Chapter 3

The city at night was a different kind of beast. The neon glow from flickering streetlights painted distorted shadows across the cracked pavement, and the hum of distant sirens provided a haunting soundtrack. Swaby Nolan walked with purpose, her heels clicking against the ground as she waited for her contact to call back.

She had spent years preparing for this moment-years studying every major player in the underworld, years learning how to manipulate, infiltrate, and, when necessary, destroy. Matteo Costa was the final piece in her puzzle. Gaining his trust wasn't just a means to an end; it was the key to everything.

The vibration of her phone snapped her from her thoughts. She answered on the first ring.

"Got something for me?"

Her contact, a former hacker-turned-information broker known as Reese, let out a short chuckle. "You never ask how I've been. It's always business with you, Red."

Swaby didn't take the bait. "Time is money, Reese."

"Fine, fine," he sighed. "Patrick Donahue. Mid-level money launderer. He used to be useful, but looks like he got greedy. Tried siphoning off funds from one of Costa's offshore accounts."

Swaby's grip on the phone tightened. "And now he's running."

"Exactly. I tracked some of his last transactions-guy's desperate. He's been bouncing from cheap motels, paying in cash, but he made a mistake today."

"I'm listening."

"Booked a room under an alias at The Blue Orchid Inn on the west side. Room 212. Paid for a week upfront, but based on his activity, I doubt he'll last another day before he bolts again."

Swaby smirked. "Then I'll make sure he doesn't get that chance."

Reese hesitated. "You sure about this, Red? I've seen you play the long game before, but Costa? He's different."

"I can handle him," she said, her voice steady.

Reese sighed. "I hope so. I'll send you the rest of the details. Watch your back."

Swaby hung up and tucked her phone away. Now, it was time to work. The Hunt

The Blue Orchid Inn was the kind of place people went when they didn't want to be found. The neon sign buzzed weakly, some of its letters burnt out, leaving only Blu Orch flickering in the darkness. A couple of cars sat in the parking lot, their owners either passed out inside or doing something they didn't want the world to know about.

Swaby approached the front desk, her expression unreadable as she rang the bell.

A tired-looking man in his forties peered at her over the counter. "Need a room?"

"No. I'm here to see a friend. Room 212."

The man frowned. "We don't-"

Swaby pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and slid it across the counter. "I won't take long."

His eyes darted to the money, then back to her face. With a sigh, he pocketed the bill and gestured toward the stairs. "Just don't make a mess."

She didn't answer, already moving toward the second floor.

The hallway smelled of cigarette smoke and cheap air freshener. Room 212 was at the end of the corridor, the door slightly ajar.

Amateur.

Swaby positioned herself against the wall, listening. She could hear rustling, the sound of a zipper, hurried movements. Patrick was packing. He knew he was running out of time.

She moved quickly, pushing the door open before he could react.

Patrick Donahue froze. A wiry man in his late thirties, he looked exhausted-unshaven, sweat dripping from his temple, a suitcase half-packed on the bed. His eyes widened when he saw her.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, stepping back instinctively.

Swaby smiled, but there was no warmth in it. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

"Matteo Costa sent me."

His face drained of color. "I-I was gonna pay him back!"

She tilted her head. "Were you?"

"Yes! I just-I needed time!"

Swaby took a slow step forward, enjoying the way he flinched. "Matteo doesn't like waiting, Patrick."

"I swear, I was gonna fix it!" His eyes darted to the bedside table, where a gun sat within reach.

Swaby sighed. "Don't."

Patrick hesitated.

Too late.

In one fluid motion, she grabbed the lamp from the nightstand and slammed it down onto his wrist just as he reached for the gun. He let out a strangled cry, stumbling backward, clutching his injured arm.

She didn't give him time to recover. A swift kick to his knee sent him collapsing onto the bed.

"Please!" he gasped. "I have money! I can-"

She pressed the cold barrel of his own gun against his forehead. "I'm not here for negotiations."

Patrick swallowed hard. "Wh-what does he want me to do?"

Swaby considered him for a moment. Matteo hadn't given specific instructions on how she should handle this.

A test.

She lowered the gun, stepping back. "You're coming with me."

Patrick blinked. "What?"

"You're going to tell Matteo everything. Yourself."

"No, no, no-"

Swaby grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up. "Either you walk out of here, or I drag you out. Your choice."

Terror flashed in his eyes, but he nodded. "I-I'll come."

She released him and gestured to the door. "Good choice." Delivering the Package

Swaby pulled up outside Vortex an hour later, Patrick sitting rigidly beside her in the passenger seat. He hadn't spoken since they left the motel. Good.

She led him inside, past the crowd, past security. Matteo was waiting in the VIP lounge, a glass of whiskey in hand, Vincent standing nearby.

Matteo's brows lifted slightly as he saw them. "Impressive."

Patrick fell to his knees. "Matteo, please! I-I wasn't trying to steal from you, I swear-"

Matteo waved a hand, silencing him. His eyes shifted to Swaby. "You didn't kill him."

"You didn't say I should," she replied evenly.

Matteo chuckled. "No, I didn't." He studied her for a moment, then turned back to Patrick. "You disappointed me, Patrick."

"I can fix it! I swear!"

Matteo sighed. "No, you can't."

He glanced at Vincent, who pulled out a silencer-equipped pistol and fired a single shot.

Patrick slumped forward, lifeless.

Swaby didn't flinch.

Matteo's gaze returned to her, sharp with curiosity. "You handled that well."