The drive to Tisha's apartment complex took much too long, punctuated only by Kael treating the streets like it was a hedge maze to "lose the tail" that no one (including him) saw. Dante kept trying to put his hand back on Tisha's thigh, which she adamantly protested—even though it felt kind of nice.
When they finally pulled into the underground parking of Vista Del Sol, the storm had slowed to a drizzle. But the wet tires and dripping SUV made the smoothed concrete of the garage sound like tiny suction cups, grabbing and peeling as they rolled along.
Tisha directed them to a visitor parking space. When she stepped out of the car and headed to the building elevator, she was on autopilot. She had made these same motions and done the same thing to get to the same place. Why it was different, however, didn't occur to her until she reached her floor and was only a few steps away from her door.
Crap. I don't have my keys.
She stopped abruptly and looked around at the three men accompanying her. Everything felt off. They were in an otome game in her dream. So why would her dream-self need keys, anyway? She could just dream that it was already unlocked, right?
But before she could answer her own questions, a hand jutted out of a nearby door, grabbed her arm, and tugged her inside.
"What the…?" The others followed, leaving us all squeezed through the door frame and into an apartment with the exact opposite layout as Tisha's.
The door clicked shut, engaging the deadbolt with a heavy thud that vibrated through the floorboards. Tisha blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the dim lighting. The space smelled of leather polish and that specific, sterile scent of a hotel room that hadn't been lived in long enough to acquire a personality.
Standing in front of them, wearing a vintage band t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, was the man who had pulled her in. The eyepatch sat absent from his face, revealing two perfectly functional, olive-green eyes.
"Luca?" Tisha whispered.
"Shh," Luca hissed, pressing a finger to his lips. He looked past Kael to check the peephole before turning back to the group. "You guys create too much noise. The walls here are paper-thin. Mrs. Higgins in 3B complains if you sneeze too hard."
Dante straightened up, water dripping from his nose onto
Luca's laminate flooring. He looked around the small apartment, his expression darkening. "Viper," Dante said, his voice low. "You look comfortable. I recall ordering you to secure the perimeter, not move into it."
Luca rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "I live here, Boss. Apartment 2A. I'm deep cover. Someone has to monitor the... local assets."
Tisha felt her writer's brain short-circuit. Of course. The mysterious, handsome neighbor who just happened to move in right before the inciting incident. It was a trope so classic she should have seen it coming from the opening credits.
"We… we recycle here," Tisha said, pointing a finger at him. "We met at the garbage chute. You didn't separate your plastics."
"I was undercover," Luca shrugged, a lopsided grin appearing. "Bad recycling throws people off the scent. It makes me seem... flawed. Approachable."
"You seem like a squatter," Lorenzo muttered, looking at a pile of pizza boxes in the corner. "Do you have any food that isn't carbohydrate-based?"
"I have beer," Luca offered.
"Okay, guys. We have a logistical issue," Dante interrupted, stepping between them. "This apartment is beyond too small. We can't house the entire inner circle in 400 square feet without compromising our… let's just call it tactical spacing."
Suddenly, a rhythmic thumping sound vibrated through the wall behind Tisha. It sounded like a bass line from a club track that had been trapped in a box.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Is that... techno?" Lorenzo asked, adjusting his glasses and looking at the wall with disdain.
"That's the other neighbor," Luca sighed. "2C. He never sleeps. I think he runs a server farm in his bathtub."
The front door to Luca's apartment rattled. A voice muffled by the wood called out. "Yo! Luca! Did you order pizza? I smell pepperoni and wet dog."
Luca groaned and unlocked the door. Standing in the hallway was the "White-Haired Pretty Boy" from the elevator. He wore a headset around his neck and a hoodie that read 404: SANITY NOT FOUND.
"Cipher?" Lorenzo gasped.
Cipher looked at the group crowded into the entryway. He looked at Dante dripping on the floor. He looked at Tisha standing in her ruined gown.
"Whoa," Cipher grinned, popping a spicy chip into his mouth. "Family reunion? And the Boss is here? Why wasn't I invited to the raid?"
Tisha stared at him. The pieces of the plot clicked together with a frustrating snap. "Of course, you live here too," she stated, feeling a headache forming behind her eyes. "Let me guess. You are the 'Information Specialist.' And you needed 'unthrottled WiFi'?"
