Chapter 15: First Cut
February 13, 2008 – Morning
Location: Above the Laundromat, Queens
---
The news played quietly from the busted TV in the corner, flickering in and out between static and signal.
> "Tony Stark is scheduled to arrive in Afghanistan today, where he'll oversee the live demonstration of the Jericho Missile for U.S. military officials—"
Click.
Aria turned it off.
He didn't need to hear the rest.
He already knew how it went.
Stark lands. The convoy rolls out. The missile launches. And sometime in the next 36 hours, the most important man in weapons manufacturing vanishes off the face of the earth.
No one knew it yet.
But this was the moment the world changed.
Aria stood in the kitchen—if it could be called that—a half-unwrapped protein bar in one hand, his phone in the other. The floor creaked under his bare feet, heater still broken from last week.
Outside the window, Queens looked like any other Wednesday morning. Cold. Gray. Unbothered.
But everything had shifted.
And if Aria wanted to stay ahead of what was coming, he needed cash. Now.
---
One Hour Later – Back Room, Laundromat HQ
The map dropped onto the table with a soft thud. Clean. Marked. Calculated.
"Murano Logistics," Aria said without looking up. "We hit it tomorrow."
Jay blinked. "Wait—the Murano building? That place with actual barbed wire and dudes in real uniforms?"
"It's a civilian contract site," Aria corrected. "Looks official, but the gear's all overflow. Comms hardware. Portable signal dampeners. Encrypted field radios."
"Sounds expensive," Kwan muttered, checking a clipboard.
"It is," Aria said. "That's the point."
Cassie leaned in. "You sure it's worth the heat?"
"No," Aria replied flatly. "But I'm doing it anyway."
Maddox exhaled. "Let me guess. Small window?"
"Ten minutes. Shift turnover and a delivery gap. I've tracked it for weeks."
He unfolded a secondary sheet—internal layout sketched by hand. "Crate 112B. No detours. No freelancing."
---
Assignments
Maddox & Cassie: Fake delivery distraction team. Walk in the front with a forged manifest.
Jay: Signal jammer, parked two blocks down. Disables comms for exactly eight minutes.
Aria, Rizal, Dina: Infiltration through the side loading corridor.
Tino & Kwan: Extraction crew. Van parked near the alley access point. Final pickup. No second rounds.
"Questions?" Aria asked.
Jay raised his hand halfway. "If the feds show up, do we surrender or vanish?"
Aria stared at him like the question didn't need an answer.
"We don't get seen. We don't get caught. And we don't come back."
Back Room, Laundromat HQ
---
Maddox didn't leave with the others.
He waited until the door shut, then spoke.
"You've been off."
Aria kept folding maps. "I've been busy."
"No," Maddox said. "You've been off. Quiet in a different way."
Aria didn't look up. "You got a problem?"
"I got questions."
There was a beat of silence.
"You weren't like this two weeks ago," Maddox continued. "You're rushing jobs. Watching the news too closely. Like something's coming."
Aria finally looked at him.
"Maybe it is."
Maddox studied him. "Is that a guess?"
"No."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"You planning to loop the rest of us in?" Maddox asked.
"Not yet."
"That's not how this works."
Aria shrugged. "Worked fine so far."
Maddox didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then he stepped forward, grabbed one of the printouts, gave it a glance, and tossed it back down.
"I'll run entry with you."
Aria raised a brow. "Didn't ask you to."
"I'm not asking."
He turned to leave, but stopped at the door.
"I trust you, Aria," he said without looking back. "But I'm not stupid. And if you're dragging us toward something bigger, I want eyes on it."
Then he left.
Aria stood there alone.
The paper he was holding had started to crumple in his hand.
February 14, 2008 – 11:03 AM
Murano Logistics, Brooklyn
---
The sky was gray. Not dramatic. Just dull, heavy, and cold enough to cut through the layers.
Aria stood in the alley across from the Murano building with his hood up, gloves on, and the plan replaying in his head like a song on loop. They had ten minutes. No hero moves. No detours.
This wasn't about making a name.
It was about getting in, getting paid, and getting gone.
He checked the time. 11:03 AM.
Jay's voice crackled in his earpiece.
"Comms jammer hot in thirty seconds. I'm parked next to a deli with a broken A/C unit and a guy yelling about pastrami. So. Y'know. Mood's perfect."
Aria didn't smile. "Hold steady. Wait for my call."
Across the lot, Maddox and Cassie were already walking up the front steps of the loading dock in their delivery uniforms—faded gray jumpsuits, forged clipboard in hand. They looked bored. Professional. Invisible.
