Later that day in the evening
The bass from the club's speakers thumped like a heartbeat you could feel in your ribs, each beat rolling through the floor and up into Fiona's legs. Neon light swept over the crowd in slow, lazy waves, painting faces in pinks, purples, and electric blue. People were packed tight—laughing, shouting, dancing like the night was the only thing that mattered.
Fiona leaned against the bar, half-listening to the music, half-watching the swirl of bodies on the dance floor. Her drink was still cold in her hand, condensation running down her fingers.
V was beside her, sipping something stronger, hips already moving to the rhythm even though she wasn't on the floor. She had that easy way about her—comfortable in every room she stepped into, even this one, loud and sweaty and smelling faintly of spilled liquor.
"You've been quiet all night," V said, glancing at her over the rim of her glass.
Fiona shrugged, eyes still on the crowd. "Just thinking."
"About what?" V's tone was casual, but she leaned in so Fiona had to answer.
"Frank," Fiona said finally.
V smirked. "Which one?"
"The junior one," Fiona muttered.
That made V laugh. "You're talking like you got two of them running around the block. What's going on?"
Fiona set her drink down, turning to face her friend fully. "He's… different. I don't know. It's only been a couple of days since he got out, and it's like he's a whole new person. Making breakfast. Talking about paying bills. Telling me to take a break."
V's eyebrows rose. "And that's a bad thing because…?"
"Because I don't trust it." Fiona's voice cut through the noise, low and certain. "You know what he was like before. Always in trouble. Always disappearing. I've had to clean up after him more times than I can count. And now suddenly he's Mister Responsibility?" She shook her head. "Doesn't happen."
V rested her elbow on the bar, her tone softer now. "People change, Fi. Sometimes it just clicks in their head, and they figure out they've been screwing up."
"Not him," Fiona said, but her voice lacked bite. "Not that fast. Says he's getting a job but doesn't say what it is. And knowing him…"
V tilted her head, studying her friend. "You're scared he's gonna fall back into old habits?"
Fiona's mouth pressed into a line. "I'm scared he's gonna drag all of us down with him."
V let the thought hang between them for a beat, the music swallowing up the silence. Then she leaned in closer. "Listen. I've known you a long time, and I've seen a lot of people try to fool you. You've never been the type to get played. If he's lying, you'll know. But maybe… just maybe… he means it this time."
Fiona looked back toward the dance floor, her eyes scanning faces she didn't care about. "I don't know if I can believe that."
V grinned and bumped her shoulder. "Then don't believe it yet. Watch him. See what he does. But don't tear him down before he's even had a chance to prove himself. You might be surprised."
Fiona sighed, picking her drink back up. "I just… I've been doing this for so long, V. Holding everything together. If he's serious, if he really wants to help, I want to believe it. But I can't let myself get comfortable. Not until I'm sure."
"That's fair," V said, nodding. "But you also can't keep carrying everything yourself. You'll burn out, Fi. And maybe—just maybe—he sees that."
The DJ's set shifted, the beat climbing, the crowd surging forward toward the center of the floor. V's eyes lit up. "Come on, let's dance."
Fiona rolled her eyes. "I'm not—"
"You are," V said, grabbing her wrist and tugging her off the stool. "You need to loosen up before you start thinking yourself into a hole."
They pushed into the crowd, heat and movement wrapping around them like a wave. V slipped into the rhythm instantly, her body swaying, eyes half-closed. Fiona took longer, her shoulders stiff at first, but the bass was relentless, and soon she let it carry her.
The bass rolled like thunder, and the crowd was a sea of motion—shoulders brushing, hips twisting, sweat and perfume clinging to the air. Fiona was moving now, not fully lost in it but more relaxed, her hair catching the glow of the shifting lights.
From the far side of the floor, Steve leaned against a post, drink in hand, eyes tracking her like he was trying to figure out if he'd seen her before or if she was just worth remembering. He didn't move toward her yet—just watched, waiting for the right moment.
It came fast.
A guy in a black hoodie brushed past Fiona a little too close. She didn't notice right away—too much noise, too much movement. But V's eyes narrowed, and she grabbed Fiona's arm.
"Your bag," V said.
Fiona glanced down. Her purse was gone.
The crowd shifted, and through a break in the bodies, she caught sight of the hoodie cutting toward the back of the club.
"Hey!" she shouted, pushing through people.
Steve moved first, setting his drink down on the nearest table without looking. He lunged into the crowd after the guy, weaving through bodies, knocking into more than a few. The thief glanced back, saw him coming, and picked up speed.
Steve tried to cut him off near the side wall, but the guy juked right. Steve went for a tackle—arms out, full commitment—but the floor was slick. His foot slid, and instead of bringing the guy down, he went hard to the ground, a grunt ripped from his chest.
The thief didn't stop. He was out the back exit before anyone else could touch him.
Fiona was already moving, V right behind her. They burst through the door into the cool night air, scanning the alley. The sounds of the club were muffled now, replaced by the hum of the city—distant traffic, the faint blare of a siren somewhere blocks away.
That's when they saw him.
Frank Jr. was leaning against the wall near the mouth of the alley, holding the purse in one hand like he'd just finished grocery shopping. The guy in the hoodie was on the ground at his feet, groaning and holding his stomach.
"Oh, there you are," Frank Jr. said casually, tossing the purse toward Fiona. She caught it without thinking.
"I was walking past, bumped into this guy," Frank Jr. went on. "Recognized the purse. Figured I'd say hi."
Fiona blinked at him, still catching up. "You just… caught him?"
Frank shrugged like it wasn't worth talking about. "He's not that fast."
Before she could answer, the club's back door banged open, and Steve stumbled out, breathing hard, a hand on the wall. He looked between Fiona, V, Frank Jr., and the guy on the ground, trying to piece it together.
V grinned, turning to Steve. "That was awesome what you tried to do in there."
Steve managed a sheepish smile, brushing at his shirt. "Didn't exactly stick the landing."
"No," V said, "but you went for it. Most guys wouldn't."
Steve's eyes drifted to Fiona. "Glad you got your purse back."
Fiona gave a quick nod, still holding it close. She glanced at Frank Jr., who was already looking past Steve toward the street like this was just another Tuesday.
The guy on the ground groaned again, and Frank Jr. nudged him lightly with his foot. "You should head the other way before you get ideas," he said.
The thief didn't argue—he scrambled up and limped off into the dark.
Steve watched him go, then looked at Frank Jr. "You're her…?"
"Brother," Frank Jr. said without missing a beat. "Older twin. Who are you?"
Steve hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Just a guy who owes you one."
Frank didn't answer, just started walking toward the street, hands in his jacket pockets. "Take care of your stuff next time," he called back to Fiona.
She watched him go, part of her still annoyed, part of her knowing she probably shouldn't be.
V elbowed her lightly. "See? You got two guys looking out for you tonight. Must be your lucky day."
Fiona rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.