Chapter 4 Smokes and Mirrors

Absolutely. Here's Chapter Four, bringing us back to the p

The present had a taste.

Copper. Cheap bourbon. The lie of hope.

Caroline-Cara, to anyone foolish enough to think they knew her-waited in the back booth of a bar that smelled like piss and spilled dreams. The kind of place where people didn't ask questions because the answers came with bullets. A dying neon sign blinked above the entrance: Benny's. No one named Benny had owned it in decades.

She nursed her drink like she cared about it. One eye on the entrance. One on the mirrored back wall, where cigarette smoke swirled like ghosts and reflections lied.

The man who called the meeting was late. Deliberately. That was the move-show up last, act like you own the room, make the other person feel smaller. Caroline let the tactic hang in the air like smoke and smiled faintly to herself.

Cute.

The bartender, a square-jawed vet with faded knuckle tattoos, gave her a nod. That was the signal.

He'd arrived.

Caroline didn't turn as the footsteps approached. She'd memorized the cadence. Limp in the left knee. Custom loafers. Expensive cologne to cover the stench of fear. It wasn't him-not the scorpion-but someone close. A consigliere, maybe. An errand boy who thought he was a king.

He slid into the booth across from her like he expected deference.

She gave him silence.

"You're a hard woman to find," he said, smiling like a man used to getting his way.

"I'm not hiding," she said. "Just selective."

He chuckled. "Smart. You have enemies."

She leaned forward, her voice low. "Do I look afraid of enemies?"

The smile faded, just a little.

"My boss wants to offer you a seat at the table," he said. "We know what you've done. Quiet things. Impressive things. You've made some noise in the docks, shaken up a few key players. That takes guts. Intelligence. Loyalty."

She took a slow sip of her bourbon.

"Or revenge," she murmured.

He paused. Blinked. The moment hung.

"We're not interested in the past," he said carefully. "Just the future."

"Funny," she said. "I'm only interested in the past."

That got his attention.

He studied her more closely now, and she saw it-recognition, faint and reluctant. Something familiar about the eyes. Maybe a flash of memory: headlines, a fire, a little girl who was supposed to be dead.

But he said nothing. Cowards rarely did.

"You want to meet the boss?" he asked finally.

Caroline smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.

"Oh, I think we're long overdue."

He slid a card across the table. Embossed. Blank except for a single symbol: a silver scorpion.

"Tomorrow. Midnight. Warehouse 17 on the river. Come alone."

"Of course," she said sweetly.

He stood to leave.

She let him.

As soon as he was gone, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a flash drive. Slid it to the bartender.

"Everything he said, everything he didn't," she murmured. "Get it to Rafi."

The bartender nodded without a word. Loyalty didn't always need language.

Caroline sat back, finished her drink, and let the warmth burn down her throat.

Warehouse 17. Midnight. The scorpion would be there.

She'd waited eight years for this.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow she'd stop waiting.

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