Only two things turn a shitty day into a wonderful one. The first is Love. And the truth is, that wasn't the case that day. My third Girlfriend had just left me.
The second is loot worth more than 10 Million euros. But that also wasn't the case. We were going to steel the link to much bigger heist.
Today's job was simple. But if you're having a bad day, you might end up putting a poor bastard on his knees and pointing a gun at his head.
This is my crew. One of the Three ive Robbed with in my life . But this one's special, we go back to my golden age. Back when i had no clue i was sick, when i wasn't locked up in my Room, my life hanging by a thread.
Dounia: Electronic engineer graduate cum laude. An electronic engineering genius. There is only one thing bigger than her brain—her pathological shyness.
Yassin: He's great at opening locks and getting locked up. He hated his life and now thinks of me as the father he never had. I think of him as my loyal dog that I take for walks every day. It was love at first sight for both of us.
Taha: A moonlighter. Professor by day and criminal mastermind in his free time. Like all geniuses, he's pretty scatterbrained.
Salim, our jack of all trades. He can handle anything—weapons, mobile cranes, and thermal lances. You might guess there's not ten microns of gray matter in his brain, but you'd be wrong.
The rain poured relentlessly, each drop cold enough to sting, but I barely noticed. My mind was still caught up in the moment—her words echoing, her silhouette disappearing into the distance. My third girlfriend, gone. Right in front of Mohamed V School, no less. Perfect timing. Just as my world felt like it couldn't get any grayer, the unmistakable growl of a V8 engine cut through the rain.
They arrived in style: a Hummer H2 police car, lights off but the presence unmistakable. Dounia was behind the wheel, her face as calm as ever despite the storm. Yassin sat in the passenger seat, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the ember bright in the gray haze. Taha and Salim sat in the back, uniforms crisp and polished—high-ranking police officers, at least for tonight.
I climbed into the car, my black jacket dripping onto the floor. Yassin flicked his cigarette out of the window and gave me a grin.
"Cheer up," he said, "she wasn't worth it anyway. Tonight, we're kings."
The ride was silent after that, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The hummer roared through the empty streets, its tires splashing through puddles. By the time we arrived at the castle, the rain had let up.
We already knew the plan. The target was inside, enjoying a fancy dinner meeting, completely unaware of the storm brewing right outside their fortress walls.
We arrived at the castle, its towering walls illuminated by soft golden lights that cut through the remnants of the storm. Honestly, it was breathtaking—decorated in a way that blended historical grandeur with the finest luxuries money could buy. Ornate carvings adorned the archways, and the windows were lined with stained glass depicting epic tales I didn't bother to decipher.
As we entered, the air inside felt heavy, filled with the faint scent of aged wood, fresh flowers, and expensive wine. Every detail was immaculate, from the polished marble floors to the intricate tapestries hanging from the high ceilings. My crew walked ahead, their uniforms fitting right into the opulent surroundings, but I kept my focus razor-sharp.
I couldn't let the grandeur distract me. I was in the highest stage of concentration—every step calculated, every breath deliberate. My hands rested at my sides, steady but ready.
Finally, we reached the hall. The large double doors loomed before me, their handles gleaming under the chandelier light. I pushed them open, and there it was: a grand dining table stretching across the room, laden with silver platters and delicate crystal glasses.
Around it sat a crowd of important-looking men and women, their suits and dresses tailored to perfection, their postures rigid with status. The hum of conversation stopped dead the moment I entered.
All eyes were on me now.
I strode confidently to the head of the table, my footsteps echoing in the grand hall as the guests remained silent, their eyes tracking my every move. My crew flanked the room, their presence commanding respect, each of them taking positions strategically around the table like they had done this a thousand times before.
Taha approached me, his movements precise, and handed me a folded paper—a search warrant, stamped and official. I nodded, taking it from him with a low "Thanks," loud enough for everyone to hear. The air was thick with tension, the quiet hum of disbelief palpable among the guests.
I unfolded the paper, straightened it, and began to read aloud. My tone was measured, carrying authority.
"Let's see… Mr. Antonio Berrada, please?"
The name hung in the air like a sharp knife, slicing through the silent tension in the room. All eyes shifted to the far end of the table. Among the glittering jewelry and tailored suits, one man stood out—not for his wealth, but for the sudden look of dread washing over his face.
Antonio Berrada, seated at the opposite head of the table, slowly rose to his feet. His movements were stiff, his fear poorly hidden behind a mask of forced composure. The polished facade of confidence cracked as his eyes darted between me and my crew, trying to piece together why the police were here.
He stood, his voice trembling slightly as he said, "Yes, that's me."
I held his gaze, keeping my expression neutral but firm. "This is a warrant. Come with me, please." My tone left no room for negotiation.
Antonio's eyes flickered with uncertainty, and he exchanged quick, questioning glances with his guests, silently pleading for some unspoken reassurance. But none of them dared to speak. The room remained frozen, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
Without a word, Antonio nodded reluctantly and stepped out from behind his chair. His movements were hesitant, as though each step weighed heavier than the last.
