FALLING INTO FORT

The pounding in my head dragged me back to consciousness. For a disorienting moment, I didn't know where I was. Then it all came rushing back.

The briefcase. The celebration. Levi.

"That son of a bitch," I groaned, forcing my eyes open. I was on the floor of the living room, my cheek pressed against the threadbare carpet. My mouth tasted like death and betrayal. My jaw throbbed where Levi had hit me.

How long had I been out? I checked my watch—several hours at least. Late afternoon light filtered through the grimy windows.

I pushed myself up, ignoring the way my stomach lurched and my head spun. The coffee table was empty. The briefcase was gone and when I stumbled to Levi's room and threw open the door, I found exactly what I expected: nothing. The room had been cleared out. Levi had taken everything valuable and disappeared.

"Fuck. Fuck!" I kicked the wall, immediately regretting it as pain shot through my foot. "Goddamn it, Levi!"

How could I have been so stupid? I'd been so focused on celebrating the score that I hadn't considered—

BANG BANG BANG.

The sound of someone hammering on the front door made me jump. My heart leapt into my throat.

BANG BANG BANG.

"Open up! We know you're in there!"

Police? No, the voice was wrong. Too rough. My mind raced. Think. THINK.

I moved to the door, forcing my expression into confused innocence. When I opened it, three large men stood in the hallway. Not cops. Something worse.

"Can I... help you?" I made my voice higher, uncertain.

The one in front—massive, with a scar across his cheek—looked me up and down with cold eyes. "Elon Reeves?"

"Who's asking?"

"Wrong answer." The man moved fast for someone his size. His fist connected with my jaw—the same spot Levi had hit—and my legs gave out. I hit the floor hard, stars exploding behind my eyes.

"Wait—wait, I think there's been a mistake—" I tried, tasting blood. "I have a twin sister, she's the one who—she's a con artist, she must have—"

"Save it." A second man grabbed me by the arms, hauling me up. "The boss wants to see you."

"What boss? I don't know what you're—"

The first man leaned in close. "Fort Castellano. Ring any bells?"

My blood turned to ice.

"Yeah," the man smiled without humor. "That's what I thought. Let's go."

I tried to fight as they dragged me out of the apartment, but I was still weak from whatever Levi had given me, and my head was spinning from being hit twice.The neighbors who peeked out of their doors quickly retreated when they saw who was doing the dragging.

They threw me in the back of a black SUV. My mind whirled frantically. Fort fucking thorne, whose name was whispered in the city's underworld with equal parts fear and respect. The man who owned half the illegal businesses in the city. The man people didn't cross.

The man I'd drugged and robbed.

"Oh fuck," I whispered. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck."

The drive felt like both seconds and hours. When they finally stopped, the men hauled me out and marched me through an underground garage into a private elevator. The elevator rose smoothly, quickly. Too quickly.

When the doors opened, I found myself in a penthouse that probably cost more than I'd make in ten lifetimes. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. Everything was sleek, modern, expensive.

And standing by those windows, backlit by the afternoon sun, was the man from the bar.

Fort Thorne turned slowly. He'd changed clothes—now wearing a fresh suit that probably cost more than my entire apartment. His dark hair was perfectly styled. His eyes were clear, sharp, and absolutely furious.

"Welcome," he said softly, "to the worst mistake of your life."

—---

FORT'S POV

I studied the young man standing—barely standing—between Alexei and Viktor. Elon looked significantly less cocky than he had at the bar. His lip was split, probably courtesy of Alexei's welcome punch.

I liked that. Defiance was interesting and defiance could be broken.

"Where's my briefcase?" I asked, keeping my voice conversational.

Elon's jaw tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Wrong answer." I nodded to Viktor, who drove his fist into Elon's stomach. The young man doubled over with a gasp, would have fallen if Alexei wasn't holding him up.

"Let's try again." I walked closer, circling my prey like a shark. "You drugged me. You stole from me and now you're going to tell me where my property is."

"I told you," Elon wheezed, "I have a twin sister—"

"The twin sister story was creative, I'll give you that." I stopped in front of him. "But I'm not an idiot. I had Dimitri pull up everything about you while you were being collected. Elon, age twenty-three, orphan, petty con artist with a record going back to age sixteen. No siblings. No family at all."