The gate guard gave them a lazy glance.
Perfect.
Aria turned back to Rizal and Dina, crouched behind the fence with him.
"You know the path?"
Dina nodded. "Back corridor. Two turns. Right side stairwell. Room 3B."
"Riz?"
Rizal just pulled his hood up tighter. "I'm good."
Aria tapped his comm once.
"Jay. Go."
A low buzz filled his ear—then dropped to silence.
"Jammer's live," Jay said. "Timer's running."
Aria didn't waste another second.
He pushed open the side access door with a stolen badge and slipped inside.
Three minutes on the clock
---
The side corridor was narrow and cold.
White walls. Exposed pipes. That sterile industrial smell—bleach and something sharp underneath it. Not rot. Not mold. Just metal. Military-grade air.
Aria didn't speak. Didn't need to.
He moved first, low and fast. Shoulders forward, knees loose. Just like he'd practiced. Just like he'd taught them.
Rizal kept behind him, one pace off his left shoulder, silent as a dropped shadow. Dina flanked the right, already reaching into her jacket for tools.
They passed a half-open door—janitor's closet. One mop. No one inside.
Too easy, Aria thought.
He tapped his earpiece once. "Jay."
"Signal's holding. I've got five minutes clean. Maybe six if the deli guy keeps screaming."
Aria didn't reply. Just smiled, barely.
The hallway split ahead.
Camera above.
Dina was already moving—stepping just under its lens with practiced speed. She pulled a black disc from her sleeve, slapped it on the junction box.
A tiny green light blinked once.
Click.
The loop started—five seconds delayed.
They walked through like they'd done it a hundred times.
---
11:06 AM
The second corridor was tighter.
Less polished. Paint peeling near the floor. Exposed wiring. Stale air. The kind of hallway nobody used unless they had to.
They stopped in front of a gray steel door.
Unmarked. No window.
Just a black keypad and a sticker that had peeled halfway off.
Crate storage. Room 3B.
Aria crouched low, wiping dust from the panel with his sleeve.
Nine-button pad. Dual-entry.
He pulled out a tiny plastic square from his inside pocket and slid it against the reader—scraped data from a long-range tag scan he'd run a week ago off a foreman's badge.
The light blinked yellow.
He typed the code manually.
9 – 1 – 7 – 4 – 6 – 0 – Enter
Beep. Green.
Unlocked.
He looked back once. Quick nod to Dina. One to Rizal.
Then he opened the door.
---
Inside was quiet.
Metal racks. Floor to ceiling. Cold storage room, lined with black crates the size of small coffins.
Each one was tagged—QR codes, old serials, tiny embedded RFID dots barely visible to the eye. All bolted shut.
A few blinked faint green lights.
No cameras inside. Aria had made sure of that. Murano skimped on internal security—their blind spot.
He scanned fast.
Second row. Third shelf.
"112B," he said.
Rizal stepped forward and pulled.
Heavy. He grunted under the weight but didn't complain.
"Seal's clean," Dina said. "No hidden tags."
Aria popped the front lock with a handheld bypass chip. Click. The latch slid open.
Inside: three military-grade shortwave units. Portable. Black-metal casing. Intact.
He checked the serials.
"These are real," he muttered. "And expensive."
"Jay," he whispered. "We've got the target. Time?"
"Three and a half. You're good—but don't slow down."
They turned back.
---
The noise hit like a pin drop.
Footsteps. Down the hall.
Not rushed. Not loud. But wrong.
Wrong rhythm. Wrong shoes.
Aria froze.
One hand out, palm flat. Rizal stopped. Dina tensed beside him.
The steps got closer.
Aria motioned to the corner. Wait.
The sound passed their hallway. Slower. Then stopped.
A door opened nearby. Closed again.
Silence.
No alarm. No voices. Just a breath held too long.
Aria waited another five seconds. Counted each one.
Then—
"Move."
---
11:09 AM – Outside
The side alley was just as empty as when they entered.
Tino's van rolled up exactly on time.
Rizal and Dina hauled the crate into the back. Aria followed, one hand still near his belt—no weapon, just instinct.
He tapped his comm.
"Jay."
"Signal down in three… two… blackout off. You're clear."
The van peeled off.
Aria stayed behind, watching it disappear around the corner before turning his hood up.
Cold air hit his face like a reset.
Thirty grand in a locked crate.
Ten minutes of silence.
No headlines. No shots fired.
Just pressure. Just precision.
First job done.
