Undercover Trouble

Valeria 

I sat near, too near to the man next to me, my thigh brushing his beneath the small café table as the city blurred around us. His name was Nico. One of Dante’s men. Young, good looking and reckless in the way that meant he was as useful as he was dangerous. He did a good job of acting as though he was my lover, one arm resting lazily across the back of the chair, the other, adopting a lazy familiarity, draped just the side of the edge of the table—just a tug away from the weapon hidden under his jacket.

Our target waited across the street.

I could just sit there and look pretty and smile, like a spoiled, pretty girlfriend whose sole role was to sit sipping wine and chuckle at jokes made by my male counterpart. Meanwhile, I directed the earpiece snugly lodged in my ear toward the discussion happening only meters away. Every word was being recorded.

“You good?” Nico whispered, grinning toward me, that dead smile going all awkward and everything.

“Peachy,” I said, my lips hardly moving. “You?”

“Don’t I look like I’m having fun on this date?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled quietly. “Feisty.”

We had already made the plan that morning. Two men — Marco and Enzo — were standing by outside, each in a separate vehicle, waiting for the go ahead. It was my job to blend in, to get close, to gather intel. It would be Nico to establish contact. Easy. At least on paper.

We were there to meet a man titled only as Rami — a Middle Eastern gun runner who was rumored to buy and sell supernatural relics. The amulets that Dante was looking for, specifically. Parts of ancient things, but dangerous in the wrong hands. He was small and wiry, with very alert eyes and a mouth that smiled too much for a man who never meant it.

We approached slowly. Nico took me on his arm. Rami himself was flanked by two of his men—steel belted, tight suited. A cup of tea in hand, legs crossed as though he owned the pavement under him.

“Nico,” Rami said, with a friendly tone that also carried the sting of skepticism. “You're late.”

“Traffic,” said Nico, with a smile. “You know how it is.”

Rami's gaze flicked to me. “And the girl?”

“My girl,” Nico said smoothly. “She goes where I go.”

Rami's eyes narrowed. “Is she pretty, or useful?”

“Both,” I responded before Nico had the chance to.

That earned me a smirk. “Sharp tongue,” Rami said. “I wonder if you should be careful where you use it.”

“And you should be cautious when you’re writing checks where you think it will not bite back.” Rami’s smile disappeared suddenly at that.

“Let’s do it,” said Nico. “You have the amulets?”

Rami pushed back in the chair with his arms. “You got what I requested?”

Nico took out his jacket and set a silver briefcase on the table in front of them. “Half now. Half when we count the goods.” But Rami didn’t move.

Instead, he raised a brow. “Half is not the deal. I want full payment. And… an additional twenty five percent. For being inconvenienced.”

Nico blinked. “That’s not what we agreed.”

“Well, that’s what I’m saying now.”

“You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke. Certainly not with amulets that will rip out the soul from your chest if mishandled.” Tension filled the air. Nico’s jaw flexed. Slowly I slid my hand under the table and tipped my heel, one click away from the panic signal in my boot.

“You’re moving the goalposts after we arrived,” Nico said, his voice lowered. “That’s not how this works.” Rami laughed and waved a dismissive hand. One of his men stepped into the room and pulled the edge of his jacket towards the back a little—exposing the gun in his waistband.

“We both brought insurance,” he said, calmly. “Let’s not pretend otherwise.” The second guard spurred on the other packhorse— and before he did, I was pulled backward with incredible force.

“Valeria!” Nico barked. But I was already caught, a thick arm squeezing around my torso, a gun pressed cold and hard against my skull.

“Let her go! Nico!” he said, jumping to his feet with his gun half unsheathed.

“Ah-ah,” Rami said, wagging his finger. “You move, she dies.”

I could hear my pulse throbbing in my ears. Rami rose to his feet with a deliberate flush and brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his jacket.

“Nico, drop the gun,” he told him. “And give over the rest of the money.”

Nico’s eyes blazed. “Don’t push this.”

“I’m pushing it,” Rami said fiercely, moving forward. “Give us the briefcase. Or I’ll be damned, she’s not going to leave.” He jerked his head toward the guard that was keeping me restrained, the barrell of the gun digging into the soft skin beneath my jaw.

“I’m going to count to three,” Rami said. “And if you want to see her alive...”

He came up close, voice cutting, final—

“Give us the money.” My breath was coming shallow, my body motionless. I could panic. I could scream. I could crumble and be the damsel he thought I was. But I’d come here uninterested in being saved.

I was out here to prove something to them. To myself. I squinted as Nico shifted and steadied his weapon as he was ready to shoot at any moment, every inch of his body taunt and perched for some kind of movement. His eyes darted from Rami to me, and I saw the indecision on his set jaw.

He didn’t know whether to take the chance. Neither did I. But if I gave in now… I would be surrendering all that I had struggled to achieve. This is it, I thought. This is how they know I am not a patsy. My fingers were shaking, but I managed the smallest nod. Barely enough for Nico to get a hold of it.

He blinked once in confusion. “What are you—?”

My eyes sharpened. Do it. He froze again, mouth quirking, and glanced at the corner where Marco and Enzo were waiting. I mouthed, “Trust me.”

Another breath passed. And then Nico got the signal. All hell broke loose. I flinched instinctively as the first shot rang out — glass breaking, bodies sliding, chairs scraping across the floor with solid thuds. Marco came from the left, guns in each hand, fast, trained. Enzo came after me from the other side, putting one of Rami’s guards down with a savage cracking of his elbow. Rami staggered back, shouting in Arabic, his hand moving toward the gun at his waist.

Everything was chaos.

Bullets flew. Tables flipped. One of Rami’s crew tried to jump over a booth for cover, and Marco yanked him down hard, slamming his head into the tile. One attempted to retreat but was grabbed in mid sprint by Enzo’s tackle; the two went tumbling through a row of decorative potted plants.

Nico had dispatched the man nearest to the case. The items—the amulets— and the silver briefcase had been knocked to the floor during the scuffle and Nico kicked them in the direction of the far end of the coffee shop, retrieving them with a professional ease.

And all along, I was still. Silent. Watching. Waiting. The arm around me had slackened for a fraction of a second — a little space was all I needed. I fanned the jagged stem of the broken wine glass still clutched in my fist under the cover of my blouse. I’d wrapped my fingers around it when the fight started, holdingon to it. Now it was time to use it. I angled my elbow slightly. I was counting the breath of the guy who was standing behind me.

One... two…

And with a swift thrust of my own body, I reversed the blade, deep in his arm. He screamed in agony, releasing his hold at once. I didn’t wait. I whirled and lunged forward, my heart thundering, snatching the edge of the table and slamming it at him, sending him stumbling, off balance. With a dead thump his gun dropped as he grasped his bleeding limb, stooping at the waist, staring at his arm with an expression of disbelief.

By the time he reached for me once more, I was halfway to the door. The rest already had the items. Rami’s forces were either on the ground or in retreat. Nico yelled something to Marco, the briefcase in one hand and a gun in the other. We’d won. We had the amulets. We had the money. Just as I reached the exit, I spun around, my voice even and sharp—

“Let’s go!”