I turned, walking towards the door with Antonio trailing behind me. My crew stayed in the hall, their presence ensuring that no one else dared to follow or ask questions. The silence of the room lingered behind me as we left, the sound of the doors closing sealing the scene like a chapter in a book.
We descended the grand staircase, the weight of the moment settling into the air around us. Antonio clutched the warrant tightly, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to keep his composure. The polished stone steps echoed faintly beneath our footsteps, each sound amplified by the silence of the empty corridor.
Finally, his voice broke the tension. "What are the charges, exactly?" he asked, his tone teetering between fear and indignation.
Without breaking stride, I answered, my words precise and cutting. "Expropriation of historical heritage. Antique smuggling. Concealment of assets. Charges that'll land you more than nine years in prison."
Antonio swallowed hard, his pace faltering for a brief moment before he quickly matched mine again. He didn't say anything else after that.
We reached the heavy steel door of the vault, its reinforced frame standing like an unyielding sentinel in the dimly lit hall. I stopped, turning to face him as I extended my hand.
"Give me the paper," I said.
He hesitated, then reluctantly handed over the warrant. I folded it neatly and tucked it away before meeting his eyes again.
"Open the door," I ordered, my voice firm and unyielding.
Antonio glanced at the vault, his hesitation betraying the conflict playing out in his mind. But he knew he had no choice.
Antonio's fingers trembled as he punched the passcode into the sleek, reinforced door. There was a soft click, and the heavy vault door swung open with a metallic groan.
I stepped inside, my gaze sweeping across the room. The sight before me was nothing short of breathtaking. Displayed before me were treasures—untouched artifacts, ancient relics from a time long past, their beauty undiminished by the years. Priceless pieces of historical heritage, their stories locked away in the silence of the vault.
But I wasn't here for the collection.
I spotted my target immediately—a glass cabinet standing proudly in the corner, illuminated by soft light, showcasing an item that was more valuable than anything else in the room.
"Open that glass cabinet," I said, pointing with a steady finger.
Antonio hesitated, his eyes darting to the object as if it too had a pull on him. But he quickly snapped to attention, walking toward it. His hand went to the biometric scanner, placing his fingerprint with the kind of precision only someone who had done it a thousand times before could manage.
As his fingers hovered over the scanner, I leaned in, a smirk tugging at my lips. I wasn't done with him yet.
"Picture yourself in the prison showers,". I said, my voice low but deliberate. "Telling your cellmates about Etruscan art... holding a bar of soap in your hand…"
I saw his eyes momentarily glaze over, his attention slipping, his mind distracted by the vivid image I had painted for him. He was imagining it—his eyes unfocused, his grip on the scanner loosening as he visualized the prison scene.
I leaned in closer, letting the tension hang in the air for a moment longer. The sound of Antonio's shaky breathing filled the silence, his thoughts still caught in the prison shower scene I'd painted for him.
Then I broke the silence with a simple statement:
"Today is your lucky day. I'm not a police officer. I won't report you to the authorities." I said, my tone a sharp contrast to the tension in the air.
Antonio blinked, his eyes snapping back to focus as if he had just been jolted from a trance. But before he could respond, I continued, the words slipping out almost casually.
"In exchange," I said, my hand reaching forward, "I'll be taking this cup."
I lifted the delicate cup from its pedestal, the gold rim catching the soft light as I took it in my hands. The weight of it felt just right, its surface cool to the touch. I noticed Antonio's eyes flicker briefly to it, then back to me. He didn't resist, not even a little.
I slowly withdrew it from his reach, savoring the moment of control. His shoulders sagged slightly, resigned.
"Consider it our little secret," I added, letting the words hang in the air between us like a final seal on this unspoken deal.
As I made my way back up the stairs, the weight of the cup still in my hand, I heard a voice cutting through the stillness of the hallway—loud, insistent, demanding attention.
"I demand to speak with your superior!" the voice echoed down the corridor, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching rapidly.
And then it came again, more forceful this time. "Show me your Name , and badge number! Who is in charge here?"
I sighed, rolling my eyes. Great, another loudmouth who thought he could throw his weight around. I walked into the room with Antonio, his eyes still wide with confusion and disbelief.
In the center of the room, there was a man already in a heated discussion with Taha, his tone rising above the rest. I turned to Antonio, my voice calm yet commanding.
"Thank you… please, sit," I said, gesturing toward a chair near the wall. He did as instructed, though he seemed more confused than ever.
Then, I turned my attention to the man who had interrupted the moment. I walked toward him, my gaze hardening as I addressed him with a raised brow.
"Alright, who is raising their voice?"
The man didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, pointing a finger directly at me. "hah! Me!"
I sighed, my patience wearing thin. I let out a slow, almost imperceptible breath as if to say, Okay, tell me what's so important that you think you can disrupt this operation.
"What are you doing?" he continued, his voice brimming with indignation. "You have no right to come in here! I know Superintendent Hamouchi. I'm going to talk to him."
The room was heavy with tension as all eyes were fixed on us, the interruption hanging thick in the air. I stood at the head of the table, completely aware of the attention we were drawing. My voice remained steady, even as I faced the increasingly belligerent man in front of me.
