The club pulsed with heat, smoke, and shadows.
It was her first solo run—scouting a location Leon believed was tied to the Vorelli crew.
No backup. No Nico. Just her, a small earpiece, and a lie stitched into her red dress.
⸻
"You're sure about this?" Leon's voice crackled softly in her ear.
"I'm already inside."
He didn't answer, but she felt his presence like armor wrapped around her spine.
She moved through the crowd with purpose—counted exits, clocked faces, kept her heartbeat slow.
⸻
She found the man they were watching—Luca Vorelli's errand boy. Slick smile. Dirty fingers. Talking too loudly.
She didn't approach.
She watched.
She listened.
And she left with everything Leon needed.
⸻
By the time she slipped into the car outside, her hands were steady.
"You did well," Leon said as she sat beside him.
Ayla smirked, heart pounding in triumph.
"I know."