, though not friendly. Gray had begun spreading through the hair near his temples, and a thin scar disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.
His eyes returned to Luca.
“Guest?”
“No,” Vince said.
Luca looked at him. “Strong introduction.”
The guard’s expression did not change.
Vince exhaled through his nose. “He’s with me.”
“That is usually what guest means,” Luca murmured.
Vince ignored him.
The guard held out one hand. “Name.”
Vince stared at it as though the man had asked him to donate an organ.
The hand remained where it was.
“Luca,” Vince finally said.
The guard waited.
Luca understood what he wanted.
“Armani.”
Vince looked at him, faintly irritated.
“What?” Luca asked. “You said house security was allowed.”
“I said let me talk.”
“You stopped after one word.”
The guard repeated Luca’s name quietly into his radio. A response came through the earpiece, too low for Luca to understand.
“He isn’t on the list.”
“He wasn’t coming.”
“And now he is.”
“He’s waiting downstairs.”
The guard glanced toward the doors, then back at Vince. “Weapons?”
“Not unless sarcasm became regulated.”
Luca turned his head. “You would be in serious trouble.”
Something almost resembling amusement flickered across the guard’s face.
Vince noticed and looked personally betrayed by it.
The man stepped aside. “He stays in the east lounge. The upper floor is restricted once the meeting begins.”
“He stays where I leave him.”
“That was the polite version.”
Vince passed through the doors.
Luca followed, but the second guard lifted a handheld scanner before he could move farther.
Luca stopped and raised his arms when instructed.
He looked past the man toward Vince, who had already made it several steps into the lobby without being checked at all.
“You’re not getting searched?”
“No.”
“Because they trust you?”
“No.”
The older guard answered from behind them.
“Senior attendees declare their weapons before arrival. His are already logged.”
Luca looked at Vince. “All of them?”
The guard’s expression became carefully neutral.
Vince glanced toward the ceiling.
“That is why it takes too long,” the man added.
The scanner passed down Luca’s side without making a sound. The younger guard opened his bag next and began looking through it.
There was not much to discover.
A notebook. Work gloves. A phone charger. A bruised apple. A folded shirt Luca had forgotten to remove two days ago. A small collection of tools he had begun bringing to work because the ones there were missing half their pieces.
The guard lifted the tool pouch.
“I fix things,” Luca explained.
Vince glanced toward the ceiling.
“Constantly,” he muttered.
The tools were returned. The bag was handed back.
Luca lowered his arms. “Do I get a receipt?”
“No.”
“Customer service is struggling.”
Vince caught the back of Luca’s jacket and pulled him farther into the lobby before he could continue.
Warmth closed around them immediately, carrying the faint smells of polished wood, old leather, coffee, and something floral burning inside shallow brass dishes along the walls.
The Gilded Hour did not look like a restaurant.
At least, not one Luca had ever been invited into.
The lobby opened beneath a ceiling two stories high, framed by dark wooden columns and an enormous chandelier made from overlapping pieces of smoked glass. Gold light reflected through it, leaving gray and amber shapes across the marble floor.
A wide staircase curved upward along the far wall. Another corridor disappeared to the right behind a velvet rope and two more armed guards.
To the left stood a reception desk backed by shelves of antique keys, though Luca saw no computers, reservation books, or ordinary guests waiting to be helped.
A woman in a charcoal suit stood behind the desk, speaking quietly with a man whose coat probably cost more than everything Luca had brought to Calder.
No one raised their voice.
No one looked uncertain.
Even the silence felt expensive.
Luca adjusted the strap of his bag and leaned closer to Vince.
“What exactly is this place?”
“A club.”
“I gathered that from the complete lack of joy.”
Vince kept walking.
Luca followed him toward the center of the lobby. “What kind of club?”
“The private kind.”
“That remains broad.”
“It’s neutral.”
Luca looked around. “Neutral between what?”
Vince turned his head just enough to look at him.
Luca held his stare for a moment.
“Right,” he said. “People.”
“Barely.”
They passed beneath the staircase and entered a narrower hallway lined with closed doors. Small gold plaques marked each room with names rather than numbers.
ORPHEUS.
THE WIDOW.
MIDNIGHT.
The names did little to improve the atmosphere.
A man stood near the entrance to the corridor with his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a dark suit and an earpiece similar to the guards outside, but his expression changed differently when he saw Vince.
“Mr. Slader.”
Vince grimaced. “Don’t call me that.”
The man’s attention moved briefly to Luca before returning to Vince.
“Mr. Kurose’s party has arrived. Mr. Vescari asked whether you intended to join them this evening.”
“Which one?”
“He did not specify.”
“Then it was Ren.”
