She took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll do it."
Dante grinned. "Then welcome to the game, princess."
Dante watched Jillian carefully, his smirk fading into something more serious. "If you're going up against Victor, you're going to need more than just information," he said.
Jillian frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You're not safe. Neither are your friends," Dante replied, lighting a cigarette. "Victor doesn't just play mind games. He destroys people. And if he sees you as a threat, he'll come for you first."
Jillian crossed her arms. "So what are you saying?"
Dante exhaled smoke, eyes locked onto hers. "I'll keep an eye on you. On your friends too. Victor won't touch you while I'm around."
Chloe and Clara, who had been quietly listening, exchanged uneasy glances. "Why would you help us?" Chloe finally asked.
Dante chuckled. "Let's just say I owe Victor a personal favor—one he's never going to collect." His voice turned cold. "And if ruining him means protecting you, then so be it."
Jillian studied him carefully. Could she really trust him?
She didn't know. But one thing was clear—she needed him.
Dante flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot. "Stay close. Don't do anything stupid. And whatever happens, don't let Victor see you coming."
Jillian nodded. This was just the beginning.
The night was cold, the air thick with the scent of gasoline and salt from the nearby docks. Jillian pulled her hood lower over her face as she crouched behind a stack of cargo containers, her heart hammering against her ribs. This was it. Her first real step into the dangerous game against Victor Holloway.
Dante had given her a simple task—watch, listen, and report. Victor was receiving a shipment tonight, and Dante wanted to know what was inside and who was delivering it.
From her hiding spot, Jillian saw a black SUV pull up. Four men stepped out, all dressed in dark clothing, moving like they had done this a hundred times before. Victor Holloway was among them.
A few minutes later, another vehicle arrived—a sleek, unmarked truck. Two men climbed out, one of them holding a briefcase.
Jillian strained to hear their conversation. Something about payment…about moving "the product" before anyone could track it.
Then, she saw it—the shipment. A set of metal crates, stamped with an unfamiliar emblem. Whatever was inside, it wasn't legal.
She reached for her phone, snapping a quick photo. But just as she did, a boot crushed the gravel behind her.
Jillian froze. Someone was behind her.
"Who the hell are you?" a deep voice growled.
Before she could think, she turned and ran. Footsteps thundered after her.
She sprinted between the cargo containers, heart pounding. If they caught her, Victor would know someone was watching. She had to get away.
Just as she reached the chain-link fence surrounding the docks, a strong hand grabbed her wrist. She twisted, kicked—anything to break free.
But the grip tightened.
A voice, calm but amused, whispered in her ear—
"You shouldn't have come here, little spy."
Jillian's blood ran cold.
Jillian twisted violently in the man's grip, panic surging through her veins. If she didn't get away now, Victor would find out everything.
"Let me go!" she hissed, trying to stomp on his foot, but the man was faster. He shoved her against the cold metal of a shipping container, pinning her wrist above her head.
"You're not leaving until you tell me who sent you." His breath was hot against her ear, his voice laced with amusement.
Jillian's mind raced. Think, Jillian, think!
Just then, a loud horn blared across the docks. The man's grip loosened just enough for her to react. She brought her knee up hard, catching him in the ribs. He cursed, stumbling back, and Jillian took the chance—she bolted.
The fence was just ahead. If she could climb it fast enough—
Gunfire erupted.
Jillian threw herself to the ground as bullets whizzed past her. They were shooting at her!
Heart hammering, she scrambled up the fence, her fingers slipping against the metal. A bullet tore through her hoodie, grazing her arm. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain.
Almost there—
She swung her legs over and dropped to the other side, landing hard. Her knees buckled, but she forced herself up, running into the shadows of the city.
Behind her, she heard the man cursing. "Find out who she is!"
She didn't stop running. She had what Dante needed. But now, Victor knew someone was watching.
And that meant she was officially on his list.
Jillian's lungs burned as she sprinted through the dark alleys, her arm throbbing from the graze. She didn't stop until she reached the meeting point—a rundown auto shop on the outskirts of town, where Dante was waiting.
She pushed open the rusted door, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "We have a problem."
Dante, leaning casually against a workbench, lifted an eyebrow. "You got caught, didn't you?"
Jillian scowled and threw her phone onto the table. "I got what you wanted. But now Victor knows someone was watching him."
Dante picked up the phone, scrolling through the images. His expression darkened. "Damn. This isn't just a simple shipment. Those crates? That emblem? This is bigger than I thought."
"What do you mean?" Jillian asked, still trying to steady her breathing.
Dante exhaled, tossing the phone back to her. "That's cartel business. If Victor is involved with them, we're in deeper trouble than I planned."
Jillian's stomach twisted. Cartel? That meant weapons, drugs—death.
Before she could respond, the garage lights flickered. A shadow moved outside the door.
Dante's eyes narrowed. "We weren't followed… were we?"
A loud bang echoed through the garage. Someone was trying to break in.
Jillian reached for a wrench nearby, her pulse spiking. "Looks like Victor isn't wasting any time."
Dante smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Good. I was getting bored."
The door burst open.
And the fight began.
The door slammed open, and three men rushed in, their faces shadowed under the dim light. Jillian barely had time to react before one lunged at her.
She swung the wrench instinctively, striking the attacker's arm. He grunted but didn't stop, grabbing her wrist and twisting it painfully. Jillian let out a sharp cry, her grip loosening.
Dante, meanwhile, was already moving. He dodged a punch and slammed his fist into another man's jaw, sending him stumbling.
"Jillian, move!" Dante barked.
She twisted her body, using the attacker's momentum against him, and drove her knee into his stomach. He staggered back, but another man grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms.
"We just want to talk," one of them sneered. "No need for all this trouble."
Dante scoffed. "Funny way of talking." He ducked another punch and countered with a brutal uppercut, knocking one guy out cold.
Jillian struggled in the grip of the man holding her. Her heart pounded as she felt something cold press against her side—a knife.
"Boss wants a word with you, girl," he muttered in her ear.
No. Not happening.