EMMA

In our world, loyalty is a currency often wasted, faith an investment rarely worth the risk. It always comes down to you and the people you want something from. The question isn't if you can trust them—it's whether you can outsmart them before they outsmart you.

I have always been good at this. Too good. Lying, cheating, using people for my own gain—it came naturally. Guilt rarely found its way in. I would tell myself no one really got hurt. My marks were usually filthy rich, the kind of people who would barely notice the loss. Maybe their pride took a hit, but that was it.

But this game was different. This time, I wasn't just bending the rules—I was breaking them, shattering them, cutting someone deeper than I ever had before. With every move I made, the blade twisted further.

And backing off wasn't an option anymore. Not after what happened with Eric. The stakes had never been more high, and now it was a matter of him or us.

Frustrated, I slammed my brush and palette onto the table, yanked a page from my sketchbook, and tore it in half before tossing it into the trash. Painting used to be my refuge, the one place where I could clear my mind. But lately, even that had turned on me.

Ever since Eric's close call—the one that nearly landed him in jail—I hadn't been able to finish a single piece, not even a quick sketch. Everything I painted devolved into chaos, a perfect reflection of my fractured thoughts. The only thing I could draw with any consistency was a pair of jade-green eyes that seemed to haunt every canvas.

I sighed, staring at the latest unfinished mess in front of me. I was losing it. There was no other explanation. At least Eric wasn't around to see me fall apart.

Speaking of Eric, he hadn't been the same since that disaster. Guilt and anger had consumed him, especially after Jake had outsmarted him. I didn't have to say "I told you so." He couldn't stand the unspoken truth himself.

To regroup, Eric decided to head to Greece, where my parents were staying. He said he needed space to clear his head and come back stronger. He had invited me to join him, but I had declined. One of us had to stay behind—to hold the line, to keep the game in play.

I glanced at the clock and sighed. The day was slipping away, and I still had too much to do. The paint stains on my hands were a reminder of the chaos I had created—both on the canvas and in my head. A shower was overdue, and with my plans to meet Jake in Brooklyn, driving wasn't an option. The subway would have to do.

The warmth of the Saturday afternoon filtered through my windows as I rummaged through my closet. After some deliberation, I settled on a casual outfit—black pants, a black tank top, and a white shirt to break the monotony. A little light makeup, and I was ready to face the day.

At the subway station, I bought a ticket and found a seat amidst the weekend crowd. My mind kept drifting to Jake—to the text he had sent saying he was already at the restaurant and excited to see me.

A jumble of emotions churned in my chest: anticipation, anxiety, and something I couldn't quite name. Was I excited to see him, too?

I glanced at my phone and saw his follow-up message, confirming our reservation at Grimaldi's Pizzeria. At least the food might distract me from the storm raging in my head. Or so I hoped.

When I arrived at Grimaldi's, I spotted Jake immediately. He sat at a corner table, his gray t-shirt hugging his frame, paired with jeans and an olive-field jacket that added a touch of rugged charm to his appearance.

As soon as he saw me, his green eyes lit up, and a warm smile spread across his face. He waved, and despite my nerves, I found myself smiling back as I walked over.

He stood to greet me with a hug, his voice soft and sincere. "You look beautiful," he said.

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I murmured a quiet thank-you. Jake pulled out my chair, waiting for me to sit before taking his place across the table.

"Welcome to Grimaldi's," he said with a grin, handing me a menu. "The best pizza in New York."

"I can't believe I've never tried it," I replied, trying to sound light. "But the smell alone tells me I've been missing out."

He smiled. "Well, you're in for a treat. Trust me, it's worth every calorie."

As I scanned the menu, Jake tapped his fingers lightly against the edge of the table, his gaze drifting toward the window. The smile he gave when he turned back to me was warm, but I noticed a faint flicker of something beneath it—something I doubted anyone else would have picked up on.

But as we waited for our food, the tension seemed to ease. Jake's posture relaxed, and the conversation began to flow effortlessly.

He shared stories about his time at Quantico and his early days in Brooklyn, his eyes lighting up as he recounted some of his favorite spots in the city. He even asked about my job applications and how my art was coming along, his genuine curiosity making it easy to open up.

I caught myself stealing glances at his eyes more than once. No wonder they kept showing up on my canvas. The way the spring sunlight caught them, making them sparkle, was mesmerizing.

When the pizza was gone, Jake leaned back with a satisfied smile. "Ready to walk it off?"

I nodded, and we stepped out into the vibrant Brooklyn streets, heading toward the river.

The rhythm of our conversation carried us through Dumbo, the gentle spring breeze brushing against our faces. The sun bathed the cobblestone streets in a golden glow, its light glinting off the graceful arches of the Manhattan Bridge towering above. In the distance, birds chirped in Brooklyn Bridge Park, their song blending seamlessly with the neighborhood's vibrant charm.