Luca looked at him. “Ren is here?”
Vince’s gaze flicked toward him.
“You sound happy about that.”
“I know him.”
“You met him once.”
“That is usually how knowing someone starts.”
Vince resumed walking.
The attendant continued as though neither had spoken. “Your phone has been contacted six times.”
“I know.”
“Miss Amore requested that I tell you she intends to charge you personally for every minute you delay the meeting.”
“I’m not paying her.”
“I believe she anticipated that response.”
Vince’s expression flattened.
Luca looked between them. “Do people normally send messages through multiple levels of staff when you ignore them?”
“Only dramatic people.”
The attendant’s voice followed them down the corridor.
“She also used the words ‘bleached corpse.’”
Luca nodded. “That sounds like Tala.”
Vince looked at him again. “You’ve met her once too.”
“She made an impression.”
“She usually makes a threat.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Vince muttered something beneath his breath that the building’s elegant atmosphere probably did not deserve.
The corridor opened into a large lounge separated from the main lobby by tall glass doors. Low armchairs and curved sofas surrounded polished tables. Bookshelves lined one wall, though the arrangement looked too perfect for anyone to have removed a book recently. A marble fireplace burned beneath an old portrait of a woman wearing enough pearls to purchase a small government.
An older man sat near the fire with a newspaper open in front of him.
A woman in a fitted suit stood near the far window, speaking quietly into her phone.
Neither looked at Luca for longer than a second.
Vince stopped just inside the doorway.
“You wait here.”
Luca looked around.
“This is the east lounge?”
“Yes.”
“It feels like somewhere people disappear after ordering tea.”
“Then don’t order tea.”
Luca turned toward him. Rain still darkened the shoulders of Vince’s jacket, and a thin line of water had gathered near the edge of one scar before disappearing beneath his collar.
The irritation remained in his face, but something sharper had settled underneath it.
Luca had seen pieces of that alertness at the apartment whenever Vince received certain calls. He had never seen the full version of it directed outward.
Vince checked the screen of his phone. Several unread messages lit his face before he dismissed them and put the device away.
“Sit down,” he said. “Stay in this room.”
“I heard you in the car.”
“I’m repeating it because you have a problem following instructions.”
“I got into the car.”
“After arguing for half the street.”
“It was closer to four minutes.”
“Luca.”
“Fine.”
Vince pointed toward the nearest sofa. “Same rules as before. Don’t talk to anyone unless you have to.”
“There are already people in here.”
“Pretend you don’t speak English.”
“I don’t think my accent is strong enough to support that.”
“Make it stronger.”
The woman near the window glanced toward them.
Vince lowered his voice.
“And don’t sign anything, hand over your phone, or let anyone photograph you.”
The sarcasm in Luca’s expression thinned.
Those additions were too specific to be theatrical.
“Who exactly is upstairs?”
Vince looked toward the staircase beyond the glass doors.
“Black Meridian.”
“Your people?”
A faint muscle moved in Vince’s jaw.
“Yes.”
It was the first time Luca had heard him refer to anyone that way.
Not coworkers. Not associates. Not irritating people who called too often.
His people.
“And the others?”
Vince did not answer immediately.
The building’s main entrance opened somewhere beyond the lounge. The sound carried faintly into the corridor—several footsteps, quiet conversation, and the subtle movement of security making room.
Vince’s expression changed.
Recognition sharpened by dislike.
“The Virtues.”
Luca searched his face for any suggestion that the name was a joke.
He found none.
“That sounds religious.”
“It isn’t.”
“Are they at least virtuous?”
Vince looked at him for a long moment.
“No.”
The answer was so immediate and flat that Luca almost laughed.
He stopped when movement appeared beyond the glass doors.
A group had entered the far end of the lobby.
They did not move together in the way an ordinary group might. There were gaps between them, different conversations, assistants keeping pace, and security adjusting around each person as though everyone carried a separate kind of danger.
The first man Luca noticed wore an immaculate dark suit. His black hair was arranged so perfectly that the rain seemed unlikely to have been permitted near it. He spoke quietly to the small red-haired woman beside him, one hand held out for the tablet she passed him.
The woman wore pink-framed glasses and layered clothing in soft green and brown. She moved quickly, checking something on the screen before giving him another document.
Neither looked toward the lounge.
The next man did.
He wore a deep plum coat over black, with gold catching at his throat, ears, and fingers whenever he passed beneath the light. His dark hair fell in loose waves around his face, and he possessed the kind of deliberate beauty that made looking away feel conspicuous.
His eyes found Luca almost immediately.
The interest in them was open.
Not startled.
Not suspicious.
Amused.
Luca’s fingers tightened around the strap of his bag. He reminded himself where the lounge’s second door stood and resisted the urge to look toward it.
