EMMA

When everything around you is so still that you can hear a needle drop, that's when you know something big is coming. Something that will completely alter your life.

Just like calm before the storm.

What started as "know thine enemy" had turned into something I couldn't even begin to comprehend. And on top of that, Jake was ahead of me—one step closer to something I couldn't see.

Maybe Eric was right after all. Maybe I had bitten off more than I could chew.

And Eric... What he did felt like being stabbed in the back by a fellow soldier, just when I had all my focus on the enemy lines.

I hadn't told him yet that I knew he sold the painting to Vitale. A part of me hoped he would come clean on his own. The other part—hurt, betrayed, and maybe even a little afraid—wasn't ready to face it. I couldn't help but wonder what else he had kept from me.

But my patience was wearing thin. This was a no-win situation, and I was already in over my head. If I was bound to get hurt either way, what was the point in waiting?

With renewed determination, I pushed off the bed and walked to the door. Throwing it open, my eyes landed on Eric instantly. He was sprawled on the couch, laptop perched on his knees, legs kicked up on the coffee table as if the world wasn't teetering on the edge of disaster.

I crossed the room in a few quick steps and stopped directly in front of him. "Eric." My voice sliced through the air, sharp and unyielding.

He shot me a sidelong glance, his fingers still flying across the keyboard, but I could tell I had his attention. It had been a while since I had initiated any conversation with him, and he knew I was giving him the silent treatment.

"Let me guess..." he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. "Boyfriend drama?"

A flicker of anger sparked in my chest, but I shoved it aside and let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Oh no, today's not about me—it's all about you."

That got to him. He snapped the laptop shut, his smirk fading as he rubbed a hand over his face. "Alright, Emma. What is it this time?"

I folded my arms, fixing him with a glare. "Who did you sell the painting to, Eric? And don't lie to me."

He let out an exasperated sigh, his eyes rolling. "Why are you so hung up on this? The buyer's just some rich guy with a mansion full of overpriced trophies to show off to his equally rich friends. End of story."

His blue eyes darkened as he spoke, and it made my stomach twist.

But then, just as quickly, his anger faded. Eric sighed, leaning back on the couch as if trying to bridge the growing gap between us. "Look, I didn't mean to snap. I just don't get why you can't let it go. The job's done, Emma. Why keep dragging it back up?"

"Let it go?" I scoffed. "You're acting like we're in the clear, like the FBI isn't still hunting us down. Newsflash: Jake's closer than ever."

His gaze sharpened. "Maybe he's closer because you keep poking the bear."

Anger flared in my chest, but before I could fire back, a soft ping interrupted us. The notification came from one of Eric's burner phones on the table.

I noticed the way Eric tensed. His eyes darted toward the phone, then away, like he didn't want to touch it in front of me.

My suspicion deepened. "Why aren't you checking it?"

"It can wait," he said with a shrug, leaning back in an attempt at nonchalance. "We're not done talking."

"Oh, I'm in no rush." I dropped onto the couch, crossing my legs as I gestured toward the phone. "Go on. I'll wait."

Eric's expression twisted into a grimace, his eyes fixed on the phone like it might grow teeth and bite him. After a heavy sigh, he finally reached for it and opened the message. The moment he read it, the color drained from his face.

"What is it?" I asked, sitting up straighter, all my senses on high alert.

"It's nothing," he muttered, his eyes glued to the screen.

I didn't buy it for a second. Before he could react, I jumped to my feet, snatched the phone from his hand, and stepped back out of his reach.

"Emma, don't—"

But it was too late. The message was still open, the words glaring back at me like a slap to the face. The boss has another job for you. We need to meet.

My voice was calm, cold, but my heartbeats were accelerating. "What else does Vitale want from you?"

Eric froze, panic flickering in his eyes. "There's no mention of Vitale in that message. How do you know it's him?"

"Come on, Eric," I said bitterly. "You know me. I wasn't going to stop until I got answers."

"Then why bother asking me at all?" he asked between gritted teeth.

"Because we don't keep secrets from each other!" I snapped. My voice cracked, but I didn't stop. "At least, we weren't supposed to."

Eric looked away, guilt written all over his face.

I wanted to yell at him, to demand every answer I deserved, to vent the frustration that had been building for weeks. But something about the situation didn't add up. The words of the message replayed in my mind, and I started to piece everything together.

Eric never kept burner phones after a job. He always got rid of them. So why did he still have this one? Why was it different?

Then it hit me like a slap to the face. This job wasn't just any job. It had been Vitale's job from the very beginning.