The gentle breeze ruffled Jake's jacket as we walked. He adjusted the collar absentmindedly, his steps slowing now and then, as though his thoughts weighed heavier than his stride. For a moment, a flicker of something—worry, maybe—clouded his face, only to vanish the instant he noticed my gaze. His easy smile returned, warm and effortlessly disarming, but that brief flicker stayed with me.

Before I could say anything, a family of four approached us. The father held a camera and spoke with a thick French accent. "Excuse me, could you take a picture of us?"

"Of course, no problem," I said, taking the camera.

They smiled gratefully and positioned themselves by the railing, the Brooklyn Bridge and river creating the perfect backdrop. I framed the shot carefully, counted to three, and snapped the picture.

"Voilà, c'est très joli," I said, handing the camera back to the father. "There you go. It's beautiful."

The father's face lit up at my French, and he thanked me before showing the picture to his family. His wife and kids nodded in approval, their smiles bright.

The youngest, a little girl with blonde curls and wide blue eyes, stared at me curiously. I crouched down and spoke to her in French, and from the corner of my eye, I caught Jake leaning against the railing, smiling at us.

Something I said made the girl giggle, and she leaned in close to whisper in my ear. I chuckled and waved Jake over.

"She wants to tell you something," I said.

Jake crouched down, meeting her at eye level. The girl blushed and said shyly, "Tu as un beau sourire."

"She said, 'You have a beautiful smile,'" I translated with a grin.

Jake laughed and gave her a playful salute. "Merci," he said warmly.

The girl giggled harder, her cheeks flushing pink before she gave me a tight hug and waved to Jake as she rejoined her parents.

"You speak French?" Jake asked once we were alone again.

I smirked, shrugging casually. "I did tell you I've traveled a lot. Six languages kind of come with the territory."

He shook his head, smiling. "Impressive. You've got a way with people, too—very charming."

Despite myself, my smile faltered slightly. Of course I have a way with people, Jake. I'm a con artist.

"And watching you with that little one was absolutely adorable," Jake said with a soft smile, his gaze drifting toward the water. After a brief pause, he added, "Moments like that always make me wonder about the future. Have you ever thought about what kind of family life you'd want someday?"

His words froze me in place. Family?

How could I explain that family felt like a myth for people like us? I couldn't imagine committing to someone, having kids, and raising them in the shadow of my past. Even if I escaped that life, the ghosts of what I had done would follow me like the Grim Reaper, waiting to get me.

Even if I somehow escaped the ghosts of my past, I didn't believe I could love again. The one time I tried, it nearly destroyed me.

Clearing my throat, I forced a smile and added a hint of humor to my tone. "What is this? Another round of 20 questions?"

Jake let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "It's just that with my best friend tying the knot soon, the whole 'future' chat has been inescapable lately," he said. "According to everyone, I'm apparently a lost cause because I'm already married to the job.

"And I guess they're right. I can't remember the last time I slowed down long enough to even think about being in a serious relationship."

His laugh faded, and for a moment, vulnerability flickered across his face. It was a rare crack in his usual laid-back demeanor.

I pretended to adjust my shirt, buying myself time to respond. "I can see how that would be... overwhelming," I said carefully. "Especially when everyone around you seems to be settling down."

"But," I added, softening my tone, "maybe being 'married to the job' isn't such a bad thing. It shows dedication, a strong work ethic. Those are admirable qualities, wouldn't you agree?"

Jake's lips curved into a faint smile as he met my gaze. "It's not a bad thing, no. But there's more to life than work, right?"

"Well, yeah." I shrugged. "But to answer your earlier question, I think family requires real commitment, and people don't take that as seriously as they should."

Jake tilted his head slightly. "So, you don't believe in 'forever,' then?"

His directness caught me off guard, pulling a truth from me I hadn't intended to share. "Forever is a beautiful concept," I said slowly. "But sometimes life... it doesn't cooperate."

Gesturing toward the family, I continued, "Families look perfect in pictures, like something out of a postcard. But in reality? It's messy. Complicated. Not always picture perfect."

"Life is messy," Jake agreed, his eyes never leaving mine. "But it can still be beautiful. What's your take on marriage, then?"

"Marriage..." I paused, my thoughts swimming with images of relationships torn apart by jealousy, mistrust, greed—the list was endless.

"...is like building a sandcastle," I said finally. "It may look perfect for a while, but a single wave can wash it all away."

Jake studied me for a moment. "You once said you didn't believe in true love. Something happened, didn't it? You built those walls for a reason."

