Seven

Jacks hidden penthouse.

<JACK>

Morning light spilled through the open window.

The chamber doors opened slowly. I didn't turn around. I kept walking, eyes fixed ahead, listening to the footsteps move toward me.

John. I knew his gait.

But there was someone with him. Someone whose steps didn't match the usual rhythm.

I stopped.

D.D.

John bowed low.

"We arrived late, Boss. My apolo—"

I raised my hand.

He cleared his throat and straightened.

"Save it."

D.D.'s eyes traveled the room before settling on me. He didn't bow. He didn't flinch. He just studied me, the way he always had — like I was a puzzle he'd already solved and was waiting for me to catch up.

That alone told me he hadn't changed.

"Still allergic to apologies, I see," he said.

I gave him a cold look.

"And you're still fond of arriving late."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"I prefer arriving when I'm needed."

John glanced between us. He'd worked with D.D. before. He knew better than to get in the middle.

I turned toward the table.

"The gala is in three days."

D.D. followed.

"And you've already made your move?"

"I don't make moves without knowing the board."

He pulled out a chair but didn't sit. Hovering. Testing. He always did that — made you wait for him to commit.

"Then you know the mansion will be heavily guarded."

"I expected that."

"And the guest list?"

"Being handled."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"By whom?"

I looked at him.

"You ask too many questions."

"That's why you called me."

The room went still. John moved toward the table and placed a folder down. The sound of it hitting the wood was the only noise in the room.

D.D. finally sat. He opened the folder, glanced at the contents, then closed it.

"That won't work."

John frowned.

"You haven't even looked through it."

"I don't need to."

I raised an eyebrow.

D.D. leaned back in his chair.

"If the people inside that mansion are expecting trouble, giving them too much information only makes them harder to predict."

"So what do you suggest?"

"We give them a story."

I stared at him.

"A believable one."

He tapped the folder with one finger.

"Let them think they know why we're coming. Let them prepare for the threat they expect."

His gaze lifted to mine.

"While we walk through the door with something they aren't looking for."

A slow smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.

"That's why I brought you in."

John looked between us.

"And the spy?"

D.D. didn't answer immediately. He looked at me.

"Already chosen?"

"Yes."

"Does she know what she's getting herself into?"

"Not yet."

D.D. smiled.

"Good."

I frowned.

"Why?"

"Because people who know too much start behaving differently."

He stood, adjusting his cuffs.

"Give her only what she needs."

"And if she asks questions?"

"Then we give her answers."

"What kind?"

"The kind that keep her useful."

---

<ARIANA>

Angela entered my room carrying a garment bag.

She placed it on the bed.

"This is what you're wearing tonight."

I stared at the bag.

"Tonight?"

She nodded.

"Your husband requested it."

I almost laughed.

"My what?"

Angela blinked.

"Your husband."

"He's not my husband."

The words came out sharper than I intended. I lowered my voice.

"Angela…"

I hesitated.

"What's going on?"

She looked away.

"I don't know."

“Is someone in the mansion?”

Her eyes flickered toward the door before returning to me.

"The men will discuss everything with you. That's what I can report. Now get ready."

She turned to the door, then paused.

"Don't forget to spray some cologne. It did you some good."

She walked out.

A dry chuckle escaped my lips. I turned to the dress.

You must be kidding me.

My hand traced the flowered lace. Soft. Expensive. The kind of thing I'd never own in a thousand years.

I wish you could see this, Grandma.

I sniffed. Then I straightened my spine, pushed my shoulders back, and started getting dressed. There was no time to feel sorry for myself. There never was.

---

<JACK>

The moment Ariana entered the room, the conversation stopped.

She stood near the doorway, one hand gripping the side of her dress. She looked different. Cleaner. Softer. Someone had put her in something that cost more than her rent.

She didn't look like a stripper. Neither did she look like a thief.

She looked like she belonged here.

I pushed the thought away.

John looked at her. Then at me.

I ignored him.

"This is Ariana."

D.D. turned.

I continued.

"“She'll be inside the mansion.”

D.D.'s eyes narrowed. “Doing what?”

“Listening.”

D.D.'s expression changed. Not much. Just enough for me to notice.

He took one step forward.

"A spy?"

I nodded.

"She'll be gathering information from inside."

D.D. opened his mouth. Then stopped.

His eyes remained fixed on Ariana.

She shifted uncomfortably. Her fingers tightened on the fabric of her dress.

D.D. tilted his head.

"You look familiar."

Her fingers stopped moving.

"Do I?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Have we met before?"

Silence.

Ariana swallowed. Her throat moved. She didn't answer.

My eyes moved between them.

She looked like she'd seen a ghost.

D.D. took another step closer.

"I don't forget faces."

Ariana forced a small smile. It didn't reach her eyes.

"Maybe you've seen someone who looks like me."

"No."

His answer came too quickly.

"I don't think that's it."

My jaw tightened.

D.D. was still staring at her.

Ariana was still holding her breath.