Chapter 2 Smoke and Mirrors

The Vento Nero's private lounge was a cathedral of sin-plush velvet, flickering candles, and the scent of money and expensive perfume clinging to the air like fog. Caroline-Cara-sipped her drink slowly, the tequila biting enough to keep her grounded.

Luka Rivas hadn't stopped talking. About himself, mostly. Smugglers were like that. Always bragging, always assuming silence meant admiration instead of calculation.

She gave him a smile that said "keep going," and he did.

"You know," Luka said, leaning closer, his hand sliding onto the back of her chair, "not many girls walk into this place and mention him outright. That takes guts."

She leaned in too, just enough to let her breath brush his ear. "I don't have guts. I have purpose."

Luka blinked, pulling back to study her again. His smile faltered, just slightly. Not enough to break the mask, but enough to crack the veneer.

Interesting.

She tapped her fingernail lightly against her glass. "Tell me, Luka. If I wanted to meet him-really meet him-how would I do it?"

"You don't." He chuckled nervously. "No one wants to meet Ventresca. You get summoned, or you're already dead."

"And if someone wasn't afraid of dying?"

He went still.

Then, slowly, like a man standing near a wolf, he said, "You're either suicidal, or you're working for someone."

Caroline tilted her head. "Does it matter which?"

Luka studied her. The flirtation was gone now. This was negotiation. This was threat.

Finally, he laughed again-but this time there was caution under it. "You're crazy. I like that. But stay careful. Crazy people disappear fast in this town."

She leaned forward, voice low, steady. "I'm not planning to disappear, Luka. I'm planning to be unforgettable."

He raised an eyebrow. "You really want this, huh?"

"I want in."

There was a long pause. Then Luka pulled a card from his jacket and slid it across the table.

A name. A number. A time.

"Show up tomorrow night. Wear something expensive. Don't talk too much. Smile when it matters. He won't be there-but someone will. Impress them."

Her fingers closed around the card like a loaded weapon. "What about you?"

He shrugged, suddenly guarded. "Let's just say... I want to see what happens when you throw a lit match into a powder keg."

He didn't realize he was handing the match to the arsonist.

Outside, the night had grown heavier. Rain again, slow and steady, soaking the neon streets in a bruise-colored sheen. Caroline stepped into the alley behind the club and lit a cigarette she didn't need.

Smoke curled from her lips like a promise.

She reached into her coat, pulled out a small flash drive, and tucked it into the heel of her boot. Everything Luka had said-his access, his routes, his tells-recorded through the hidden mic in her bra strap.

It was all leverage.

She wasn't here for blood yet. Blood came later. After reputation. After infiltration. After trust.

And then?

Then she'd burn it all to the ground.