Alex was shaken awake in the middle of the night by the shrill ring of his phone. He fumbled for it on the bedside table, his eyes groggy as he answered. "Hello?" he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.
A cool, melodic voice, with a sharp Latin American accent, came through the line. "Alex, you've been quiet, amigo," she said, a hint of steel beneath the pleasantry. "Listen, I've talked to Fernandez. He expects his drop in two days. I've arranged a meeting for you guys there in Montreal."
Alex's hand was shaking after hearing those words and couldn't answer. Seconds ticked by, each one a hammer against his rising anxiety. "Why aren't you answering?" The lady asked. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet. You wanted this, now it's your chance to prove you belong in the family." Alex remained silent on the other end, his heart pounding in his chest. A sharp, audible exhale came through the phone, followed by a lighter click. He could hear her puffing on a cigarette. "Carlos will deliver you the 'white magic' tomorrow," she continued, her voice all business. "After that, I want you to keep it with you, and when I call, go meet up with Fernandez. Am I clear?" she asked, her voice a cold whisper that demanded an answer.
Alex's throat felt tight, but he forced the words out. "Yes," he rasped.
"Good," she said, her voice dropping all pretense of warmth. "Don't disappoint me, Alex. The family doesn't take well to disappointments."
The line went dead with a click. Alex slowly lowered the phone from his ear, his hand still shaking. He walked to the window and looked out at the lights of Montreal, a glittering city that held both his friend and a new, terrible danger. A few hours the city was a place celebration and happy reunions, now felt like a cage. The city lights a blur through his tear-filled eyes. He thought of his conversation with Landon, the carefree laughter, the simple joy of their friendship, and a wave of crushing regret washed over him."I should've never got myself involved with those people," he whispered to himself.
A faint memory, like a half-forgotten dream, started to form. It was two years ago, and an 18-year-old Alex stumbled out of a loud club in Havana, Cuba, his head swimming with a mixture of music and alcohol. He decided to take a shortcut through a narrow, unlit alley, a shortcut that would change his life forever.
As he walked, a sudden, muffled sound caught his attention. He squinted through the darkness and saw two men in crisp suits standing over a third figure. The light from a nearby streetlamp glinted off the barrel of a pistol, and the two men quickly walked away, leaving the third figure slumped against the wall. Alex stood frozen in place, a wave of nausea washing over him as he realized what he had just witnessed. It was the body of a high-ranking police officer, his face a grim mask in the dim light. Before he could turn and run, the two Mafia men looked back and saw him, their cold, calculating eyes fixing on his terrified face.
He took off running, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He dodged behind trash cans and sprinted through the maze of alleyways, the sound of their footsteps growing closer. He finally made it to the main street, where the crowds and the loud music swallowed him whole. He managed to get away, but as he reached for his wallet to buy a ticket home, he realized with a sinking heart that he had dropped his student ID, a small, laminated card with his face and his university's name on it, a breadcrumb that would lead them directly to him.
Alex stumbled into the streets, his heart hammering against his ribs. He managed to get back to his dorm, collapsing onto his bed in a cold sweat. He ran a frantic hand over his pockets, his wallet, his keys... everything was there. A wave of relief washed over him, and he whispered to himself, "Maybe I just left my student card at Roselié's dorm. I always do that." He tried to convince himself he was safe, that his nightmare was over.
Meanwhile, back in the alley, the two Mafia men were seething with anger.
"Damn it! I can't believe we let a witness escape!" one of them said, his voice a low, furious growl. "Amalia won't like this. We need to find him and kill him."
"How are we gonna do that?" the other man responded, his voice filled with doubt. "I didn't get a clean look at his face."
The first man's eyes scanned the ground, and a smirk slowly spread across his face as he noticed a small, laminated card lying in a puddle of water. He bent down and picked it up. "Looks like mother luck is on our side," he said, holding up the student card. It had a face, a name, and a university on it. He now knew exactly where to find the witness.
The next day, every shadow seemed to hold a threat. Alex walked through his campus, his mind not on his classes, but on the two figures from that alley in Cuba. The fear was a cold, constant knot in his stomach. He had even sent a frantic text to Rosalie, a friend from his dorm, asking if he had forgotten his student card in her room again, praying for a reply that would prove his memory was playing tricks on him. The answer had not come yet.
At 16:00, he headed back to his room, his key shaking as he fumbled to get it in the lock. He turned the handle, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. He froze. One of the two men from the alley was sitting on his bed, a chillingly calm expression on his face. He held a gun, its barrel glinting in the afternoon light, pointed directly at Alex's chest. The man raised a finger to his lips, a silent sign to be quiet.
The door behind Alex clicked shut. He didn't need to turn around to know the other man was there, his stare a physical weight on Alex's back. He was trapped. The man on the bed, the gun still pointed squarely at Alex, spoke first. His voice was calm, almost conversational. "We're gonna need you to come with us for a bit."
Alex's heart hammered against his ribs. Despite the terror, he forced himself to shake his head. "No," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
The man by the door smiled, a chilling, humorless expression. "I was hoping you'd say that." He stepped forward, and before Alex could even react, a powerful, merciless punch landed squarely in his gut. The blow knocked the wind out of him, a sharp, white-hot pain exploding in his stomach. His legs immediately began to shake, his knees buckling under the force of the hit. He doubled over, gasping for air, the world spinning in a haze of pain and fear. The two men stood over him, their faces cold and impassive.
The man on the bed, the one holding the gun, spoke again, his voice cold and flat. "Look, kid, don't make me ask twice." Alex, gasping for breath, knew he was defeated. He slowly straightened up, his knees still weak and his body aching from the blow. The man by the door grabbed him by the arm, his grip like a vice. There was no more fight left in him, only a chilling sense of dread. The two men moved him toward the door, their steps silent and determined. " listen to me, kid," he said. "For now, while we're on campus, you'll act like we're friends. We don't want to draw too much attention, and should you even try something funny, you'll die. Am I clear?"
Alex nodded, his mind a frantic, terrified scramble. He forced a weak smile onto his face, his body stiff as the two men positioned themselves on either side of him. The man on the bed put the gun in the waistband of his pants, and with that, they began to walk, a chillingly calm procession of three "friends" walking through the campus, an invisible thread of terror holding them together.
The two men walked on either side of Alex, their bodies close enough to keep him from making a break for it. They even spoke to him in hushed tones, the illusion of a casual stroll through campus a chilling reality. He forced a weak smile onto his face as they passed a group of students laughing on a bench, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. The normalcy around him was a torment, a cruel reminder of the life he had just lost. His mind was in a frantic scramble, his eyes darting from face to face, from building to building, looking for an opportunity to escape.
There was a security guard standing by the library, a small group of police officers handing out flyers by the student union. He saw a chance, a glimmer of hope, but before he could even think about yelling, the man on his right subtly tightened his grip. "Don't even think about it," the man whispered, his voice a low, warning hiss. They continued walking, the two men's relaxed postures a stark contrast to Alex's stiff, terrified one. He knew then that there was no way out. The campus ended, and a black SUV with tinted windows was waiting on the curb. The man by the door opened it, and Alex was shoved inside. The door slammed shut, and they drove off, leaving the campus, and all its false promises of safety, behind.