Laundromat Back Room, Queens
---
The crate sat in the middle of the room like something sacred.
Nobody rushed to open it. Nobody joked—yet. It just sat there, heavy and humming with the kind of silence you only get after something dangerous works.
Jay flopped into the ragged chair near the back wall, arms wide, hair damp with sweat.
"That was either the cleanest job we've ever done," he said, "or the start of a story we'll be whispering in a prison yard ten years from now."
"Don't be dramatic," Dina muttered, leaning against the dryer.
Cassie paced along the far wall, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes still sharp. "He's not wrong. That wasn't small. That was federal-adjacent. We moved like pros."
"Speak for yourself," Tino said from the doorway, peeling off his gloves. "I nearly had a heart attack backing the van in."
"You were fine," Kwan said, writing in a small notepad. "Your turn radius was trash, but the timing was good."
Tino blinked. "That was a compliment?"
"I think so," Jay offered. "Kinda."
The mood was starting to loosen, just enough to feel the edge slipping off. But not gone.
Not yet.
Aria crouched next to the crate, inspecting the seam, running a gloved hand over the latches. Still clean. Still cold.
He stood up and looked at the room.
"Clean job. No heat. We did good."
Heads nodded around the space. Quiet agreement.
Cassie stopped pacing. "When's the flip?"
"Two days," Aria said. "We let the trail go cold before we move anything."
"And the payout?" Jay asked.
"Next week."
Cassie raised a brow. "And the next job?"
"Still working it," Aria said.
Maddox, who'd stayed mostly silent in the corner, finally spoke.
"We've got some breathing room now. That's good."
Aria met his eyes and gave a single nod. "Yeah."
Kwan snapped his notebook shut. "I'll start on the tag scrubs."
"I'll help," Dina said. "I've got gloves and solvent upstairs."
Tino stretched. "If anyone needs me, I'll be pretending I didn't almost die in traffic."
Jay stood and clapped him on the back. "Man, if we died in traffic after stealing military tech, I'd haunt this laundromat forever."
Cassie cracked a smile for the first time. "You'd be the loudest ghost in Queens."
Aria stepped away from the crate, grabbed his jacket from the hook by the back door.
"We'll meet again in two days. Until then—stay invisible."
"Bossy," Jay muttered, grabbing his backpack.
"Efficient," Maddox corrected.
As the crew began to filter out in twos and threes, Maddox followed Aria to the side hall.
"You really gonna give them a break?"
"For now."
"Thought you were in a hurry."
"I still am. Just not for them."
Maddox gave a quiet nod, like he didn't agree—but understood.
"You'll let me know when it changes?"
Aria didn't answer.
He just opened the back door and stepped into the cold, coat half-zipped, boots already moving.
East River – Small overlook near the pedestrian bridge
---
The river moved slow and dark under the lights.
Just a quiet stretch of water, slick with reflections—streetlamps, windows, a blinking plane somewhere overhead. The wind was softer here, blocked by the concrete and rusted railing.
Aria sat on the low wall near the edge, sipping from a paper cup that had long gone lukewarm.
Liyana stood beside him, her shoulder brushing his gently. Close, but not leaning. Not yet.
"You're not saying much," she said.
Aria looked straight ahead. "Neither are you."
"I don't have to. You're already in your head."
"I'm always in my head."
She didn't argue. Just shifted her weight and glanced sideways.
"You okay?"
He let the question hang. It was too simple for the truth and too kind to ignore.
"I got through something today," he said finally. "Something big."
She waited.
"I can't tell you what," he added.
"I figured."
He looked at her. Really looked.
She wasn't wearing anything fancy. Jeans. A thick coat. Hair pulled back with one of those cheap clips from the corner store. But she looked like comfort. Like space to breathe.
"I'm not trying to keep you out," he said. "But there are things I'm carrying I don't want touching you."
"I'm not glass, Aria."
"I know. That's why I care."
That made her pause. Then she smiled, just a little. Like she wanted to fight the softness, but couldn't.
Liyana stepped forward, leaned her back against the railing, and looked at him sideways.
"You can hold things on your own," she said, voice low. "But you don't have to."
He didn't answer right away. Just set the cup down and turned fully toward her.
The kiss wasn't dramatic. No music. No fireworks. Just quiet, like everything else between them. A soft lean, her hand on his coat, his fingers brushing the side of her neck.
Warmth in a city made of cold corners.
When they pulled apart, Liyana stayed close.
"Whatever you're planning," she whispered, "don't forget to come back to me after."
"I won't."
And for the first time in a long time, he meant it.