I awoke with a jolt, a furious pounding rattling my apartment door. Groggily pushing aside the tangle of sheets, I squinted at the harsh sunlight slanting through the curtains. Who in the hell would disturb me before noon on a Saturday?
Fumbling for the terrycloth robe hanging on the bed frame, I shrugged it on over my camisole before shuffling to the door. Snatching up the mug of "meditation" tea the lodge staff slid under my door each morning, I figured I'd need the fortification.
"Yeah, what is it?" I called out in a sleep-roughened voice, fumbling with the multiple rusty locks and bolt latches.
"Lisa, it's me, Sorin! Open up, it's urgent!" came the muffled shout from the other side.
With a resigned sigh, I swung the door open to find Sorin's eyes widening, raking over me in surprise. My cheeks flushed, realizing my sheer negligee left little to the imagination. Quickly, I tugged him inside before any of my nosy neighbors got an eyeful.
"Alright, what's got you knocking down my door before breakfast?" I fixed him with a pointed look, sipping my tea. Sorin's gaze roamed over the cluttered living room — clothes and takeout containers littered the floor, stacks of magazines scattered across the sagging couch. He settled onto the battered sofa with a huff, shoving aside the clutter.
"I've got news," he started, his expression uncharacteristically grave. "Bad news."
I snorted. "No kidding. You never roll out of bed before noon unless some crazy shit is going down."
Sorin raked a hand through his tousled hair, green eyes boring into me with an intensity that made me shift uncomfortably. "Lisa, this is... messed up. Mr. Lordens is dead."
The mug slipped from my hand, scalding tea splattering across the stained carpet as I choked out, "What? No... Sorin, don't even joke about something like that."
He shook his head slowly. "I'm not joking. Vincent Lordens was murdered last night."
The room began to spin as the weight of his words slammed into me. Vince... my godfather, mentor, the closest thing I'd had to a father since I was sixteen. Dead. Murdered.
"And you're just telling me this now?" My voice rose to a shrill shout, anger and grief spinning together in a tornado inside me. "You couldn't call, couldn't think to give me a heads-up before showing up like some grim reaper at my door?"
Sorin held up his hands defensively. "I tried calling, Lis. But like usual, your phone was switched to silent." His expression twisted into a mocking sneer. "Maybe if you stopped hitting the snooze button on life and paid attention, you wouldn't be so stunned right now."
The cruel jibe knocked the wind from my lungs, tears stinging my eyes as I struggled to process the devastating information. Vince was gone... and with his death, everything would change. He had been preparing me, readying me to take over the leadership of V23 — his secret criminal empire that pulled the strings across the city.
But I never imagined his murder forcing that transition so abruptly.
"You think you're ready for this?" Sorin asked with an arched brow. "To call the shots and fill Vince's shoes as head of the organization?"
I swallowed hard, steadying my nerves as my godfather's gravelly voice echoed through my mind: Always project strength, no matter how traumatic the situation. Hesitation breeds weakness, and weakness breeds failure.
Lifting my chin defiantly, I met Sorin's scrutinizing gaze. "I'm more than ready. V23 is mine to lead now, like Vince wanted." A cold smile curved my lips. "So you'd better get used to taking orders from me."
Sorin chuckled, his hard gaze softening before turning into something unreadable.
"I was afraid you'd say that," he murmured, his voice tinged with something almost regretful — and unmistakably menacing.
My heart faltered. "What do you mean by that, Sorin?"
His hand darted to a hidden pocket sewn into his trousers. The movement was quick — in and out — and with it came a sleek, metallic construct. Its elongated frame tapered into a polished barrel that reflected the dim light like liquid silver. Intricate grooves and notches ran along the body, hinting at both precision and deadly craftsmanship. A textured grip rested near the center, made for a steady hold. Above it, a small sight gleamed ominously, perfectly aligned with the barrel's end.
My breath caught. "Sorin...?"
Before I could say more, a deafening crack split the air. Pain exploded through my chest, white-hot and searing. The force knocked me backward, my knees hitting the floor as I clutched at the wound. My blood seeped between my trembling fingers, dark and unrelenting.
"You shouldn't have said yes," Sorin muttered, his voice distant as my surroundings began to blur.
The room spun, colors bleeding together. My heartbeat thudded weakly in my ears, the world growing dimmer with each faltering breath. A single tear slid down my cheek as the weight of betrayal and regret anchored me to the floor.
And then — nothing.