They left the apartment, Kínitos pulling the broken door as closed as it would go. It wouldn't fool anyone, but it was something. As they descended the stairs, Monti's watch buzzed. He glanced down.
Jade: Everything still good?
Monty looked at Kínitos. Kínitos nodded once.
Monty typed back: "All good. Ready for tomorrow." They stepped out onto the street, the evening air cool against their skin.
The Stack loomed in the distance, its neon signs starting to flicker to life. Tomorrow. Noon. Fourth floor. And now they had two missions: gather intel on the Saint Patro's weapons deal. And find the woman who'd helped them.
Thursday, 6:45 PM
They didn't go far—just across the street to a bus stop bench where they could watch the apartment building without being obvious.
Kínitos sat with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, staring at the broken door three floors up. Monty leaned against the bench, arms crossed, eyes scanning the street.
"We're not leaving her," Monty said flatly.
"Agreed." Kínitos says looking down at the ground.
"So what's the move? Because sitting here isn't gonna find her." Monti said
Kínitos didn't answer immediately. He was thinking, running through possibilities. The Saint Patro had resources—safe houses, warehouses, interrogation rooms. She could be anywhere in the district by now.
A group of men rounded the corner—four of them, walking with the easy confidence of people who owned the street. They wore leather jackets with a symbol stitched on the back: a broken halo over crossed knives.
Saint Patro colors.
Monti straightened slightly but kept his posture casual. "Company."
The men stopped right in front of the apartment building. One of them—tall, bald, with a scar running down his neck—pulled out his phone.
"Yeah, we're here," he said into it. "Door's kicked in like you said. Place is trashed… No, no sign of anyone… Yeah, I'll check upstairs."
He hung up and gestured to the others. They started toward the entrance.
Kínitos and Monti exchanged a glance. If those guys went up there and found evidence…But the men didn't go inside. Instead, they lit cigarettes and leaned against the building's exterior, talking in low voices.
Monty tilted his head slightly, straining to hear. Kínitos leaned forward on the bench, doing the same.
"—complete overkill if you ask me," one of them was saying. "Sending Salmo for one girl."
"Boss doesn't take chances," the bald one replied. "Especially not after those two punks in the suits showed up."
"You see what they did to Martinez? Broke his hand in like three places."
"Martinez is a dumbass. Should've brought more guys."
The third man—younger, nervous-looking—spoke up. "You think she talked? Gave them information?"
"Doesn't matter if she did or didn't. Boss wants her gone either way. Example for anyone else thinking about helping outsiders."
Monty's jaw tightened.
The bald man took a long drag from his cigarette. "Salmo's got her now. She's not lasting the night."
"Salmo?" The nervous one shifted uncomfortably. "Isn't he the guy in the—"
"The armor, yeah. Military-grade shit. Full suit, head to toe. Looks like something out of a war zone." The bald man flicked ash onto the sidewalk.
"He's the Saint Patro's cleanup crew. When they want someone disappeared permanently, they send him."
"Heard he used to be Special Forces or something. Before he went private." One man said trying to whisper but was unsuccessful.
"I heard he killed a guy with his bare hands just to test the suit's strength." Said another man
"Both of you shut up," the bald man snapped.
"We're not here to gossip. We're here to make sure the apartment stays empty." He glanced up at the broken door.
"When the cops finally show up, we make sure they know she skipped town. Voluntary. No missing persons report." Said the bald man
The men settled into a casual watch, smoking and talking about other things—sports, women, some bar fight from last week.
Monti stood smoothly, gesturing with his head for Kínitos to follow. They walked away from the bus stop, moving naturally, just two pedestrians heading home.
Once they were around the corner and out of sight, Monty stopped.
"We save her tonight," he said. No question in his voice. Statement of fact.
"Agreed." Kínitos pulled out his phone. "We need to find where this Salmo guy is keeping her."
"The house on Marlow Street," Monti said immediately. "That's their operations hub. Marco Delgado, the weapons deals, all of it runs through there."
Kínitos nodded slowly. "You think they're keeping her there?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. But that's where their people are coordinating from." Monti started walking, thinking out loud. "If we can get inside, access their communications, we can figure out where Salmo took her."
"Breaking into a Saint Patro safe house the night before our main mission is risky." Replied Kínitos
"So is letting someone die because they helped us." Monty glanced at him.
"You said it yourself earlier—we finish the mission and we find her. Well, finding her starts at that house." Exclaimed Monti
Kínitos fell in step beside him. "Alright. What's the approach?"
"Same as always—quiet entry, minimize contact. We get in, find a computer or phone, pull whatever intel we can about their current operations." Monti's mind was already working through the details.
"If we're lucky, there's a manifest or communication log that mentions Salmo's location."
"And if we're not lucky?"
"Then we grab someone and make them tell us." Monty's expression was hard. Kínitos looked of at the distance as he lets out a sigh.
"These guys aren't playing nice. Neither are we."
They moved quickly through the streets, the evening deepening into night around them. The Stack's neon signs glowed brighter in the darkness, music thumping from its lower floors. Tomorrow they were supposed to infiltrate that building. Gather intel. Complete the mission Jade had given them.
But tonight? Tonight they had a different mission.
"You realize Jade's gonna know something's up if we're exhausted tomorrow," Kínitos said.
"Jade always knows." Monti shrugged.
"Difference is whether we give him a reason to ask questions. We handle this clean, get some sleep, show up ready—he won't say a word." Said Monti with confidence.
"And if we don't handle it clean?"
Monty's smile was sharp. "Then we improvise. Isn't that what we're good at?"
They turned down a narrow alley, cutting through to the next street.Marlow Street wasn't far now. And somewhere in this district, a woman was running out of time.