CHAPTER 6: Invitation

The street outside Inferno was slick with rain, the neon lights from the club's marquee casting an eerie red glow across the puddles. Elena hit the pavement hard, knees scraping, breath catching in her throat as the bouncers released her. The club doors slammed shut behind her, muffling the pulse of music and laughter within.

She sat there for a moment, stunned—her coat twisted beneath her, palms burning from the rough landing. People on the street walked past without a second glance. Just another scene in a city that didn’t care.

She wasn’t sure what stung more: the humiliation, or the sound of Adrian’s voice in her ears, cold and dismissive, echoing over and over.

"We’ll get back to you."

It wasn’t a maybe. It was a no. It was a never. And she had known it the moment he said it, but still—still—she had gone back, begging.

Elena pushed herself to her feet, her knees aching, hair falling into her face. She brushed it away and kept walking. The chill in the air seeped through her coat, but she barely noticed it. Her mind was stuck on rewind, playing the scene over and over.

Adrian Moretti had looked at her like he saw through her. Like he already knew everything she was trying to hide. Her record. Her lies. Her mission.

And still, she had panicked. She had blurted out her desperation, her truth wrapped in more lies.

“I’m good—I can do anything. I don’t want to go back to stealing, I’m just trying to survive. Please.”

She winced at the memory.

That wasn’t the Elena Carter she had built herself into over fifteen years. That wasn’t the composed detective trained to work undercover. That was a scared little girl, clawing for something—anything—that would keep her tethered to the mission. To the reason she had endured all this in the first place.

Her father.

Her footsteps echoed along the cracked sidewalk as she passed shuttered storefronts and glowing diners. The city never truly slept, but tonight, Elena felt like it had turned its back on her.

When she finally reached her apartment building, her fingers fumbled with the keys. Her hands still trembled. By the time she slipped inside and shut the door behind her, her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor.

Silence filled the small apartment.

The ticking of the kitchen clock.

The hum of the refrigerator.

The faint creak of pipes in the walls.

Her chest tightened. The quiet was too loud.

She curled her knees to her chest, leaning her head against the door. Rain drizzled against the window, a soft pattering that mimicked the tears she refused to let fall.

She had failed.

Again.

She thought of her father's voice, always calm, always steady, teaching her how to shoot, how to defend herself, how to stay strong.

“You keep your back straight, your eyes forward. Even when it hurts.”

But it did hurt.

It hurt more than she expected.

She had trained for this moment—her moment—to infiltrate the very empire responsible for her father’s death. She had spent years convincing everyone, including herself, that she was ready.

But now? Thrown out of the lion’s den like garbage?

She wrapped her arms tighter around her legs.

The rejection wasn’t just about the job. It was about everything. The plan. The justice she had chased for half her life. The memory of her father bleeding out in the rain. If she couldn’t even get past the front door, how was she ever going to bring Adrian Moretti down?

The apartment door creaked behind her.

“Elena?”

A soft voice.

She turned her head slowly to see Mrs. Patel—the caregiver—standing in the hallway with her scarf half-unwrapped and a plastic bag in hand.

“Elena,” Mrs. Patel said again, concern deepening the wrinkles around her eyes. “What are you doing on the floor?”

Elena tried to smile, but it faltered. “Long night.”

Mrs. Patel stepped forward and placed the bag on the small table. “Your mother’s asking for you.”

Elena swallowed. “Is she okay?”

“She’s calm tonight,” Mrs. Patel replied gently. “But she kept looking at the door, like she knew something was wrong.”

Elena rose to her feet, brushing her knees. “I’ll go see her.”

Mrs. Patel touched her arm before she passed. “You don’t have to carry all this by yourself.”

But she did. She had to. She was the only one left.

Elena opened the door to her mother’s room quietly.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the small lamp by the bed. Her mother sat in the rocking chair near the window, humming softly to herself as she stared at the rain.

“Elena,” she whispered, not turning around. “Did you see the stars tonight?”

Elena stepped closer, her throat tightening. “It’s cloudy, Mom. Too much rain.”