"And the vending machine has the good chips," Cipher agreed, stepping into the apartment uninvited. "I'm in 2C. I hacked the building's smart grid last Tuesday. By the way, your cat gets really active at 3 a.m. You might want to check his feeding schedule."
"That is invasive," Tisha snapped. "And also," Tisha sighed in resignation, "accurate."
Dante ran a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back. For a moment, Tisha could imagine him in a high-end cologne ad.
Stop drooling, idiot. They're just drawn that way.
"Excellent," Dant finally said. "We have secured the entire floor. It seems the Family is closer than I anticipated."
He looked at his men. He looked at Tisha. "We need to decompress," Dante commanded. "Lorenzo, go with Cipher. See if you can find some liquidity in his crypto-wallet to pay for... all of this. Kael, stay with Luca. I need you to watch the street."
"And you, Boss?" Luca asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Dante looked at Tisha. His eyes were dark, serious, and entirely focused on her. "I require a debriefing with our hostess," Dante said smoothly. "And perhaps a towel. Unless you intend for me to drip on your neighbor's floor all night."
Tisha crossed her arms. "There is a problem with that plan. I don't have my keys. I didn't exactly have time to grab my purse before being kidnapped by a grappling hook."
Dante frowned. "You're locked out?"
"Physically, yes," Tisha said. "So, unless one of you has a battering ram… Wait, no. Scratch that. I would like to get at least some of my security deposit back."
"Allow me," Luca said, stepping forward with a small, silver tool he pulled from his pajama pocket. "I need to keep my skills sharp. The tumblers in these Kwikset locks are embarrassingly loose."
He shoved his way through the wet crowd and knelt by Tisha's door (which was right next to his). He inserted the tension wrench.
Tisha watched him work. It was surprisingly textbook—or research book. She had written about it a couple of times herself. "You are applying torque to the shear line," she observed, her research brain taking over to distract her from the fact that a total of five handsome criminals were effectively moving into her building. "If you over-rotate, you will seize the pins."
"I know my torque," Luca winked at her.
Click.
The door swung open. Dante appeared behind them and held his hand out to Tisha. "Lead the way."
Tisha looked at the three men. The Assassin next door. The Hacker on the other side. And the Don is waiting to enter her sanctuary. She was too afraid to guess where the bean-counting lieutenant and the bodyguard who acted like he was playing pretend on a school yard.
"Fine," she sighed. "But if any of you wake up my cat, you deal with the consequences. He has sharp claws and zero respect for authority."
She stepped into her apartment, Dante following close behind like a wet, expensive shadow. Tisha flipped on the lights. Her studio apartment sat exactly as she left it: cozy, slightly cluttered with books, and smelling of vanilla bean candles. A half-empty mug of coffee sat on the desk next to her rejected manuscript. It felt shockingly normal compared to the madness of the last few hours.
"Come on in," she sighed, toeing off her boots.
Dante walked in. He spun in a slow circle, taking in the space. He looked at the IKEA bookshelf, the plush rug, and the cat tree in the corner.
"It's... compact," Dante noted. "Is there more hiding somewhere?"
"This is it," Tisha said. "Kitchen, bedroom, living room. All in one efficient package. We call it 'open concept' to make ourselves feel better about the rent."
A shadow moved on the bed. Miuty, her tuxedo cat, stretched, yawned, and fixed the intruder with a glare that rivaled Dante's own. Dante froze, then slowly lowered himself to one knee, bringing himself to eye level with the beast.
"So," Dante whispered. "This is the guardian."
Miuty grunted as he stretched and trotted over, winding through Dante's wet legs, leaving white fur on his black trousers.
"He likes you," Tisha noted, surprised. "Usually, he hides under the bed when people come over."
Dante looked offended. "Of course. I am a Lion, Tisha."
"You followed me home, and you're shaking water everywhere," Tisha pointed out. "That's retriever behavior."
Dante stood up, shivering again. His lips were starting to turn a pale shade of blue.
"Okay, shower," Tisha commanded. "Before you go into shock. Bathroom is to the left. I'll find you something to wear."
Dante hesitated. "I do not require…"
"Go," she pointed.
He went.
Tisha busied herself searching through her drawers.
What does a mafia boss wear in a studio apartment?
She certainly didn't have men's clothing. She dug to the bottom of her laundry basket and found a pair of oversized gray sweatpants she used for painting and a black t-shirt she had won in a pub quiz that read "Schrödinger's Cat: Wanted Dead and Alive."
