Chapter 5

Masahiro´s hands gripped the steering wheel, while his eyes stayed on the road. Matthew sat beside him in the passenger seat-the air between them thick with unsaid words. The momentary silence in the car felt like the tip of a storm below the surface.

Matthew saw Da Vinci's nightclub from the corner of his eye, a neon glow soft against the night.

A flicker of relief washed over him. ´At least inside, I can get some distance from this cop. Just for a while, ´ he thought.

Masahiro slowed the car, easing onto a secluded spot where he could keep a clear view of the entrance without drawing unnecessary attention to himself. He killed the engine; the soft hum of the car´s power died down. With a quiet sigh, he released his buckle.

"I’ll stay here, to do the surveillance," he said, his voice cold.

Matthew did not say anything, just stepped out of the car and went towards the entrance of the club.

Upon Matthew stepped inside, the pulsing beats of Da Vinci’s Nightclub enveloped him. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, sweat and the electric buzz of whispered secrets. Neon lights flickered across the crowd, casting shadows over faces filled with ambition and desire.

Matthew cast a swift glance around the crowd for him, the mafia pigeon, and then, he saw him…Castro, leaning against the bar, a sly smile on his lips.

Castro was in his early 30s, lean, and mildly handsome but looked like a lowly thug. The olive skin, dark eyes, and sly smile made him a natural in blending in and easily gaining one's confidence. He was attired in a tropical short-sleeve shirt left open over a white tank top casual street wear; he had a drink in hand.

Matthew walked in the direction of Castro and showed a deliberated determination.

"Mattew Smith!" Castro exclaimed with mock amazement. "Thought you were still playing house behind bars. What's your angle?"

"I'm out now, and I need access to Tower," Matthew replied promptly with his tone level yet urgent.

Castro raised an eyebrow, and the amusement fell away. "You know the stakes. What's your plan?"

"Just give me the code, Castro," Matthew responded with, irritation simmering just below the surface.

Castro hunched forward, trying to impale him with a calculating glint in his eye. "What's in it for me? You think I just dole out pass codes for fun?" Not allowing Matthew an opportunity to reply, Castro nodded toward the bartender, ordering a drink and sliding it down the counter toward Matthew. "Here, take this. Consider it a welcome-back gift. Just don't let it cloud your judgment."

Matthew raised the glass. The cool liquid glittered under the lights. "Thanks, but I don't need a drink to know what I'm doing."

Castro smirked. "You'd be surprised how a little liquid courage can help. Just remember-this world isn't forgiving. One misstep, and it's game over for both of us."

Matthew raised the glass and drank his drink, still looking at Castro.

"I will be right back," Castro said, "gonna dig for what you need," he winked. Then Castro vanished into the crowd, and Matthew was alone at the bar with the drink in his hand. Besides the surroundings, he knew very well that he was not there to enjoy himself; he was there to get intelligence. He took another sip and let the moment settle around him.

Meanwhile, outside of Da Vinci´s, Masahiro sat in his car, the windows rolled up, staring across the street at the club.

He glanced at his wristwatch, furrowing his brow. ´Why is he taking so long? Wasn't he supposed to be back already? ´ he asked himself.

Restless, he blew out a sharp breath and swung the car door open. The cool night air washed over him as he stepped out-the weight of his unease weighing on his chest. Not wasting another moment, he slammed the door shut, done, and went towards the club's entrance.

He burst through the door and scanned the room until his eyes landed on Matthew at the bar with a drink in hand. A wave of irritation washed over him at the sight. ´What is he thinking, lounging around when on a mission? ´

Masahiro, all sunk in irritation, made steps where Matthew was.

Matthew's heart sank as he watched Masahiro arrive. "What the hell are you doing here?" he whispered, giving a hard stare to see if his voice was kept low enough.

"I'm here to keep an eye on you," Masahiro said, his eyes narrowing as he moved closer.

"Are you crazy? If Castro sees you with me, it's going to raise his suspicions!" Matthew strained to keep his voice low, frustration lurking just beneath the surface.

Masahiro's brow furled. "I thought you needed backup. You can't just—"

"Backup? This isn't a patrol!" Matthew exclaimed, his gaze scouring the room as if Castro would reappear at any moment. "We need to get out of sight. Now!"

Not waiting for an answer, he clutched Masahiro´s arm and tugged him toward the washroom, dodging through the crowd. The music was a beat away, less well-heard, as they squeezed into the narrow, dark corridor.

Once inside, Matthew pushed the door shut, leaning against it, his chest heaving with irritation. "What part of 'blend in' did you not understand?" he snapped.

Masahiro crossed his arms. "I was worried about you!"

"Yeah? Well, what if you end up compromised everything? I'm not here to socialize; I'm trying to get access to Tower, remember?" Matthew shot back as the tension between them almost crackled like electricity in the air.

Masahiro lifted an eyebrow. "What? You still didn't get the passphrase?"

"No, and besides, Castro wants something in exchange," Matthew confessed, his face darkening. "I don't know what to give him."

Masahiro furrowed his brow, really thinking now. "What could he possibly want?"

"Information, maybe? A favor?" Matthew replied. "Or perhaps he just wants to use old connections I have with the mafia. Pigeons like Castro are always after something, protection services, money, or inside information to get them ahead."

Masahiro nodded slowly. "I will think about it."

Matthew took a deep breath, steeling himself. "But for now, I need to go back out there. You wait in the car."

"Fine."

"Just stay out of sight and let me handle this."

As both turned to leave the washroom, Matthew opened the door and suddenly froze, having spotted two low-level thugs entering the corridor.

But that two, was not ordinary thugs, but two of his former soldiers, whom he knew very well and vice-versa. They knew Masahiro, after all he was undercover and pretending to be a drug dealer… they knew him very well.

What would they think if saw Matthew out of the cell bars and worse, with a fed? That would rise suspicious.

His heart raced… they would suspect.

"Smith…" Masahiro said, his voice rapidly going from dismissive to urgent, "what's going on?"

Panic clutched Matthew's stomach. His mind raced on, desperately. There was no time explaining.

Instinctively, he stepped backward inside the washroom, reached out, grabbed Masahiro, and pulled him in close.

A very long, deep kiss to seal the space between them, to avoid notice or make an alliance or a diversion. It was not an act of spontaneity but a calculated risk, an opportunistic play in a game in which he could not afford to lose… not at that moment.