The box showed up at my main shop right when things got busy that Saturday morning.
It was packed folks sitting for cuts, others getting polish on their nails, with beauty chats going on all around. The whole spot buzzed, alive with that vibe where girls own it, shine up, act like they're winning.
Next thing I knew, a courier stepped inside holding the largest bunch of roses I'd ever come across.
Black roses.
Not dark red. Nope, not purple either. Real black like they'd been soaked in tar, or shadow, or some messed up thing that stains flowers that way.
Each woman at the salon fell quiet. They just watched while he walked up to the counter, called my name, then stepped out no wait for cash.
Maya stepped out from behind, spotted the roses her face turned ghostly white.
"Lina..."
I was already on my way. The moment I saw it, I realized this wasn't something nice. It was a warning.
The roses sat in a fancy vase costly, made of glass, like the ones in posh hotels. Pretty yet off somehow. But right in the middle of those dark flowers lay one bullet. Just resting. Shining.
People were staring. Customers, maybe even the hairdressers. Even the receptionist pale, shaky, like she'd faint any second.
"Back to work," I said quiet, steady, despite the racing heartbeat. "That's it. Done."
Some folks began walking once more. Bit by bit. Talking low under their breath. Grabbing phones likely messaging pals, telling them what went down at Selina Vega's place.
Maya grabbed my arm. "We need to call the police."
"No cops."
"Lina, someone just sent you roses with a bullet…."
"I said no cops." I pulled away. Picked up the vase carefully. "Get back to work. I'll handle this."
Totin' the mess up to my room above. Plunked it down right on the table. Just stood there lookin'.
The roses had a normal rose scent sugary, kind of perfumy. Not right for anything that grim.
A little note was slipped in among the stems. Tiny. Jet black. Fancy paper, though cost a pretty penny.
Pulled it out using hands way more steady than expected.
I'm into girls who don't mind diving right in. Now, here's the deal
Dante Cruz.
I'd come across the name earlier. So had pretty much anyone hanging around downtown. He wasn't just some local thug he controlled chunks of the Bronx, with supply lines stretching down into Colombia. More of a backroom guy now, since he paid others to handle the messy stuff.
The type of athlete that fixes issues without a trace.
Or create them.
My phone started ringing Bishop was calling.
You've received something," he stated no doubt about it.
"You saw?"
"Got eyes on the salon. Saw the guy bring it in. Ran his plates, rental car paid for with a prepaid card. Dead end."
"Course it is." I touched one of the black petals. Soft. Delicate. "What do you know about Dante Cruz?"
Bishop stayed silent for a moment. "Better off without that answer."
"I asked, didn't I?"
"He's bad news, boss. Makes the Scorpions look like amateurs. He's been in the game twenty years, survived three different wars, killed more people than cancer. And he's got a reputation."
"What kind of reputation?"
"The kind where women who cross him end up in pieces." Bishop's voice was grim. "The kind where he doesn't just kill you, he makes an example. Makes it public. Makes sure everyone remembers what happens when you disrespect him."
Great. Just great.
"Why would he reach out to me?"
"You just took out a crew on his doorstep. Maybe he's impressed. Maybe he sees opportunity. Or maybe…" Bishop paused. "Maybe he sees you as a threat that needs handling."
I looked at the bullet sitting in the dark flowers. Smooth. Never fired. Maybe a threat maybe hope. Or just both.
"Set up a meeting," I said.
"Boss…"
"You heard me. I want to know what he wants. Better to know than to guess."
"This is a bad idea."
"All my ideas are bad lately." I picked up the bullet. Rolled it between my fingers. "Set it up. Public place. Neutral territory. I'll bring you and two others."
"He won't come alone either."
"I'm counting on it."
Bishop sighed. "You're gonna get us all killed."
"Probably. But we'll look good doing it."
Hung up right after he started talking again.
Sat there, eyes locked on the dark roses. Puzzling what this move meant. Dante Cruz wouldn't waste blooms on someone he'd off right away, no, these were for folks who owed him a favor.
Question was what.
