You’ve got a lot of guts, making such a big order.” Ramón places the suitcase on top of the closed trunk of his black BMW sedan—no doubt this is the beater car he only uses for working and running errands. Ramón pops the suitcase open and steps aside.

I take a closer look. The sight makes my heart pound. That’s certainly one of the common effects of the drug, but I’m not dumb enough to indulge in my own goods.

It definitely looks like Ramón’s keeping his word.

“That’s beautiful,” I say as I keep my eyes on the bags of white powder.

“Only the best for you, my friend,” Ramón says. He snaps his fingers.

A bald guy wearing a black jacket pulls out a small knife from his pocket and pierces through the plastic, just enough to pick up a tiny amount with the blade. He holds it up for me to inspect.

“Antonio,” I call the kid who fucked up Enzo’s transaction earlier this week and gesture at the sample.

“My pleasure, boss man,” he says, chuckling to himself. The kid seems eager to destroy what little brain cells he has left.

Antonio inhales the stuff as everyone watches, breaths held as he pauses for a second. In the background, sea water laps at concrete.

What Antonio says next could lead to a smooth transaction and a long-lasting partnership, or it could result in multiple corpses lying by the dock before the end of the night.

“Shit,” Antonio curses. “This is the best I’ve had in years.”

Ramón’s lips curl up as his men start chuckling. He says, “You heard the man. The best.”

I extend my hand to Ramón and smile as we shake hands. “I knew you were the right man for the job.”

“Thank you,” he says. “I look forward to doing more business with you.”

I give Ramón a nod as Giovanni gives his men the money, and we take his suitcase full of top-notch cocaine.

Ramón knows he has a solid reputation. Everybody knows he makes the best shit in the city. Junkies talk. Give references. It’s the same in any business, really.

Most people also know Ramón ruthlessly destroys any competition, but that’s the stuff they only whisper about.

After all, nobody wants to get a home visit from him. The last guy to tried to show him up lost a couple of fingers and had a few bones broken.

Unlike Ramón, I don’t have a reputation. Not yet, anyway. What I have is hunger. Ambition. Street smarts. Anger—I can thank Enzo Guerriero for that one.

Without this lust for vengeance, I’d still be some small-time criminal, not a budding entrepreneur with a stockroom full of inventory.

Of course, Enzo has also unwittingly given me a huge business loan to start me up. Wait. Not business “loan.” I mean business gift. Ha.

The two million dollars I was supposed to give the Russians the other night? I pooled that together with my money and gave everything to Ramón in exchange for the suitcase Giovanni is handing over to me right now.

As I carefully put the suitcase in the hard compartment on the back of my bike, I tell Antonio and Giovanni to meet me at my apartment.

I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than leave them alone with the coke. They’re not smart enough to do anything behind my back, but they’d probably use the stuff themselves or even lose the entire suitcase out of sheer idiocy.

Once I get all this product distributed, I’ll have five million dollars in cash. That’s twice what I invested. Not a bad rate of return at all. High risk, high return—that’s just the kind of game I play.

And to hedge my bets? I have a lovely angel by the name of Elena.

* * *

I tap my fingers on the arm of my old couch.

A thin coating of white powder covers my coffee table. I’ve never had drugs in my apartment before—not even weed—but now it’s necessary for my business.

Despite the football game playing on TV, I glance at my phone again.

Still nothing.

It’s been almost a week and I haven’t heard anything from Elena.

Damn it. I’m acting like a fucking teenage girl waiting for her quarterback crush to return her text message.

Have I inhaled some of that fucking coke by accident? Has it muddled my brain? Made me anxious and restless?

If Elena doesn’t get back to me . . . If she ignores me . . . Or worse, if she ghosts me . . . then everything’s finished. All the plans I prepared over the past two years.

Of course, there’s still Aria. Enzo’s secretary. She probably knows a lot of information Enzo doesn’t want leaking out. She’s not useless.

Still, as far as hostages go, there’s no better option than Elena. Not even Rosa, her sister—everybody knows she’s trouble.

Elena, on the other hand . . . Sweet, innocent, pure, angelic Elena. She’s perfect. And just thinking about her makes my pants feel too tight.

“Fuck!” I curse to the empty living room as I glance at the phone again.

Jesus fucking Christ. I need to stop obsessing. What is wrong with me?

I’ve never lost my cool over a girl before. But then again, I’ve never had my life—and the lives of my men, as well as millions of dollars—hanging on the whims of a girl either.

Yeah. It’s probably not about Elena. I’m just nervous because I’m playing a high-stakes game.

I focus my attention on the game.

The worst thing about a life of crime? It’s not the lying, or the sneaking around, or the threat of getting caught. It’s the fact that there’s just too much fucking time spent waiting around with nothing to do.

If I were negotiating a drug deal or actually selling on the street, my mind wouldn’t be idle. But right now, when I’ve got nothing to do but wait for Elena to reach out to me, I’m going crazy.

There’s nothing else for me to focus on, since Giovanni and Antonio are at the clubs right now, moving the product. I could join them, of course. But I’m more useful here. I have to be here in case Elena decides to come here today.

She’s coming. I know she is.

The way she looked at me that night after I kissed her? I’ve got her right where I want her.

Fuck. Do I need to download some app and do some fucking meditation or something?

I do have a back-up plan. Aria. I’ll probably be fine even if Elena doesn’t get back to me.

But I want her to be the one. I want to keep her locked up in my apartment. I want to see the fear and the desire in her eyes when I have my way with her—not just because fucking his daughter is going to hurt Enzo Guerriero way more than fucking his secretary.

It’s because I want her.

Aria’s an attractive woman, but Elena . . . She’s irresistible.

Since our little date, I haven’t stopped thinking about pulling her hair while I smack her ass and plunge my cock all the way inside her pussy. I can’t fucking fall asleep without jerking myself off to thoughts of her.

I jump when my phone beeps.

One new message.

Could it be her?

I grab my phone and check my screen.

It’s her.

It’s her. I don’t know if I’m more relieved or excited to hear from her. Don’t get me started on why I care this much about her.

The corners of my lips tug up into a smile as I start typing my response.