Chapter 8 It’s About that Time

Chapter 8 It’s About that Time

The two days of training passed in a blur of repetition and role-play. Noah had been relentless, drilling Nora on every aspect of her new identity until she could recite details in her sleep. He made her practice reading people, maintaining eye contact, controlling her breathing when nervous. He taught her how to flirt without being obvious, how to redirect conversations, how to plant suggestions in a target’s mind so smoothly they thought it was their own idea.

By the end of the second day, Nora’s bruises had faded to yellowish-green patches that makeup could mostly cover. Her ribs still ached, but the sharp, stabbing pain had dulled to a constant throb she could push through. More importantly, she felt ready. As ready as she could be.

The morning of the job, Noah came to her room early. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept much, but his expression was focused and professional.

“It’s time,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Let’s go over it one more time.”

Nora sat up in bed, already dressed in the casual clothes she’d wear before changing for the operation. “I’m ready.”

“Your name?”

“Catherine Wells. Thirty-two years old. Art consultant based in Chicago, in town for a gallery opening.”

“Your target?”

“David Yoshi. Fifty-six, venture capitalist, divorced twice, no kids. He has a standing reservation at Masa every Friday night. Sits at the bar, always orders the omakase and Yamazaki 18.”

“What do we need from him?”

“Access to his phone. Specifically, his banking app. Sam needs fifteen minutes to clone his authentication tokens and transfer protocols.”

“How do you get his phone?”

“Establish rapport at the bar. Accept his invitation to his table. During dinner, spill wine on him accidentally. While he’s cleaning up, swap his phone with the duplicate Sam prepared. He won’t notice because they’re identical, same case, same scratches. Return the real phone before the end of dinner.”

Noah nodded, satisfied. “And if he doesn’t invite you to his table?”

“Plan B: follow him when he leaves, stage a car accident in the parking garage, exchange insurance information, get his number, and arrange to meet tomorrow to settle things privately. Gives us a second opportunity.”

“Good.” Noah studied her face carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrified,” Nora admitted. “But ready.”

“That’s honest.” Noah’s expression softened slightly. “Look, I know the last job went sideways. But you’ve trained hard these past two days. You know the material. You know how to handle yourself. Just remember everything we practiced.”

“What if I freeze again?”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because this time you understand what’s at stake.” Noah’s voice was quiet but firm. “This isn’t just about avoiding punishment anymore. This is about survival. You’re smart enough to know the difference.”

Before Nora could respond, there was a knock at the door. A guard’s voice called through: “The Mafia King wants to see Miss Carter. Conference room. Now.”

Nora’s stomach dropped. Noah’s expression darkened.

“I’ll be waiting outside,” he said, standing. “Whatever he says in there, just listen. Don’t argue. Don’t defend yourself. Just listen and agree.”

Nora nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.

The walk to the conference room felt like a march to execution.

The Mafia King was already there, seated at the head of the table as always, his silver-filigree mask catching the light. He gestured to the space in front of him.

“Stand there.”

Nora obeyed, standing at attention while he remained seated. The power dynamic was deliberate and humiliating. She was a soldier being addressed by her commander. A servant before her master.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Just looked at her with those cold eyes visible through the mask, assessing her like she was a piece of equipment he was considering discarding.

“Miss Carter,” he finally said, his voice smooth and measured. “Do you know why I’ve called you here?”

“No, sir.”

“I wanted to have a conversation. Just the two of us. Before you go out there tonight.” He leaned back in his chair, his gloved fingers steepled in front of him. “Tell me something. When you lie in bed at night, what do you think about?”

The question caught her off guard. “Sir?”

“It’s a simple question. What occupies your thoughts in those quiet hours before sleep?”

Nora hesitated. This felt like a trap. “I think about… the job. Making sure I’m prepared.”

“Liar.” The word was soft but sharp. “You think about your old life. Your husband. Your children. Your house in the suburbs. Your boring job at the bank. You think about escape. About freedom. About somehow getting back to a life that no longer exists.”

