The Last Dance wasn't a bar so much as a boundary line. A place where killers drank with their marks, where debts could be settled over whiskey, dice, a knife, or all three at once. Bellamy had always liked it.

  They stepped inside, and the wall of cigar smoke rushed to meet them as heat shot out the open door in time. The smell hit Callum at the same time the smooth lilting voice of Charley began her solo. The rest of the musicians played quieter; the one-handed pianist lightly tapped each key, and the drummer focused on keeping the beat but not drawing attention, something that they typically struggled with if it was any other singer. Her voice was practically hypnotic, leaving both brothers stunned as they stood in the doorway until a rough grunt from the bouncer got their attention, "Inside. Yer letting heat out".

  A little embarrassed, Callum fully entered, following Bellamy, who simply gave the man a nod. They found Viracio at his usual table on the second floor balcony that overlooked the rest of the speakeasy. He didn't run The Last Dance according to himself, but it ran on his rules, and the money seemed to flow to him. He was a mob boss who built his power like a spider – layer by layer, thread by thread until the whole web belonged to him. And if you got caught in it? You stayed caught.

  Viracio looked up as they approached, sharp eyes flicking over them once before returning to his drink. "Sit," he commanded.

  Bellamy pulled out a chair, motioning for Callum to do the same.

  "Took longer than I expected," he said, sipping his drink. "That means you either got delayed, or you were being careful. Which?"

  "Bellamy leaned back, unbothered by any insinuation. Viracio knew he wouldn't put his brother in the line of fire if that was a possibility. "Little of both"

  "Good. I'd be disappointed if you got sloppy." He set his glass down, fingers tapping once against the table. It was a deliberate action, but Bellamy didn't know why. Everything he did was deliberate. He imagined it was exhausting.

  "Still," the gang leader continued, "the photographer I hired is probably freezing his ass off. Older gentleman from Coutama. Not a good combination for winter here. Reporter, high profile too."

  Bellamy grimaced, only imagining, "I'll open my tab to him. Twelve Ord limit."

  A smile crept up Viracio's face like moss as he struggled and failed to hold in a laugh, causing him to almost double over on his desk. "Oh man oh man. That's the best thing I've heard all day. You sure know how to balance the books Bellamy".

  Viracio waved to a guard standing by the door, who brought a large envelope and placed it in front of Bellamy. He picked it up, surprised by the weight.

  "Why the bonus?"

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  Viracio smiled like someone with five answers prepared but just thought of a sixth. "Because I like you. You're reliable. I pay well for reliability."

  The smile was infectious, and soon Bellamy found himself doing the same. He pocketed the envelope, not bothering to count it out. Viracio didn't deal in false generosity. If he overpaid, it was an investment, not a mistake.

  Callum, with all the subtlety of a brick through a car window, contributed to the conversation, "Sounds like he fills a spot in your organization that you need then"

  “Oh ho ho, the kid speaks, got a pair of balls on him already. You’re working age, whatdya do” Viracio’s tone turned jovial, with just enough interest to make him sound like a distant uncle who didn’t make it back home much.

  “I’m uh, a sophomore. In math” Callum hesitantly offered up, to which Viracio continued to nod.

  “Ay, not bad not bad. Numbers are hard, there’s an infinite amount of them I hear. Good to know someone who knows these things, but Bellamy. How the hell are you paying for all of that?”

  Bellamy was surprised by the interruption, but relieved that Viracio took it in stride.

  He shrugged, “we scrape by. The school has some deals with The Grand Order. As long as his grades stay good, and he works for them two years after college … the cost is manageable.”

  “Ah, I shoulda known. He’s doing math. Course he’s gifted too. Say, I may have more work for a man like yourself. What type of work can you do for me?”

  It was a trap, of course. The honeypot. But if it was this sweet, he couldn't imagine minding that much. He was already a rat trapped in a nesting doll of boxes. What was one more layer?

  "It depends," Bellamy recovered, "I'm not a violent man, but you can count on my discretion."

  Viracio nodded, "Then you’ll have as much work as you could ask for. I'll walk both of you out. Need the old man to get a good shot of us. Hold the envelope in your hand. I don't want the photo to leave anything to the imagination. Callum, you can come out a minute after us, don't want to get you in the shot."

  They began walking downstairs, Callum getting a drink from the bar as he waited, still captivated by the singing.

  "So," Viracio began, "you were already planning on Penny's weren't you?." It was less a question than a statement, so Bellamy only confirmed with a "Yes."

  "Good, better to spend the IOU than let it go to waste." Bellamy didn't have time to let the implications of that statement fully sink in before Viracio continued, "I know you said you're not violent, but that's frankly not true. You're just not a killer. I respect that, I do. The slums need everybody. So I don't need you to kill anybody. Just rough someone there up who owes me." He turned and handed Bellamy a photo of a woman in a well-tailored suit smoking a cigar at the bar."

  "Just rough her up a bit, embarrass her if you can, and tell her to come to The Last Dance ready to deal."

  Bellamy paused, fingers curling around the edge of the photo, but his mind had already started drifting. The job seemed simple enough – embarrass a woman with money. They did that enough themselves. But that was the problem. Bellamy has been in this position before. An easy job, only to find himself dragged deeper. At least when Kye had given him her job she had told him how fucked he was. No. There was no "simple" for men like Viracio. He didn't deal in small.

  He could hear his … father's voice in his head: Everyone gets a little taste before the real hunger kicks in. One step too many boy.

  The thin bead of hesitation lingered in his chest. "Fine," the words fell out of his mouth unbidden, flat but steady. "I'll do it. But I want hazard pay if things go down."

  Viracio patted him on the back, pulling out a second envelope from his jacket pocket as they went to step out of the building. "Tell you what, let's make this whole thing easier. I'll go with you and your brother. If things get crazy I can see it first hand", and with that, he opened the door and crossed the threshold, holding it open for Bellamy with one hand and holding out the envelope with the other.

  And that was the moment Bellamy knew for sure: another layer had been added to the nesting doll.

  “Now” Viraco patted Bellamy on the back, “Smile for the camera.”