Pain threatened to stab its way in as his words dredged up memories I had buried. The face of the man I once thought was my forever flashed in my mind before I shoved it away.

Clearing my throat, I forced a small smile I knew didn't reach my eyes. "Let's just say I believed in 'forever' once. Turns out, forever has an expiration date."

Jake's expression softened, understanding filling his gaze. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "But shutting people out won't protect you from pain."

I shrugged, keeping my tone light. "Pain is inevitable. The problem is, when people fall in love, they forget that love and pain come as a package deal."

"True," Jake said, his gaze unwavering. "I may not be the perfect role model for relationship advice. But... I think it's okay to still want love. And it's okay to rebuild that sandcastle, even if it crumbles a hundred times."

A faint smile tugged at my lips. "You're an optimist, Jake," I said, a hint of genuine amusement in my voice. "Let's see if life can live up to that optimism."

He grinned, his green eyes sparkling. "Life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it. Maybe it has something extraordinary in store for you."

I raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on my face. "Extraordinary, huh? I'll believe it when I see it."

Jake's smile widened. "Challenge accepted."

It felt as if time had stopped, and I couldn't pull my gaze from Jake, who still wore that easy smile. For a rare moment, I found myself at a loss for words—a con artist fumbling for anything to say.

Jake must have sensed the shift. He broke the silence with a suggestion. "How about we catch the ferry?" he said, gesturing toward the water. "It's a great way to see the city, and the sunset's almost here."

I nodded, snapping out of my trance. "Yeah, that sounds perfect."

We made our way to the dock, and the East River Ferry became a quiet escape from the chaos of the city. As we boarded, Jake took my hand to steady me, his touch sending a wave of warmth through me. Confusion followed quickly behind, and I tried to ignore the pounding of my heart as he led me to a spot by the railing.

The ferry pulled away, the gentle splashing of water mixing with the calls of seagulls and the distant hum of the city. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of fiery orange and soft pink, its light dancing on the water and reflecting off the Manhattan skyline.

I glanced at Jake. He stood next to me, gazing at the horizon, his hair tousled by the breeze. The golden light of the setting sun softened his features, but even that couldn't disguise the subtle signs I had been picking up all day—the way his jaw tightened when he thought I wasn't looking, the way his smile sometimes faltered, as if it couldn't quite hold under the weight of whatever was on his mind.

Years of reading people told me Jake was wrestling with something big.

"So," I said, breaking the silence, "I can't help but notice you're not entirely yourself today. Is everything alright, Jake?" My voice held a note of genuine concern, surprising even me.

Surprise flickered across his face, the mask he'd worn all day slipping ever so slightly. He let out a long sigh, leaning heavily against the railing. "Work's been... rough lately," he admitted.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He paused, his gaze lingering on the water as if searching for the right words. "Remember when I mentioned a breakthrough in my investigation?"

My heart skipped a beat. "Yeah," I replied, forcing the words out and praying my voice didn't betray the rising panic. "I hope it went well."

A humorless laugh escaped his lips. "Hardly. Went completely south, actually. Every time I think I'm close to catching those behind the Met heist, I hit a dead end. They're always one step ahead."

The cacophony of city sounds blurred into a distant hum, as though the world itself had faded away. All I could hear was the relentless pounding of my heart in my ears.

"And the worst part," he continued, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone, "is someone paid the price for my mistake. With their life."

He turned toward the water, but I didn't need to see his face to feel the storm raging within him. The tension radiated off him—his clenched fists, the tight line of his jaw, and the veins bulging in his neck. He was angry, hurt, and consumed by guilt.

I thanked every ounce of luck that he wasn't looking at me because if he was, he would have seen the horror etched on my face.

Someone died. Because of us.

A physical blow couldn't have landed harder. This wasn't part of the plan. Why would anyone die over an operation that never even reached its target? Eric hadn't shown up, so how could this have gone so wrong?

Suddenly, a sickening realization began to take shape, each piece of the puzzle clicking into place. Dread clawed its way into my chest as the truth became undeniable. Jake couldn't have gotten close to Eric without going through someone else first—someone who had been deeply entangled in all of this.

The fence. Declan.

My breath caught in my throat, and I fought to keep my voice steady. But I needed to know for sure. "W—who was it?" I asked, the question barely audible. "Someone from your team?"

I didn't want the answer. I wanted him to laugh it off, to tell me I got it all wrong, that nobody had died. But Jake's silence felt heavier than anything he could have said. He closed his eyes, his face pinched in anguish, and shook his head slowly.

"No," he said, his voice laced with pain. "He was my CI—confidential informant. He was supposed to help me catch the rest of the criminals, but someone got to him in protective custody. The very person I swore to protect him from."

