Mission accomplished, but Eli still couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him.

  As he drove away from the warehouse, heading back to the place, an unfamiliar tension weighed on his chest. He needed a moment—just a breath to feel like himself again.

  But time wasn’t on his side, and there was no room left to waste.

  He settled for a compromise. With a few swift taps, he swapped the pulse of adrenaline for something calmer, more timeless.

  Nocturne in C-sharp Minor.

  A soft sigh slipped from his lips. The music was heavy, mournful, yet it anchored him. There was a certain weight to it—real and familiar, and strangely comforting.

  In the haunting beauty of the piano’s cadence, Eli found a quiet solace. He drove back in silence, his mood subdued, and for once, the city outside seemed to match the stillness inside him.

  ***

  Eli didn’t spot Ravi as he entered the lobby, but one of the hitmen was unmistakable, his shades catching the light from the window.

  He waited, and sure enough, the man frisked him and guided him upstairs. There was no lift—he was going to walk all the way to the 10th floor, the highest floor.

  Panting and sweating, Eli trudged up, his legs burning as he finally reached room 10D, tucked away at the end of the hallway. No CCTV cameras. He let out a breath, finding some relief in the absence of prying eyes.

  Another hitman—no, a bodyguard, Eli corrected himself—sat in a plastic chair by the door, watching a video and laughing to himself. When he saw Eli, he stopped the playback, stood, and knocked twice on the door, then paused, knocking again in a steady, methodical rhythm.

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  A few moments later, the door opened.

  Eli couldn’t help but think, How many people are on Jimmy’s payroll? as he was ushered inside.

  The living room was cozy, filled with a few gangsters—normal ones, all Caucasian—sitting on the couch, chatting away. But as Eli entered, their conversation immediately died, and he was led into another room. There was no knock this time—just a firm push from the bodyguard.

  Inside, Eli found Jimmy with his back to the door. The seconds stretched before Jimmy finally turned around, the sound of the door closing echoing in the quiet.

  The bodyguard stood behind Jimmy, as usual, his presence looming.

  Gone was the smug grin Jimmy had worn that morning. This was a different Jimmy—cold, calculating, and no-nonsense. He sized Eli up without a word and asked, "The package?"

  "Delivered," Eli replied flatly.

  "Subscription?"

  Eli reached into his chest pocket and placed the heavy envelope on the desk.

  "Well done," Jimmy said, his tone calm but with a sharp edge. "Get yourself paid downstairs. Wait for further instructions."

  The dismissal hung in the air like a command.

  Eli nodded and turned to leave.

  Before he could step out, Jimmy’s voice cut through the silence, "This delivery stays between us."

  Eli barely had time to say, "Sure," before the bodyguard followed him out and closed the door behind him. Jimmy, left alone, turned his attention back to the envelope, as if it were poison—something to be handled carefully, with both caution and purpose.

  ***

  The walk downstairs was uneventful. Eli reached the 5th floor, where a small supply closet was tucked away. The door was slightly ajar, and inside, amid various cleaning supplies, sat Jane, an older woman with thick glasses and worn-out maid clothes.

  “Business?” she asked, noticing him immediately.

  “Mule,” Eli replied flatly.

  “Hmm,” Jane responded, rising slowly. She shuffled over to a corner that could easily be overlooked and retrieved a black register. She handled it with care, flipping through the pages before pausing to trace his name in the old-school way. No computers, no internet—just the way Jimmy preferred to keep things off the grid, away from any eyes that might be watching, whether federal or otherwise.

  Eli was handed a hundred extra for this delivery, which he pocketed without hesitation. He signed the register with an “M” under his designation, “Mule.” No real names here. Not even Jimmy used his real one.

  It was already noon. Eli felt the familiar pang of hunger and the urgent need to relieve himself. First things first, he made his way to the bathroom, where he took care of business.

  When he emerged, Ravi was waiting for him. His usual scowl was replaced by a wide grin, and with a friendly smile, he extended his hand.

  "My cut—son of a b*tch," Ravi chuckled, the tone of his voice full of familiarity and unspoken camaraderie.

  ***