Nora’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

“I understand,” the Mafia King continued, his tone almost sympathetic. “It’s natural to cling to the past when the present is painful. But Miss Carter, I’m going to tell you something that you need to internalize if you want to survive here.”

He stood slowly and walked around the table toward her. Nora forced herself not to step back.

“Your old life is dead,” he said, stopping just in front of her. “Your husband has moved on. Your children, if they’re even alive, don’t remember you. The woman you were—the banker, the mother, the wife—she died five years ago. She’s gone. And no amount of wishing will bring her back.”

“I know that,” Nora said quietly.

“Do you?” He tilted his head, studying her. “Because your actions suggest otherwise. You hesitate. You second-guess. You make mistakes because part of you is still trying to hold onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“I’m trying—”

“Trying isn’t enough.” His voice hardened. “You need to accept reality. This is your life now. Shadowveil is your home. These operations are your job. And the sooner you stop mourning what you’ve lost and start focusing on what you need to do to survive, the better off you’ll be.”

Nora’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, but she kept her expression neutral.

“I’m not saying this to be cruel,” the Mafia King said, his tone softening again. “I’m saying it because I see potential in you. Real potential. You’re intelligent, adaptable, resourceful. With the right mindset, you could be exceptional at this work. You could earn privileges. Better accommodations. More freedom within the compound. Perhaps, eventually, a position of real authority.”

“You mean become like Beverley.”

“I mean become better than Beverley.” He walked slowly around her, circling like a predator. “She was good at her job, but she lacked vision. She never understood that this work is about more than just executing cons. It’s about understanding people. Reading them. Becoming whoever they need you to be.”

He stopped behind her, and Nora felt his presence like a cold weight on her shoulders.

“You have that ability, Miss Carter. I saw it in you from the beginning. That’s why I chose you. That’s why I kept you when the others were released.”

“Tonight’s operation is important,” the Mafia King continued. “David Yoshi has access to investment funds worth over fifty million dollars. If we can infiltrate his accounts, the payoff will be substantial. But more importantly, it will prove that you can be trusted with high-value targets.”

He walked back around to face her.

“This is your chance to redeem yourself,” he said. “To prove that the Holloway disaster was a fluke. A learning experience. To show me that my faith in you wasn’t misplaced.”

“I understand, sir.”

“I hope you do.” His voice dropped lower, more menacing. “Because if you fail tonight, Miss Carter, there will be consequences. Severe consequences. The Dark Room will seem like a vacation compared to what I have planned.”

Nora’s blood ran cold, but she kept her expression steady. “I won’t fail.”

“For your sake, I hope that’s true.” He walked back to his seat and sat down, dismissing her with a wave. “Noah is waiting for you. Get ready. You leave in two hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nora turned to leave, but his voice stopped her at the door.

“Miss Carter?”

She looked back.

“Remember what I said. Your old life is dead. Let it go. Focus on your future. Because the past will only drag you down.”

Nora nodded once and left, her heart pounding.

\-----

Two hours later, Nora sat in the back of the black sedan, dressed in an elegant navy dress that hugged her curves, her hair styled in soft waves, her makeup flawless. The bruises were completely hidden. She looked like money. Like someone who belonged at a restaurant where a single meal cost more than most people’s monthly rent.

Sam drove while Beverley sat in the passenger seat, both of them silent. Noah sat beside Nora in the back, his expression tense.

“You remember the signal if something goes wrong?” he asked quietly.

“Touch my left earring twice. You’ll have a car ready at the north exit within three minutes.”

“Good.” Noah looked at her, and for a moment, his professional mask slipped. “You can do this, Nora.”

“I know.”

But she wasn’t sure she believed it.

They pulled up to Masa, one of Manhattan’s most exclusive restaurants. A valet opened Nora’s door, and she stepped out into the cool evening air. The restaurant’s entrance was understated but elegant, with a small sign and a doorman in a perfectly tailored suit.

“Good evening, miss,” the doorman said, opening the door.

Nora smiled and walked inside.