He finally met my gaze, and the emotions in his green eyes were almost too much to bear. Anger burned brightest, but underneath it were layers of grief, guilt, and an unwavering determination to make this right.

My mind raced, spinning so fast it felt like the world tilted on its axis. I gripped the railing for support, forcing myself to steady my breathing, to keep the chaos within from breaking through the surface.

There was no doubt left. Declan was dead.

And I knew exactly who had killed him.

Vitale.

I stared down at my hands, clenched tightly into fists. For a fleeting moment, I imagined them stained red with Declan's blood.

How did it come to this? This was never supposed to happen. No one was supposed to get hurt.

For a fleeting moment, I wanted to scream, to smash something, to confess everything to Jake and let him drag me off to jail. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe that would be justice.

But I didn't. Instead, I reached out, placing a trembling hand on Jake's arm, praying he wouldn't notice the crack in my composure. "Jake, I'm so sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sure you did everything you could to help him."

He gave me a weak smile, the doubt in his eyes cutting through me like a blade. "Thanks, Emma. And I'm sorry for dumping all this on you, but... you just make it so easy to open up."

I felt sick. God, Jake, you're making this too hard.

I smiled, but it was as hollow as I felt inside. "You're a good person, Jake. And a good agent, I'm sure."

We stood there in silence for a while, gazing at the shimmering skyline. But it wasn't the city we were looking at—it was the chaos in our minds. Jake's thoughts, I was certain, revolved around catching the people behind the heist—catching me—while mine spun with desperate calculations on how to claw my way out of this mess.

He broke the silence with a hesitant tone. "I know I just killed the mood, but there's something I've been meaning to ask you all day."

"Go on," I said, bracing myself.

Jake looked nervous as he spoke. "Would you come with me to my best friend's wedding? It's in a couple of weeks, and I'm the best man."

The smile I had so carefully plastered on my face faltered. My instincts screamed at me to say no, to create some excuse, to put distance between us. This was a terrible idea. The more time I spent with Jake, the more dangerous this game became—for both of us.

But then I saw the way his eyes softened, how his smile carried a quiet vulnerability that made me hesitate. He trusted me. And trust was the key to everything. If I said no, would he start to question me? Would I risk undoing everything I had worked so hard to build?

I couldn't. Not now.

I forced myself to smile, my voice light despite the storm in my chest. "Jake, that's so sweet of you. I'm flattered. Of course, I'd love to go."

His face lit up with a smile so genuine, it made my heart ache. "That's wonderful. Thank you, Emma."

He stepped closer, and before I could react, his lips brushed softly against my cheek. The warmth of the gesture sent a jolt of electricity through me, leaving my heart pounding as if trying to escape its cage.

When he pulled back, his gaze lingered, flickering between my eyes and my lips—a silent question, an unspoken invitation. He was asking for more, and to my surprise, every part of me wanted to say yes. To let go of the chaos, to surrender to this fleeting moment, and lose myself in him.

But I could never.

I forced myself to remember why I was here, what I had done, and what I had to do.

I mustered a small smile, taking a deliberate step back to shatter the tension. "It's getting late, isn't it? And chilly. We should probably head home," I said, my voice lighter than I felt. Then, hoping to ease the awkwardness, I added with a playful edge, "Besides, now I have to find the perfect dress to make sure I'm the ideal plus-one for the best man."

Jake smiled faintly and nodded, the moment passing. "Yeah, you're right. Let's head home."

He offered to drive me, but I insisted on taking the subway. I needed space. The storm of thoughts brewing in my head was too much to face with Jake sitting beside me.

As the subway rumbled toward my stop, my mind refused to quiet. The heist, Eric, my decision to get close to Jake—it all played on a loop.

The plan had seemed simple—gain his trust, make him open up, maybe even let him fall for me. But I hadn't considered what would happen after that.

I was in trouble. Big trouble.

Why did the thought of hurting Jake make me feel sick? Why couldn't I stop replaying that moment on the ferry, when our eyes locked and the rest of the world seemed to disappear? That fleeting second when I felt... something. Something that stirred deep within me, unsettling and undeniable.

It couldn't be real. It had to be nothing—a trick of the light, the rush of adrenaline, a side effect of the game I was playing. I couldn't allow myself to believe it was anything more.

Still, the thought lingered, weaving itself into my worries and fears. And my mind kept racing, wandering into darker places, to the dangers I couldn't ignore. Jake finding out the truth. The walls closing in. Prison. And worst of all, someone else getting hurt.

And then there was Vitale. The biggest danger of all. He wouldn't hesitate to do whatever it took to protect himself—to eliminate any obstacle. Eric. Me. Even Jake.

By the time I got home, my decision was made.

Vitale had to go down.