Her mother finally turned her head. Her eyes were distant, but the smile was real.

“You look like him, you know,” she said. “Your father.”

Elena knelt beside the chair and took her mother’s hand. “I miss him too.”

Her mother’s fingers trembled slightly. “Sometimes I think I still hear him. Just outside the door. And I go to open it, but… it’s never him.”

Elena closed her eyes.

She never knew how to respond to that.

So she just held her mother’s hand in silence.

Elena helped her mother into bed with practiced gentleness, careful not to jostle her fragile frame. The room smelled faintly of lavender and old medicine, a scent that clung to the heavy drapes and quilted blankets.

“I like the rain,” her mother murmured as Elena tucked the sheets around her. “It sounds like it’s washing everything away.”

Elena smoothed back strands of graying hair from her mother’s forehead. “Then tonight, let’s hope it washes away all the bad dreams.”

Her mother gave a soft smile before her eyes fluttered shut. It didn’t take long for her breathing to settle into a slow, rhythmic pattern. Elena stood there for a moment, watching her in the dim light, a pang of guilt tugging at her chest.

She switched off the bedside lamp and gently closed the door behind her, plunging the hallway into a heavy hush. The quiet was both a relief and a burden.

Back in her room, Elena peeled off her jacket and dropped it carelessly over the back of the chair. Her boots landed with a dull thud beside the bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes unfocused.

Sleep didn’t come.

Every time she closed her eyes, Adrian’s face surfaced—sharpened by shadows and firelight. That unreadable gaze, the way it seemed to cut through her, strip her bare without ever raising his voice. The ruthless calm behind his questions. How quickly he had dismissed her, like she was nothing.

And then the look in his eyes when she blurted out that desperate plea.

Elena squeezed her eyes shut.

Stupid. So stupid. She had lost control. Let her emotions show. And for what?

She lay back, eyes wide in the darkness, the ceiling blurring overhead.

The mission. The promise she made to her father. It had been so clear once—become a cop, find the truth, bring justice to the men who ruined their lives. But now? Now it felt like walking a tightrope, with grief on one side and guilt on the other.

Her mother’s soft hums from the other room drifted through the walls, and Elena turned onto her side, pulling the blanket over her shoulder. The pillow was cold. Her chest felt tighter than ever.

The next morning

The gray light of dawn filtered through the blinds, casting long slats across the floor. Elena’s alarm buzzed, but she was already awake. Had been for hours.

She dressed quickly—black jeans, worn-in sneakers, a crisp white shirt, and a black leather jacket that hugged her like armor. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, her expression unreadable in the mirror.

Today, she needed to be just another cop. Nothing more.

By the time she reached the station, the city was crawling with morning traffic, and the streets glittered from the night’s rainfall. Inside the precinct, the air smelled of stale coffee and printer ink.

As she pushed through the doors, a few officers gave her nods. Most didn’t look up.

Captain Reeves was already waiting near her desk, arms crossed, a cup of coffee in hand. He looked at her like he already knew.

“You didn’t get it,” he said.

Elena exhaled slowly, dropped her bag on the chair. “No. I didn’t.”

The captain ran a hand through his graying hair, sighing deeply. “Damn shame. We needed someone on the inside.”

She didn’t respond. What was there to say?

He looked at her for a moment, eyes heavy with thought. “We’ll figure something out. There’s always another way.”

She gave a tired nod and moved toward her desk, hands stuffed into her pockets. Her mind was already drifting, wondering if she'd ever get another chance. Maybe this was it—maybe she’d blown it.

She sank into her chair and switched on the monitor, trying to focus. Just one more case, just another day.

Then her phone rang.

Unknown number.

She stared at it, heartbeat quickening.

After a beat, she answered. “Hello?”

There was a brief pause.

Then:

“Miss Vasquez. You’re expected at Inferno tonight at seven. Congratulations. You’ve got the job.”

Click.

The line went dead.

Elena slowly lowered the phone, her mouth slightly parted. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the desk.

This was it. The door had cracked open.

Now she had to walk through it.