The interior was minimalist and expensive. Dark wood, low lighting, a long bar on one side and intimate tables on the other. She spotted her target immediately. David Yoshi sat at the bar, exactly as Noah had described, nursing a glass of whiskey and scrolling through his phone.

Nora approached the bar, leaving one seat between herself and Yoshi, and ordered a glass of wine. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. Just sipped her wine and gazed around the restaurant with the mild interest of someone waiting for a table.

“First time here?”Yoshi's voice was smooth, cultured.

Nora turned, as if surprised he was speaking to her, and smiled. “That obvious?”

“Only because I’ve never seen you here before. And I’d remember.”

The line was cheesy, but his delivery was confident. He was used to women responding positively.

“Catherine,” Nora said, extending her hand.

“David.” His handshake was firm. “Are you dining alone?”

“I was supposed to meet a client, but he canceled last minute. Gallery business.” Nora sighed. “I flew in from Chicago for nothing.”

“His loss is my gain.” Yoshi gestured to the empty seat beside him. “Join me? I hate eating alone, and the omakase here is incredible.”

This was almost too easy. Nora hesitated just the right amount before smiling. “I’d like that.”

Over the next hour, everything went according to plan. Yoshi was charming, intelligent, easy to talk to. He told stories about his investments, his travels, his ex-wives. Nora played the role perfectly: interested but not too eager, sophisticated but approachable, laughing at his jokes and asking intelligent questions.

When their entrees arrived, Nora picked up her wine glass and, as she gestured during a story, “accidentally” knocked it over. Red wine splashed across Yoshi's white shirt and pants.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Nora grabbed her napkin, dabbing at his shirt.

“It’s fine, really,” Yoshi said, laughing. “These things happen.”

“Let me help you,” Nora insisted.

While Yoshi stood and headed toward the bathroom to clean up, leaving his phone on the bar, Nora executed the switch perfectly. She pulled the duplicate phone from her clutch and swapped it with his in one smooth motion. To anyone watching, it would have looked like she was simply checking her own phone.

“Phone’s secure,” Sam’s voice crackled in her earpiece. “Cloning now. Keep him distracted for twelve minutes.”

Twelve minutes. Easy.

Yoshi returned, his shirt damp but mostly clean. “I think I got the worst of it.”

“I feel terrible,” Nora said. “Let me pay for your dry cleaning at least.”

“Absolutely not. Like I said, these things happen.” He sat back down and reached for his phone.

Nora’s heart stopped.

Chen picked up the phone, looking at the screen. His brow furrowed. He swiped up, and Nora saw his confusion deepen. He pressed the home button.
Swiped again. Turned the phone over in his hand.

“This isn’t my phone,” he said slowly.

“What?” Nora tried to sound confused. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Chen stood abruptly, holding up the duplicate. “The weight is different. And my wallpaper—this isn’t my wallpaper. What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t understand—”

“Where’s my actual phone?” His voice rose, his eyes scanning the bar top, then snapping to Nora with sudden realization. “You switched it. When I went to the bathroom. You switched our phones.”
“No, I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me!” Yoshi's face flushed with anger. “I’m not an idiot. You spilled wine on me on purpose. Got me away from the bar. And switched the phones.” He looked around the restaurant. “Where are your accomplices? Who else is in on this?”

“Abort,” Noah’s voice said urgently in her ear. “Nora, abort now.”

But Nora froze. Her training, all of Noah’s careful preparation, evaporated in the face of Yoshi's anger. She just sat there, mouth open, no words coming out.

“I’m calling security,” Yoshi said, pulling out the
restaurant’s courtesy phone from the bar.

“Sam, we’re compromised,” Noah’s voice was tight
with controlled panic. “Did you get the data?”

“Negative. I need eight more minutes.”

“We don’t have eight minutes. Pull out now.”

Yoshi was already speaking to someone on the phone, his eyes locked on Nora. “Yes, I’m at the bar. I need security immediately. Someone just tried to steal my phone.”

Other diners were turning to look. A manager was approaching quickly.

Nora grabbed her clutch and stood, nearly knocking over her wine glass again. “This is a misunderstanding—”
“Don’t move,” Yoshi said coldly. “Security is coming.”