Vince noticed the stranger’s attention.
He stepped slightly closer to Luca.
It was not enough to block him completely, but it was enough to make the intention obvious.
The stranger’s smile widened.
He changed direction.
“Don’t,” Vince said.
The man continued toward them.
“You brought someone.”
His voice was warm, carrying easily through the glass doorway. His attention moved from Vince to Luca and remained there.
“Keep walking, Valentine.”
Valentine stopped just outside the lounge.
“I was speaking to him.”
“He didn’t answer.”
“You haven’t allowed him to.”
Luca adjusted the strap higher onto his shoulder. His mouth had gone dry, but sarcasm arrived more reliably than caution.
“He does that when he doesn’t like the possible answer.”
Valentine’s expression shifted.
The amusement remained, but something more genuine appeared beneath it.
Interest.
Vince turned his head toward Luca. “You’re helping.”
“I was being polite.”
“No, you weren’t.”
Valentine rested one hand against the glass doorframe. Several gold rings caught the light as his fingers curled around the edge.
“What is your name?”
Vince answered before Luca could.
“No.”
Valentine looked delighted. “That is an unusual name.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Valentine’s eyes returned to Luca. “Does he always speak for you?”
“Only when he thinks everyone else is dangerous.”
“And what do you think?”
Luca looked at the expensive coat, the careful smile, and the way Vince had placed himself between them without appearing to.
“I think he’s occasionally right by accident.”
For one second, Valentine seemed caught between laughing and taking the answer personally.
He chose laughter.
It was soft, genuine, and entirely too pleased.
A woman passing behind him slowed. She wore sunglasses indoors and carried an amber drink despite having only just arrived. Long dark hair fell down her back, ending in deep wine-red waves.
“Val,” she called. “Are you collecting people in the hallway again?”
“Only one.”
“You’re late.”
“So is he.”
She glanced toward Vince.
“That’s expected.”
Vince lifted one hand in a gesture that would not have survived polite translation.
The woman laughed and continued toward the stairs.
Valentine remained where he was.
His gaze dropped briefly to Luca’s worn work clothes and bag before returning to his face.
“You should come upstairs.”
“No,” Vince said.
Valentine had not looked at him.
“I wasn’t inviting you.”
“He’s not going.”
Luca tilted his head. “I appreciate everyone making this decision without exhausting me.”
Valentine’s smile returned.
“I like him.”
“You don’t know him.”
“That has never prevented me from liking anyone.”
“It should.”
Footsteps approached behind Valentine.
A woman in cream and dark green walked past with a polished low braid draped over one shoulder. She looked toward Luca only once, but her gaze moved over him with enough precision to make him abruptly aware of his worn shoes, damp jacket, and the old phone outline in his pocket.
Her expression softened into a small, almost sympathetic smile.
For reasons Luca could not explain, that smile bothered him more than Valentine’s interest.
A broad man in rolled sleeves came behind her, speaking into one phone while an exhausted-looking assistant carried two folders and a coat. He finished the call, handed the phone away, accepted another document without reading it, and continued toward the stairs.
Luca watched him go.
The man had somehow managed to appear overwhelmingly busy while doing almost nothing.
More people crossed the lobby behind them, but Vince’s attention remained on Valentine.
“Meeting,” he said. “Now.”
Valentine sighed as though Vince were denying him something unreasonable.
“Fine.”
He stepped backward from the lounge, but his eyes remained on Luca.
“We’ll finish this conversation another time.”
“No, you won’t,” Vince said.
Valentine’s smile sharpened.
“Then why are you worried about it?”
He turned before Vince could answer and followed the others toward the staircase.
Luca watched him go.
“He seemed friendly.”
“He isn’t.”
“He liked me.”
“That’s why he isn’t.”
Luca looked toward the staircase, where the plum coat disappeared beyond the upper landing.
“What exactly does he do?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“That generally means I absolutely need to know.”
Vince stared at him.
Luca lifted both hands. “I’m staying here.”
“Good.”
“Not speaking to anyone.”
“Good.”
“Not accepting drinks, food, legal documents, unexplained gifts, or invitations from attractive men.”
Vince’s jaw tightened slightly.
Luca noticed.
He chose mercy and did not comment.
The older man near the fireplace lowered his newspaper just enough to look at them over the top.
Vince looked back.
The newspaper rose again.
Another message lit Vince’s phone.
He read it and swore quietly.
“You need to go,” Luca said.
“I know.”
“You are now late enough that people are going to have to start coming downstairs to retrieve you.”
“I know.”
“And apparently Tala is liquidating you.”
“She can try.”
