Chapter 3 Morning After Crime ‎ ‎

Chapter Three: Morning After Crime

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‎Brooklyn Loft - 10:42 a.m.

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‎The sun filtered through cracked blinds, soft and gold, casting lines across the dusty floor. A speaker buzzed in the background, cycling through slow R&B. The loft was quiet except for the soft hum of a blender and someone singing off-key in the bathroom.

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‎Sienna stretched on the worn couch, her muscles aching in that good, job-well-done kind of way. Her black tank top clung to her skin, and her curls were tied into a lazy bun high on her head. She exhaled deeply, listening to the calm.

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‎The rush of the night before had finally melted into peace.

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‎Lilah strutted out of the kitchen in nothing but an oversized Lakers jersey and a mug that read Crime Pays (Sometimes).

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‎"Morning, queen of the shadows," she said, sipping something that looked suspiciously green. "Did you dream about Aleksandr Murder-Me Moretti?"

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‎Sienna threw a cushion at her.

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‎"He's not my type."

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‎"Liar. The man looks like sin and smells like goddamn Armani."

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‎Sienna rolled her eyes and sat up. "You've never even smelled him."

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‎"I don't have to. That kind of face comes with built-in cologne."

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‎From the other side of the room, Chase emerged shirtless, covered in tattoos, yawning like a lion.

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‎"Are we still talking about Prettyboy Death?" he muttered, raking a hand through his messy dark hair. "Can we not?"

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‎Lilah narrowed her eyes. "Jealous?"

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‎"Of a mafia don with emotional constipation and probably no safe word? No, thanks."

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‎Sienna stifled a laugh as Nico stumbled in next, phone in one hand, donut in the other.

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‎"Any updates?" she asked.

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‎"No movement on the bounty boards. No flags. Looks like we're in the clear."

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‎"Good."

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‎They'd gotten out clean. No heat. No trails.

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‎Chase plopped down beside her, snatching Lilah's smoothie and sipping it with a grimace. "Ugh. Why does this taste like lawn clippings and regret?"

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‎"Because your liver cries every time you party, and I'm trying to help."

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‎He grinned. "Speaking of which... why don't we take a break?"

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‎"A break?" Nico blinked. "We just scored twenty-five grand."

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‎"Exactly," Chase said. "Yacht parties, rooftop bars, girls with glitter on their shoulders. We earned a little sunshine."

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‎"I second this," Lilah added. "We haven't had fun since that Cancun gig and I need to wear something tiny in public."

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‎Sienna leaned back, watching them all with a faint smile.

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‎Maybe they were right.

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‎The air felt different this morning. Like the job was done. Like she could breathe.

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‎"Alright," she said, nodding. "A break. Forty-eight hours. No crime. No plans. Just... us."

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‎Nico raised his donut. "To poor decisions and overpriced mojitos."

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‎They laughed, and for a moment, it felt like they were just normal twenty-somethings in New York.

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‎Almost.

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‎Midtown Manhattan - 11:06 a.m.

‎Moretti Private Office

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‎Aleks didn't believe in wasting time.

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‎The boardroom table was long, polished, flanked by six men and one woman all in suits, all watching him carefully.

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‎A bullet sat on the table in front of him.

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‎Aleks rolled it slowly between his gloved fingers, his expression unreadable.

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‎"I told him not to move shipments through my territory."

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‎No one spoke.

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‎He flicked the bullet once. It clinked against glass. Tiny. Lethal.

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‎"He thought because I was distracted last night, he could play games." Aleks' voice was low. Calm. The kind of calm that came before thunder.

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‎"Should I" began the man to his left, but Aleks raised one gloved hand.

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‎"No. I'll deal with it."

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‎He stood, coat sweeping behind him, grey eyes like storm clouds.

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‎The room emptied within seconds.

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‎Only Luca, his most trusted enforcer, lingered.

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‎"You're sure you want to let the girl go?" Luca asked carefully. "We could pick her up. Make her talk."

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‎Aleks paused at the window, watching the city breathe beneath him.

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‎"No," he said. "Not yet."

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‎Luca frowned. "Why not?"

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‎Aleks didn't answer.

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‎But in his mind, he could still see her.

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‎The smirk. The fire. The way she moved like she wasn't afraid of anything... or anyone.

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‎Not even him.

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‎"She'll come back around," Aleks said softly. "They always do."

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‎Then he turned, stepping into the hallway, black-gloved hands still clean.

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‎For now.

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