“Nora, run,” Noah commanded. “North exit, now!”

But Nora’s legs wouldn’t move. She stood there, paralyzed, as a security guard approached. The guard was large, built like a wall, and he positioned himself between Nora and the exit.

“Miss, I’m going to need you to come with me,” the guard said.

“I didn’t do anything—”

“She tried to steal my phone,” Yoshi said. “I want the police called.”

“No, please—” Nora’s voice cracked.

“NORA!” Noah’s voice in her ear was sharp with fear. “Move! Now!”

The command broke through her paralysis. Nora shoved past the security guard, using the element of surprise, and ran for the exit. Behind her, she heard shouting, chairs scraping, people yelling.
She burst through the front door and ran down the street in her heels, her dress restricting her movement. The black sedan screeched around the corner, and Beverley threw the back door open.
Nora dove inside, and Sam hit the gas before the door was even closed.
For several minutes, no one spoke. The only sound was Nora’s ragged breathing and the squeal of tires as Sam took corners too fast.
“Did anyone follow us?” Noah finally asked, his voice dead flat.
“No,” Sam said. “We’re clear.”
“Did you get the data?”
“No. I got nothing. The phone was only connected for four minutes.”
Noah’s jaw clenched so tight Nora could see the muscles jumping. “So we have nothing. Again.”
“How did you screw that up?” Beverley turned in her seat, her voice dripping with venom. “The switch was perfect. I watched you do it. How did you grab the wrong phone?”
“I don’t know,” Nora whispered. “I thought I grabbed the duplicate. I don’t know what happened.”
“You don’t know,” Beverley repeated mockingly. “You don’t know. That’s your answer? You don’t KNOW?”
“Beverley,” Noah said, a warning.
“No, I’m done protecting her!” Beverley’s voice rose. “She’s had two chances. Two! And she’s failed both times. Worse than failed. She’s compromised operations. Left evidence. And now she’s gotten herself identified by another target who’s definitely going to report this to the police.”
“I said I’m sorry—”
“Sorry doesn’t fix this!” Beverley was nearly shouting now. “Do you understand what you’ve done? Yoshi knows your face. He knows you tried to steal his phone. And he’s rich enough and connected enough to make a serious problem for all of us.”
“That’s enough,” Noah said, his voice hard.
“Is it?” Beverley turned on him. “You’ve been babying her from day one. Special training. Extra time. Private sessions. And for what? So she can keep screwing up and dragging us all down with her?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Beverley’s not wrong. This is bad. Really bad.”
Noah didn’t respond. He just stared straight ahead, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists on his knees.
Nora looked at him, desperate for him to say something. To defend her. To tell her it would be okay.
But Noah wouldn’t meet her eyes.
And when he finally spoke, his voice was cold. Distant. Nothing like the gentle tone he’d used during training.
“When we get back, go straight to your room. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t try to explain. Just wait.”
“Noah, please—”
“I said wait.” He finally looked at her, and the anger in his eyes made her flinch. “The Mafia King is going to want a full report. And I’m going to have to tell him that you failed. Again. Worse than before.”
The car fell silent.
Nora sat back against the seat, her whole body numb. She had screwed up. Catastrophically. Not just failed, but failed so spectacularly that even Noah, who had been her only ally, was furious with her.
The rest of the drive passed in heavy silence. When they pulled into the Shadowveil compound, Nora could see guards already waiting at the entrance. They knew. Of course they knew. The Mafia King probably knew before they even made it back to the car.
As soon as the sedan stopped, the guards opened Nora’s door.
“Miss Carter. Come with us.”
Nora got out on shaking legs. She looked back at the car, at Noah, one last time. He sat in the back seat, staring straight ahead, his expression carved from stone.
He didn’t look at her.
Didn’t acknowledge her.
As the guards led her toward the main house, toward whatever punishment awaited, Nora finally understood the truth.
She was dead.
Maybe not literally. Not yet.
But whatever protection Noah had offered, whatever small amount of hope she’d been clinging to, it was gone.
She had failed too many times.