"It will have to do," she muttered.
She knocked on the bathroom door. "Dante? I have clothes."
"Tisha," Dante's voice came through the door, sounding frustrated. "This... machinery. It confuses me."
Tisha opened the door a crack. Steam billowed out, smelling of her lavender body wash. Dante stood in the small shower stall, a towel wrapped low around his hips. He fumbled with the single-handle faucet.
"It has only one knob," Dante complained, looking back at her. "How do I select the temperature? Where is the pressure dial?"
Tisha stared.
She knew anatomy. She had studied medical textbooks for her sci-fi thrillers. She knew the location of every muscle group in the human body. However, seeing them rendered in high-definition, glistening with water and lavender soap, provided a dataset she felt unprepared to process. The scar on his ribs stood out white against his tan skin. The water tracked down his rectus abdominis in a way that defied fluid dynamics.
Focus, she ordered her brain. He is just a biological organism performing hygiene. And you are not going to give in to this stupid dream game.
"You turn it left for hot, right for cold. It's simplified," Tisha said, her voice sounding a little strangled. She stepped into the steamy room, keeping her eyes strictly on the hardware.
"Here," she said and reached past him to adjust the handle. His skin radiated heat. The space felt too small. He smelled like rain and her soap, creating a domestic intimacy that made her chest tight.
Dante looked down at her. "You are very close."
"I am adjusting the valve," Tisha whispered.
"You are trembling," Dante noted.
"Humidity," Tisha lied. "The moisture content in the air affects thermoregulation."
Dante leaned in. Water dripped from his hair onto her cheek. "Or perhaps," he murmured, "you finally feel the steam."
[Romance Event: The Steamy Encounter]
[Option A: Wash his back.]
[Option B: "Here are your pants."]
[Option C: Faint.]
Tisha shoved the bundle of clothes into his chest. "Option B," she squeaked. "Here are your pants." She fled the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Out in the main room, Tisha leaned against the wall, fanning her face. Okay. Deep breaths. It's just a game. It's just a very realistic, high-stakes game with excellent graphics.
She needed to ground herself. She needed reality.
She walked over to her bookshelf, which stood as her sanctuary. Her collection of hard sci-fi, physics textbooks, and architectural journals. These served as the anchors of her sanity.
She ran her finger along the spines, seeking the familiar, dry titles she had referenced a thousand times.
The Physics of Ballistics.
Advanced Toxicology.
Ethical Hacking.
The Structural Integrity of Pre-War Bunkers.
She stopped. Her finger rested on the spine where The Physics of Ballistics should have been. Instead, the spine was pink. The font was swirling and glittery.
Shot Through the Heart.
Tisha blinked. She pulled the book off the shelf. She opened it. Gone were the diagrams of kinetic energy and trajectory arcs. The pages were filled with breathless descriptions of heaving bosoms and forbidden trysts.
She dropped the book. It hit the floor with a thud.
She grabbed the next one. Advanced Toxicology had become Poisoned Kisses. Ethical Hacking—the manual she used to understand digital security protocols—read Hacking His Heart. The Structural Integrity of Pre-War Bunkers read Shelter in His Arms: A Billionaire Prepper Romance.
"No, no, no, no, no…" Tisha whispered. She spun around. She looked at her laptop screen, which she had left open on her desk. Her manuscript—The Entropy Protocol—was open. This was her safe space. Her hard sci-fi thriller is about quantum anomalies.
But the text...
The commander looked at the event horizon, calculating the spaghettification risks...
had become:
The commander looked at the alien prince, her eyes burning with a passion that defied the stars…
"Ack!" Tisha backed away until she hit the wall. "Get a grip, Tish," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's just a dream. It's just a dream."
The bathroom door opened. Dante stepped out, wearing the grey sweatpants and the Schrödinger's Cat t-shirt. The shirt was tight across his chest. He looked ridiculously, painfully domestic.
"Tisha?" he asked, drying his hair with a towel. "You look pale. Did my steaminess finally get to you?" His expression was deeply rogue-esque.
Tisha looked at him. She looked at the romance novels infecting her bookshelf like a virus.
"I think this dream-game is becoming too much for my dream-self," Tisha said, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, "I need a drink. And I don't mean coffee."
[Chapter 8 Complete]
[Status Update: Reality Compromised.]
[Current Objective: Don't Let the Genre Win.]