Elon's expression flickered—surprise, then resignation. "Fine. I took your stupid briefcase. My roommate stole it from me. He's gone and I don't know where."

"Your roommate." I pulled out my phone, showing him the tracking app. The red dot was moving—had been moving for the past hour, heading toward the interstate. "Levi Morrison, Age twenty-five. Also a con artist who is currently running for his life, if he's smart."

I watched the hope drain from Elon's face as he realized his partner had abandoned him.

"Here's what's going to happen," I said, pocketing my phone. "My men are going to track down your former friend and retrieve my briefcase. Then you and I are going to have a conversation about payment."

"Payment?" Elon straightened despite Alexei's grip. "For what? You're getting your briefcase back."

"For the insult. For the inconvenience. For the fucking audacity." My voice dropped to something dangerous. "You drugged me. Do you have any idea how many people would kill for the chance to catch me vulnerable? What could have happened if someone other than you had walked into that hotel room?"

Understanding dawned on Elon's face, followed quickly by fear. "I didn't—I wasn't trying to—"

"You weren't thinking at all. You saw an easy mark and took your shot." I leaned against my desk, arms crossed. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not an easy mark. I'm a very expensive mistake."

"Look, I don't have money, obviously. If I did, I wouldn't be robbing people."

"I don't want your money." My smile was cold. "I want compensation for my time, my inconvenience, and my ruined Armani shirt. Since you can't pay in cash, you'll pay another way."

Elon's face went pale. "What way?"

I let the silence stretch, watching his imagination run wild. Fear made people cooperative.

"You're going to work for me," I said finally. "Every penny you stole or tried to steal, you're going to work off with interest."

"Work for you how?"

"However I see fit." I pushed off the desk. "You're a con artist, aren't you? Those skills can be useful. You'll run cons for me. Do jobs for me. And until your debt is paid, you belong to me."

"That's insane. I'm not…..you can't just—"

"I can do whatever I want." My voice was soft, deadly. "I own this city, boy. I own the police, the politicians, the ports. I certainly own you. The only question is whether you walk out of here as my employee or whether Viktor throws you off my balcony. Your choice."

Elon looked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, calculating. I could almost see the gears turning in his head. Could he run? Could he fight? Could he escape?

"Don't," I warned. "You're thirty stories up, and my men are faster than you. Especially when you're still recovering from whatever Levi gave you."

Elon's shoulders sagged slightly. "How much is the debt?"

"The briefcase itself was worth ten thousand. The contents—which you never even got to see—were worth considerably more. Let's call it a round fifty thousand."

"Fifty thousand?!" His eyes widened. "For one job? What was in there, diamonds?"

"That's none of your concern." I moved to my bar, pouring myself a scotch. I didn't offer one to Elon. "At your current skill level, I'd estimate it'll take you six months to work that off. Maybe a year if you fuck up."

"A year." His voice was hollow.

"Or I can make it all go away right now." I gestured to the window again. "Your choice."

The silence stretched. I sipped my scotch, watching Elon wrestle with his options. They weren't really options, of course. I always got what I wanted.

"Fine," Elon said finally, the word bitter on his tongue. "I'll work for you. But I'm not—" He hesitated. "I'm not doing anything illegal that'll get me killed."

"Oh, you'll do exactly what I tell you to do." I set down my glass. "But I'm not in the business of wasting assets. You'll be more useful to me alive than dead. That's the only guarantee you get."

My phone buzzed. A text from Dimitri: *Got eyes on Morrison. He's at a truck stop. Briefcase is with him. Moving in.*

I showed Elon the message. "Looks like your friend didn't get very far."

"He's not my friend," Elon said bitterly.

"No. I suppose he's not." I pulled out a contract—I'd had my lawyer draw it up while Elon was being collected—and slid it across the desk. "This outlines the terms of your employment. Room and board provided. You'll live here where I can keep an eye on you. Dimitri will be your handler. You'll do what he says, when he says it. Any questions?"

Elon stared at the contract like it was a snake. "Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice. This one or the window."

With shaking hands, Elon picked up the pen and signed.

I smiled. "Welcome to the organization, Elon. I think this is going to be a very educational experience for both of us."