Luca stepped farther into the lounge and lowered his bag beside the nearest sofa.
“I’ll stay here.”
Vince did not move.
“I understand the rules,” Luca continued. “No drinks, food, signatures, photographs, personal information, attractive strangers, or emotional honesty.”
“Good.”
“I’m allowed to use a chair.”
“Use your judgment.”
Luca sat.
Vince remained in the doorway.
There was something almost absurd about it. He was late to a meeting important enough to involve armed security, Black Meridian, and a collection of people apparently named after virtues they did not possess, yet he stood there watching Luca as though leaving him alone in a furnished lounge created the greater risk.
Luca leaned back against the sofa.
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s usually what people say before doing something stupid.”
“I learned it from you.”
The corner of Vince’s mouth moved.
It was not quite a smile, but it came close enough that Luca noticed it.
Vince reached into his jacket and removed a small phone Luca had not seen before. It was older and simpler than the one he normally carried, with a worn black case and no visible notifications on the screen.
He held it out.
Luca looked at it. “What is that?”
“A phone.”
“Thank you.”
“My regular one stays outside the meeting room.”
“Why?”
“Security.”
Luca accepted the device.
Only one contact had been saved.
V.
He raised his eyes.
“You labeled yourself?”
“I didn’t set it up.”
“Someone else decided one letter captured your personality?”
Vince ignored that.
“The contact calls the security desk outside the room. The letter tells them which attendee you need.”
“So I call, ask for V, and someone retrieves you?”
“Yes.”
“You have an internal emergency line for this place?”
“It belongs to the club.”
Luca turned the device over in his hand.
“And they simply gave it to you?”
“They keep them for guests left downstairs.”
“Guests who need to summon criminals out of private meetings.”
“Usually lawyers.”
“That was almost reassuring.”
“Do not lose it.”
Whether the device belonged to the club or not, Vince was giving Luca a direct way to interrupt a meeting important enough that everyone surrendered their usual phones before entering.
The cheap device felt heavier in Luca’s palm.
He slipped it into his jacket pocket.
“Go,” he said.
Vince took one step backward into the corridor.
Then stopped.
“If anyone bothers you—”
“I call.”
“You call for me.”
“That is how the device works.”
“Luca.”
“I call for you.”
Vince nodded once.
He turned and headed toward the staircase.
The guards at the bottom moved aside before he reached them.
Luca watched him climb.
Vince did not look back until he was halfway up.
When he did, Luca lifted one hand in a small wave.
Vince rolled his eyes and continued.
A moment later, he disappeared onto the upper floor.
The building seemed to settle around Luca after he was gone.
The man across the lounge lowered his newspaper once again.
Luca met his eyes.
The paper rose.
The woman near the window ended her phone call and walked out without acknowledging him.
A minute later, the older man folded his newspaper with deliberate care, tucked it beneath one arm, and disappeared through a side door beside the fireplace.
Luca was alone.
He placed his bag beneath the table and looked around the room more carefully.
A silver tray rested on a sideboard beside the fireplace, arranged with glasses of water, wine, and something darker inside a crystal decanter. A plate of pastries sat beside it, each one small, neat, and dusted with sugar.
His stomach tightened.
He looked away.
No food.
No drinks.
Apparently starvation was part of the security agreement.
He reached into his bag and removed the bruised apple. One side had softened enough that his thumb nearly sank through the skin.
Luca stared at it for a moment.
Then returned it to the bag.
Upstairs, something heavy moved across the floor.
A chair, perhaps.
A murmur of voices followed, too muffled to separate into words but numerous enough that Luca could picture the room filling around a long table.
Vince arriving late.
Tala threatening him.
Ren laughing.
Mila sitting somewhere among them.
The thought of her came before Luca could prevent it.
He wondered whether she knew he was downstairs.
Then immediately wondered why that mattered.
Luca leaned forward and rested his elbows against his knees.
The emergency phone pressed against his chest through the fabric of his jacket.
A week ago, he had not known Vince existed.
Now Vince had left him inside a private criminal meeting place with a direct line upstairs and enough instructions to make survival sound like a matter of etiquette.
He should have been planning how quickly he could leave.
Instead, part of him was wondering whether Vince had eaten anything since morning and whether the meeting would end before the leftover pasta at the apartment became unsalvageable.
The realization was ridiculous enough that Luca nearly laughed.
He sat back and listened as a door closed somewhere above him.
The voices disappeared with it.
Only the quiet crackle of the fireplace remained.
Luca had accepted a ride home.
Somehow, he had ended up waiting beneath a room full of people Vince had warned him not to trust, holding a phone that could summon one of the most dangerous men in Calder if anything went wrong.
The worst part was that Luca believed Vince would come.