My office door swung open, no knock. Maya marched inside, her face tense, clearly stressed.
"What the hell is going on, Lina?"
"Business."
"That's not business, that's a death threat!" She pointed at the roses. "Someone sent you flowers with a bullet! That's literally the most obvious threat I've ever seen!"
"It's not a threat. It's an invitation."
"To what? Your own funeral?"
I nearly grinned. To talking
Maya threw up her hands. "I don't understand you anymore. Someone tries to kill you, you go to war. Someone sends you death flowers, you want to have a chat. What happened to you?"
"I grew up."
"No." She shook her head. "You grew cold. There's a difference."
We looked at one another over my desk same spot, different moment. Known him forever, pretty much. Back when we'd swipe sweets from the local shop, planning escapes from the hood like it was a game.
At that moment, fear took hold she started seeing me differently.
"I'm trying to protect us," I said quietly. "All of us. You, Jordan, everyone who works for me. This life it comes with risks. You know that."
"I know you're changing. Becoming someone I don't recognize." Her voice cracked. "That Selina I grew up with? She would never shoot someone. Never start a war. Never…" She gestured at the roses. "Never sit there calmly looking at a bullet someone sent her like it's a business card."
"That Selina would be dead by now." I stood up. Walked around the desk. "You want to know the truth? I've always been this person. I just hid it better before."
"I don't believe that."
"Then don't." I was tired suddenly. So fucking tired. "But stop acting like I had a choice. Stop acting like there was some other path where everything worked out and nobody got hurt."
"There's always a choice, Lina."
"Easy to say when you're not the one making it."
She stared at me, real still. After that, she spun around, heading for the exit. No loud bang just shut it soft like.
It stung more, though. Not sure why.
I headed back to my chair. Then grabbed my mobile. Sent a message to Jordan: Feeling alright?
No response.
Got a message from Stone: I've got to meet up. Right away. This evening.
His reply came fast: Where?
Your place.
That's not smart.
This isn't clever at all. What's the location?
He sent it. I looked at the message, frozen. This felt like stepping over a boundary I hadn't planned to cross. Heading to his place changed everything - no more excuses, no labels, just real.
This felt true. Not safe. Kinda dumb.
I replied: Catch you at 9.
My phone vibrated - a fresh message popped up. From someone I didn't recognize: Going to see Dante by yourself? Risky move. Not smart… still gutsy. Keep my eyes open. - Someone who cares
How could they have known? I only made up my mind a couple minutes back.
Texted back: Who ARE you?
One person out there hopes you pull through. Yet here you are, complicating things big time.
Then help me.
I exist. How come Dante's talking first rather than ending you right away? Maybe he sees better use in keeping you breathing.
I looked at my phone. Whoever this was, they had sway over Dante Cruz. Or maybe ties strong enough to pull strings behind big names.
That was terrifying.
Why?
You're sitting on real talent, yet stuck running petty schemes. You've got room to grow way bigger than this. Survival comes before anything else though. Find Dante. Listen close to his words. Whatever you do, keep that gun holstered.
No promises.
Exactly what's scaring me.
The chat stopped right then. Slumping into my seat, I stared at the dark roses, just one round lying beside them, a note offering something shady.
Dante Cruz had something on his mind work stuff. He needed to chat, sort things out without delay.
So what type of work did they do?
But even so what would I actually risk just to survive until I got answers?
My phone beeped once more Bishop.
"Meeting's set. Tomorrow night. Neutral location that Italian restaurant in Midtown, the fancy one. Eight PM. He'll bring four. We bring four."
"Done."
"Boss... be careful. Dante's not like the others. He's smart. Patient. He plays a long game."
"So do I."
"Yeah, but he's been playing longer."
Fair point.
Hung up. Then checked the black roses again.
Beautiful and deadly.
Same as the rest of what's been going on with me recently.
Tomorrow I'd face someone who might destroy me with just one phrase. This guy once mailed me roses along with a live round, like both meant kindness.
I'd grin instead. Then chat about work stuff.
Became rulers just like those women before her.
They played the game, though it felt like survival was on the line.
Especially then.