A surge of emotions hit me like a wave, my chest tightening as tears threatened to spill. "Vitale hired you, didn't he?" My voice trembled. I didn't wait for Eric to answer—I couldn't stomach another lie. "You conned me."

Eric's eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. His mouth opened, then closed, like he was grasping for words that wouldn't come. Finally, he managed a strained, "Emma..."

I shook my head, swallowing hard to push back the tears. "Stop. We don't have time for this. What are we going to do?"

"No." His voice was firm, his jaw set with determination. "There's no 'we' in this. I'll deal with it."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he raised a hand to stop me.

"You want to know why I didn't tell you?" he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. "Because I knew I screwed up. This is my mess, and I need to clean it up myself."

"What?" I didn't like where he was going. "You can't be seriously thinking about going. You can't put yourself under Vitale's thumb again."

Eric stepped closer, his gaze steady, like he was trying to reassure me. "I've never even met Vitale. The whole deal was handled through one of his guys—Owen Declan. He's the one I'll be meeting. If Declan tries to pitch another job, my answer's a firm no."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "Eric, that doesn't fix anything. Declan works for Vitale, and you know as well as I do—Vitale doesn't take no for an answer."

He gave me a small smile, the weight of the situation etched into his tired eyes. "Not showing up would just make things worse. The last thing we need is Vitale on our list of enemies. We've already got enough to deal with—the FBI breathing down our necks is bad enough."

Before I could say a word, Eric leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

"Don't worry, Em," he said gently, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I'll handle Declan. I'll figure out a way to fix this."

Then he grabbed his keys off the table and headed for the door. The heavy thud as it closed behind him shattered the fragile composure I had been clinging to. Tears spilled freely now, hot and unchecked, as I sank onto the couch, the weight of everything crushing down on me.

Dread seeped into my bones, an unshakable sense that something terrible was going to happen. It was as if the air itself carried a warning, whispering danger into my ear.

My hands trembled as I reached for my phone, scrolling through my contacts until Jake's name stared back at me.

Something inside me screamed to make the call, a gut-deep instinct warning that this looming disaster was tied to him somehow.

My finger hovered over his name on the screen, hesitation creeping in. We called each other all the time, often for no real reason, but this felt different. I knew he was at work, and I couldn't shake the worry that calling him now might come off as odd—too forced, too suspicious.

But the weight in my chest told me I had no choice. Jake held the power to unleash the storm that could tear my life apart.

Taking a shaky breath, I finally pressed the call button. The ringing seemed to stretch on forever, each tone magnified by the pounding of my heart.

When it stopped, the sound of chatter and background activity filled the line, followed by Jake's familiar, steady voice. "Hey, Emma."

For a moment, I froze, my mind scrambling for an excuse that wouldn't tip him off. "Hey, Jake. I, uh... was wondering if you might have some free time today. I got an invitation to this new restaurant and thought it'd be fun if you could join me."

Smooth, Emma. Except for the part where I just asked him out.

"Man, I'd love to," Jake replied, his tone apologetic. "But I can't today. Something big is going down at work, and if it pans out, I might just crack that case I told you about. How about we celebrate together when this is all over?"

It felt like my entire world had been put on pause, as though someone had pressed a button and silenced everything—even the sound of my own heartbeat. How had I managed to end that call with Jake? Did I wish him luck? Luck in capturing my own brother, perhaps?

My instincts had always been sharp, and they weren't failing me now. This wasn't a coincidence—it couldn't be. The timing was too precise, too deliberate. Declan's sudden request to meet with Eric aligned perfectly with Jake's claim of a major breakthrough in the case. It was all connected.

Coincidences had never been part of my belief system, and I wasn't about to start believing in them now.

Fingers trembling, I dialed Eric's number. He picked up on the first ring, his voice tinged with concern. "What's wrong, Emma?"

"What's the matter, Emma?"

"You have to come back. Right now!" I blurted, my voice cracking under the weight of my panic. "You're walking straight into an FBI trap!"

"What?" His confusion was clear, but I didn't give him a chance to question it.

"Just trust me, Eric. Turn around. Come back. Please," I pleaded, tears choking my words. I hadn't even realized I was crying until my voice completely broke.

There was a pause, and then his response came, both confused and shaken. "Alright, alright. I'm turning around. Just hang tight and try to calm down."

The line went dead, leaving me alone with the reality of what had just happened. We had barely dodged a bullet, but the close call left me shaking. The storm wasn't approaching—it had already arrived, bearing down on us with relentless fury.

All we could do now was fight like hell to stay standing.