"Fine," I said, my tone clipped. "Get your phone out, please. Let's call him togheter on speaker."
The man hesitated for a second, but his pride seemed to get the better of him. He smirked and fumbled around in his pocket before pulling out his phone. He raised it to his ear, tapping the screen to initiate the call.
"Of course," he said smugly, as if this were all part of his strategy.
"Please, put it on the table," I said calmly.
He mocked me with a smile, tossing the phone onto the table as though this was all just a game to him. I didn't play games.
With a single motion, I grabbed the phone and slammed it down with a force that rattled the table, then grabbed a nearby spoon. Without missing a beat, I smashed the phone with the back of it. The satisfying crunch filled the silence, and I smirked as I removed the innards of the phone.
I held the spoon's guts up to my ear, pretending to listen for a response, and said mockingly, "Ooch, nobody. Too bad, not even a signal…"
The room seemed to hold its breath as I turned my gaze back to the man. I let the broken phone fall from my hand, the shards clattering to the ground.
"You wanted to see my badge, right?" I said, almost too casually.
With a smooth motion, I reached into my coat and pulled out my gun—its weight familiar in my palm. The cold steel of the Beretta M9 glinted in the light, and I held it in front of his face, the side of the barrel clearly visible so he could read the model.
"Here you go," I said, my voice steady as ever. "My Name is Beretta Nine Millimetre ."
I didn't stop there. With a deliberate motion, I took the clip from the gun and placed it in front of his eyes, letting him take in the details.
"And my Badge Number is... Parabellum, eight projectiles," I said, each word clipped and precise. "Would you like to see another badge?"
The silence in the room deepened as I let the question hang in the air, daring him to respond.
The man trembled, his face a mix of fear and disbelief, his voice shaking as he quickly muttered, "No, that won't be necessary, Sir." His entire demeanor had shifted, from defiance to pure terror, as he realized he had underestimated the situation he was in.
I could feel the rage simmering beneath my skin, but I kept my gaze locked on him, unwavering. My eyes never dropped, forcing him to process the humiliation he had caused me in front of the distinguished guests. The room was filled with tension, every eye on us, and I could practically taste the bitterness of the power I now wielded.
For a moment, my hand itched to do something more drastic, to silence him in the most permanent way. But I stopped myself.
I wasn't here to kill anyone.
I forced my mind to settle, and instead, I turned my attention to the rest of the room. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Graveyards are full of idiots who chose the wrong day to play the hero," I said, my voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "And just in case anyone feels the sudden urge to report this exciting soirée, I suggest you show us your IDs. We'll take note of where you live. Come on."
My crew moved in, swiftly and efficiently, collecting the IDs from everyone around the table. They didn't resist. They knew better.
I then turned back to the man who had dared to challenge me, my anger boiling over once more. I stepped forward, the force of my presence enough to make him shrink back.
"And you," I said, my voice dripping with venom, "you're coming with us."
The air seemed to crackle with tension as I locked eyes with him, waiting for any attempt at resistance. But there would be none. He knew better.
The rain continued to pour down on us as we made our way out of the castle, the weight of the situation still hanging heavy in the air. I dragged him by the arm, his pleas and sobs echoing in the cold night. "This is when your head starts to spin," I muttered, the words colder than the storm itself.
His cries were pitiful, his voice cracking with fear, but I didn't let up. With one sharp motion, I threw him into the mud, watching him land face-first, his body splashing in the muck. The rain made it all worse—soaked, broken, humiliated.
"Can you feel it?" I asked, stepping closer. "DO YOU FEEL THAT KNOT DEEPLY IN YOUR STOMACH? THE DRY MOUTH?"
His sobs were choked, and he answered through tears, "Yes."
I stood over him, staring down at the broken man. The power I had over him was palpable, and I couldn't resist digging deeper. "You should have thought about that before talking shit, playing hero. ALL THAT FOR WHO? YOUR WIFE?"
He shook his head in a panic, "No, no..."
I paused, taking a step back, just for a moment. Then I pressed again, my voice colder, sharper. "NO? Then it's your girlfriend?"
He cried harder, his words barely intelligible, "I didn't mean to raise my voice, I swear, I just got nervous…"
I was done with his excuses. I leaned down, looking him dead in the eye. "How long have you been seeing her?"
"Just a few months…" he choked out, tears streaming down his face.
I stared at him for a moment, letting his words settle into the damp air. Then, I asked the question that I knew he couldn't answer. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
He looked at me, desperate for some explanation, but I had none to offer him. Instead, I spoke the truth that hung between us, unspoken until now.
"Therein lies the beauty of love," I said, my voice calm, almost soft. "It brings out the best in all of us, even a wretch like you. Down on his knees, begging for mercy, while just a moment ago, you played a hero."
I stepped closer, my hand resting on his shoulder. "Listen to me," I said, my voice low but firm. "Love disappears, idiot! Love is not forever. You shouldn't throw away your life for love..."
I let my words linger in the air like smoke before turning on my heel. Without looking back, I walked to the hummer, my crew following suit.
As we drove away, I glanced through the rearview mirror, watching him kneel in the dirt, crying—broken, just like I wanted him to be.