Alexandra finished her shift without incident, which only made her more uneasy. The mans wordds echoing in her mind. She tried to ignore it but there was a small voice in her head, nagging and familiar that was pushing her to accept the offer.
No. She would not think about this now. She shook her head and resumed her work.
Nothing followed her home. No footsteps echoed behind her. No shadows lingered too long in shop windows. The city behaved itself, and she didn't trust that kind of courtesy.
She locked the café at noon, nodded to her coworker, and walked three blocks out of habit before changing direction. The apartment she rented was small, anonymous, and paid for in cash. She liked it that way.
Inside, she kicked off her shoes and stood still, listening.
The refrigerator hummed. Pipes knocked once, then settled. No irregular breathing. No displaced air.
Only then did she relax—just a fraction.
Alexandra stripped off her jacket and reached for the kettle. Water. Heat. Routine. She needed something ordinary to hold onto. While it warmed, she opened the narrow cupboard above the sink and retrieved a plain metal box.
Inside lay the past she pretended not to have.
A compact handgun. Spare magazine. A thin blade wrapped in cloth. She checked each with practiced speed, movements too smooth for someone who claimed to have left that life behind.
The kettle screamed.
She poured the water, didn't bother with a mug, and drank standing up. Bitter. Too hot. She welcomed the sting.
At six p.m., her phone vibrated.
No caller ID. No ringtone.
She stared at it for a long moment before answering. "Talk."
"Car's outside," the voice from the alley said. "Black. No markings."
"I didn't agree to this."
"You agreed enough."
She ended the call and pocketed the phone. After a pause, she picked up the blade, slid it into her boot, and checked the gun once more before locking the box away.
If this was a mistake, she would correct it quickly.
The car idled at the curb like it belonged there. Alexandra approached from the passenger side, eyes scanning reflections, windows, the street behind her. She opened the door herself.
Inside, the man from the café waited, hands visible, posture relaxed.
"You carry light," he observed.
"I carry enough," she replied.
The car pulled away smoothly, blending into traffic.
"Rules," Alexandra said. "You talk when I ask. You don't volunteer information. And if you test me—"
"I won't."
She didn't look at him. "Everyone says that."
They drove in silence for ten minutes. Downtown thinned into polished streets and quiet wealth. Alexandra noted security cameras, sightlines, choke points.
Finally, the car stopped in front of a high-rise that didn't bother advertising luxury. It didn't need to.
"You'll like him," the man said as they exited.
"I doubt that."
An elevator whisked them up, glass walls revealing a city that glittered too brightly to be honest. Alexandra watched their reflection instead.
The doors opened onto a private floor.
Andre Valentino stood near the windows, jacket off, sleeves rolled, phone in hand. He turned as they entered—not startled, not tense. Curious.
Alexandra clocked him instantly.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Calm in a way that suggested awareness, not arrogance. His eyes met hers without lingering too long. That was deliberate.
"Alexandra," he said. "Thank you for coming."
"I haven't agreed to anything."
He smiled faintly. "Fair."
The man from the alley excused himself and disappeared, leaving them alone in the wide, open space.
Alexandra didn't like that.
"You're being hunted," she said. "Why?"
Andre considered her for a moment. "Because I exist."
She snorted. "Try again."
"Some people believe I'm in the way," he said. "Others believe I'm useful leverage."
"And you hired me because?"
"Because everyone else is predictable."
She stepped closer, invading his space deliberately. He didn't retreat.
"I don't do heroics," she said. "I don't die for clients. And I don't protect liars."
Andre held her gaze. "I don't need a hero. I need someone who notices what everyone else misses."
Something in his tone—measured, honest—made her hesitate.
"Why not trust your money?" she asked.
"Because money buys loyalty," he said. "Not competence."
Silence stretched between them.
Alexandra looked around the room again, then back at him. "You're already compromised."
His eyebrow lifted. "That was fast."
"You like windows," she said. "Too exposed. You trust systems. Cameras. Guards. They fail."
"And you?" he asked.
"I don't."
He nodded once, as if that confirmed something.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Two weeks," Andre said. "Stay close. Fix my security. Keep me alive."
"And after?"
"If I'm still breathing, you walk."
Alexandra studied him—really studied him this time. The steadiness. The restraint. The faint tension he carried like armor.
"Someone's testing you," she said. "They won't stop at two weeks."
"I know."
She turned toward the door, then stopped.
"You lie well," she said over her shoulder. "But not completely."
Andre didn't deny it. "Neither do you."
She faced him again. "I'm not your friend."
"I wouldn't insult you by asking," he replied.
That earned him a ghost of a smile.
"Fine," Alexandra said. "I'll take the job."
Andre exhaled, slow and quiet. "Good."
She raised a finger. "One condition."
"Name it."
"If you ever put me in the dark," she said, voice flat, "I leave you there."
Andre met her gaze, something like respect flickering through his eyes.
"Understood."
Alexandra turned away, already mapping exits, already adjusting her life around his.
She didn't know it yet—but this wasn't the moment she returned to the underworld.
It was the moment the underworld noticed her coming back.