I freeze.
Why do I freeze? I’ve faced men with knives, guns, bombs rigged under their ribs. Never froze once. But I see her—bare collarbone, wind in her hair, that stupid cat curling at her feet—and I stop cold.
Lev stands there, tall, relaxed, totally unbothered. Then lifts one hand and waves.
He fucking waves.
She blinks. Pauses.
Then she lifts her hand too.
A small, polite wave in return. Eyes still moving.
From Lev. Dima.
To me.
And then she doesn’t wave again.
My fingers dig into Lev’s arm like I might shove him off this fucking building.
Lev turns his head, a grin pulling slowly across his teeth. “You gonna tell me who she is, or do I guess?”
14
Mary
Istayed too long at Grandma’s earlier. Told her I’m fine. Happy. Lied right through my teeth about Evan, about work. She’s been through enough. She doesn’t need my mess dripping all over her kitchen table. So I smiled, cleared her tea mug, kissed her cheek, promised I’d come by tomorrow like everything’s normal.
It’s not normal.
Now that I’m home, I should shower, wash off the day’s stress sweat. But my plants are begging for water; the dry Vegas air’s turning my basil into a drama queen, leaves curling like they’re personally offended.
So here I am, out on my balcony, barefoot, with Gordo weaving through my herb pots; fat, orange, and not even mine. Essie’s,from 2A. The basil’s drooping, the rosemary’s holding strong, and the spinach is still pulling its lopsided survival act, but I’m barely noticing because my brain’s a dumpster fire. There’s a crumpled wad of bank papers in my purse—stolen ledgers I printed like an idiot—and a death threat looping in my head like a TikTok earworm:Stop digging if you want to live.
Oh, and there’s whatever that was on Grandma’s porch. Dark, wet, looked like blood. Maybe it wasn’t—maybe paint, maybe a dead rat, who knows—but it was enough to make me grab the hose. I didn’t even think, just sprayed until it was gone. Now I can’t stop seeing it.
Should I report this? To whom? Vegas Metro? Yeah, sure.Hi, Officer, I think my boss is hiding something shady, and there’s fresh blood outside my grandma’s house.
And then what? I tell them about the call?
They’d probably just nod, take my statement, scribble something on a sticky note, and then shrug while I get turned into a missing person on the six o’clock news.
I sigh. Long and quiet.
“Meow.” Gordo butts his chubby head against my ankle, purring like a broken lawnmower.
“You’re not even my cat, dude,” I mutter, nudging him with my toe. He flops onto his side, belly spilling over my thyme, totally unbothered. Essie—downstairs in 2A, probably face-down afterher third hotel shift—would murder me if she knew Gordo’s up here mooching again.
I’m this close to dragging Gordo inside when something moves across the courtyard. Third floor. Corner unit that’s been empty since New Year’s Eve.
Three guys on the balcony.
Huge.
Like,Marvel superhero audition huge. Tall, built, and way too hot for this roach-infested hellhole.
I blink—hard—because… no way.
