The black van rolled to a stop, its tinted windows revealing nothing of the occupants inside. Alex and Ethan stood their ground, their postures tense beneath the concealing bulk of their disguises. The van's door slid open, and three figures emerged.
In the lead was Vince Gallo, known as Wormhole. A renowned underworld's premier broker, a man known for facilitating the impossible. He was flanked by two heavies, their frames bristling with barely concealed weapons and body armor.
Gallo himself wore a mask, a sleek, featureless thing that glinted dully in the dim light. His men were similarly disguised, their faces hidden behind balaclavas and dark glasses.
He approached the twins with a measured stride, his movements cool and unhurried. This was a man accustomed to being in control, to bending the wills of the criminal elite to his own ends.
Alex felt Ethan's gaze boring into him from behind his own mask, a silent warning. But Alex brushed it off, stepping forward to meet Gallo halfway.
"You're a long way from home, mate," he said, his voice distorted by the mask's modulator.
Gallo chuckled, the sound hollow and metallic. "Home is where the money is, my friend. And I've got a feeling we're about to become best friends after this."
He reached into his coat and withdrew a small device. With a few deft movements, he pressed his thumb to the scanner and held it out for Alex to see.
"DNA print," he said. "Proof that I am who I say I am. You can never be too careful, eh?"
Alex took the device, studying the readout. It was legit. Gallo was the real deal.
"Tommy Hatcher," Ethan said suddenly, his voice a low rumble. "You worked with him, back in the day, eh?"
It was a statement, not a question. Probing for weaknesses.
But Gallo just smiled, the expression visible even beneath his mask. "Tommy was a good soldier. Loyal to a fault. But he got sloppy, started sampling his own product. You know how that story ends."
He made a gesture then, a subtle movement of his hand. To the untrained eye, it would have been meaningless. But Alex recognized it for what it was. A sign of respect, an acknowledgement of shared history.
"Enough reminiscing," Alex said, tossing the DNA scanner back to Gallo. "You said you had a proposition for us. Let's hear it."
Gallo reached into his coat again, this time withdrawing a small flash drive. He held it up, the metal glinting in the light.
"This," he said, "is your ticket to the big leagues. A chance to pull off the score of a lifetime."
Alex took the drive, turning it over in his gloved hand. "I'm listening."
"There's a series of locations," Gallo began, his voice low and urgent. "All over the world. Each one housing a piece of a very lucrative puzzle. Russian contraband, black market goods, untraceable funds. We're talking billions."
Alex felt his pulse quicken, his mind racing with the possibilities. But he held up a hand, his expression hard.
"Before we agree to anything, I need more than just your word. I need proof. Oversight. Guarantees that this isn't some kind of setup."
Gallo nodded, as if he'd been expecting this. He reached into his coat once more, producing a second flash drive.
"I thought you might say that. This," he said, holding up the drive, "contains everything you need to verify the legitimacy of the operation. Detailed plans, personnel files, direct access to the disbursement accounts. Full transparency."
He tossed the drive to Alex, who caught it deftly. "I trust that will suffice?"
Alex turned the drive over in his hand, his mind whirring with possibilities. If what Gallo was saying was true, this could be the score they'd been waiting for their whole lives.
But Ethan stepped forward, his bulk imposing even in the shadows. "And what's our cut?" he asked, his voice flat.
Gallo spread his hands. "Three billion. Delivered upon completion. Along with certain... territorial concessions. Full autonomy in your operations. A seat at the table with the big boys."
Alex's breath caught in his throat. Three billion. That's a lot. It was everything they'd ever dreamed of. Well, him at least.
But Ethan wasn't done. "And the risk?" he pressed. "The catch?"
Gallo shrugged. "No catch. Just the job. Pull it off, and you're made men. Kings among—"
"We're already kings, mate." Alex cut in, his voice sharp. He took a step forward, his gaze intense, boring into Gallo's.
Gallo's men reacted instantly, their hands flying to their weapons. But Gallo raised a hand, signaling them to stand down. He smiled at Alex, unfazed.
"What's in it for you?" Alex asked, his tone ice cold.
Gallo chuckled. "Come on eh. You know me. I'm just a broker. A businessman. We've traded plenty of times before, you and I."
Alex's eyes narrowed. "Cut the crap, Gallo. Yeah, we've done deals mate. And yeah, you've always come through. But this?" He gestured around them. "You coming to us, in person? There's more to it. So I'll ask again: what's in it for you?"
Gallo's smile never wavered. "I go where the money is. You know that. I'm here to make sure the deal goes smooth. Everyone gets their cut, everyone walks away happy. That's all."
Alex held his gaze for a long moment, the tension crackling between them. Then, slowly, he stepped back.
Gallo smoothed his jacket, his demeanor once again cool and collected. "Of course, the stakes are high. My client - and they wish to remain anonymous, you understand - is not to be trifled with. This is a one-time offer. A blood oath."
Alex heard Ethan's sharp intake of breath, felt the weight of his brother's gaze. A blood oath was no small thing. It was a binding contract, a promise sealed in the very essence of life itself.
There would be no turning back from this. No second chances.
But Alex was tired of playing it safe, tired of scraping by on the scraps of other men's ambitions. This was their shot, their one chance to cash it in big, and be done.
He reached out, clasping Gallo's proffered hand. The blade was cold against his palm, the sting of the cut a distant thing.
"Done," he said, his voice ringing with finality.
Gallo smiled, a predator's grin. "Wise choice, gentlemen. I'll be in touch with the details."
And then he was gone, melting back into the van with his men. The door slammed shut, the engine roared to life, and they were alone, the weight of their decision hanging heavy in the air.
"Are you off your fuckin' nut, bruv?" Ethan roared, rounding on Alex. His fist connected cleanly with Alex's jaw, sending him staggering. The mask cracked under the force of the blow, shards of plastic slicing into Alex's skin.
But Alex just laughed, the sound manic, unhinged. He spat blood onto the concrete, grinning up at Ethan's looming form.
"This is it, brother. Our ticket out. Our chance to be Top Boys, without having to look over our shoulders again."
Ethan shook his head, disgust etched into every line of his body. "You've signed our death warrants, Alex. You've damned us both, you fuckin' prick!"
Alex surged to his feet, his hands fisting in Ethan's jacket. "I need you with me on this, Ethan. One last job. One last ride, and we're out."
For a long moment, Ethan was silent for a beat, his gaze inscrutable behind his mask.
"You have always said that, it never gets old." Ethan said, his voice a low whisper. Then he shoved Alex away, turning on his heel.
"Fuck you, Alex," he snarled over his shoulder. "Fuck you and your bloody pipe dreams."
And then he was gone, stomping towards their car his shoulders rigid with fury, he starting the engine, the car letting out a panther like roar, as he drove off leaving Alex behind.
Alex sighed watching him drive off. The weight of his decision settling in his gut like a stone.
"Fuckin' wanker"
He was backing out now. The die was cast, the game was on.
And one way or another, Alex was going to play it through to the end.
***