Julius walked around his wooden oak desk and took a seat; the three men stood waiting with prying eyes all over them. Julius’s father, Mario, sat off to the side in the corner of the room in front of the window, bottle and glass in hand as he poured his drink over the ice in his glass.

  Julius’ demeanour snapped from the cool, calm, welcoming man they came accustomed to. His face turned to stone, his eyes bore nothing—emotionless vessels as he stared right through the three of them standing before him.

  “Now to business, Derrick. You promised the Black Hood,” Julius said. “And I can see you’ve delivered.” Julius looked Robert up and down with a squint in his eye, a look of shock as much as disgust.

  Derrick and the boys were taken aback. The sudden switch-up in tone had them retreating within themselves. The air grew thicker, and the room began to feel suffocating, growing smaller and smaller the longer they stayed there.

  This felt like an all too familiar scenario to Malakie—being in a room where he held no power, no decision over the outcome of his fate. It had always been in the hands of the higher-ups. And the way Julius was looking at them, he felt like a wounded animal backed into a corner, waiting for the hunter to make his next move.

  And Julius could feel it—the silence, the looks, the silent suffering of the men in front of him who tried to do everything they could to act like they were in control—but everyone knew who was in control in that room. And he thrived off it. He let his eyes do the talking and waited for one of the men to step up.

  Derrick took a step forward and cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, trying to sound confident whilst looking fear in the eye. His arms extended towards Robert, pointing at him. “As you can see, the Black Hood. This man was no easy feat to track down. He left little to no clues, then dropped off the map. No more missions, no accomplices that knew his identity,” he said. “But no criminal is perfect—we all slip up somewhere, and luckily for you, Julius, I knew exactly where he slipped.”

  Julius wasn’t moved by Derrick’s words, not one single bit. He managed not to roll his eyes, but with great difficulty. His eyes moved from the Black Hood and landed on Derrick. “Not one to be sceptical, Derrick, but I’m also not one to be easily convinced, if you catch my drift. This man could be anyone—get a mask, put it over his face, and you have a Black Hood. So I’m going to need a little bit more proof than your word.”

  Robert stepped into line with Derrick as he spoke. “July 6th, 6:30 p.m., 1992. Vienna ports. Your crew was hit. A million dollars, watches, and jewellery were taken.”

  Julius scoffed. “Public information to everyone in our world—Derrick could have fed you that information and prepped you before you got here.”

  Robert sniggered as his head dropped. Then he lifted it again. “79216689.”

  Everyone looked on confused—everyone but Julius’s father, Mario. His face looked like he had seen a ghost. His arms reached out as he placed his glass on the side table. “How do you know that? Only me and one other know that.”

  Julius’s eyes painted with confusion as he looked over to his father, searching for answers. “If you don’t mind filling the rest of the room in on what’s going on instead of leaving us in the dark.”

  “It was the code to the vault at the old compound,” Mario said. “With only me and my right-hand man knowing the code, I blamed it on him. Called it an inside job and got rid of a man I called a friend—a brother. Only to find out all these years later it was you. He told me it was the Black Hood. He pleaded and begged for me to trust him. But in this world, you can only trust the evidence.”

  Derrick looked down at his watch. Time was flying by, yet there was still no sign Travis and D’Angelo were in the clear.

  D’Angelo worked like a surgeon, placing his stethoscope on the vault door as he worked diligently to crack its code whilst Travis kept a lookout. But time was beginning to become more of an enemy than an ally.

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  The guard to the vault began to shift in his chair, and it was the fifth time in the last ten minutes he had rubbed his hand down his face and pulled his beard together.

  “Andreas,” the guard shouted. “Go and check on that maintenance crew—something doesn’t sit right with me about those two.”

  “Relax—it’s just a maintenance crew. What do you think they could be doing in there?” Andreas said. “There’s only one way in and one way out. If they were trying something, they’d have to come past us to get out of here. So relax. But if you insist, I’ll pop my head around and see what’s up.”

  The guard nodded his head, and Andreas headed toward D’Angelo and Travis. As he hit a right and turned around the corner, his face dropped as his body went cold. He took one last glance over his shoulder and made a run for it.

  As he arrived at the vault, his breath was heavy and ragged, his heartbeat out of control as it begged for air. “You guys still haven’t penetrated the vault yet,” he said. “You need to get a move on—and fast.”

  “Shhhh,” D’Angelo echoed. “Never rush an artist when he’s at work. Did you see them rush Picasso, Leonardo da Vinci, or Michelangelo? No—or we wouldn’t have the pieces of beauty we have today. So silence, if you don’t mind.”

  D’Angelo twisted gently—one click, two clicks, and finally a third—and the vault door was open. The boys looked at each other with smiles laced across their faces.

  “It’s time to hit the jackpot, boys,” said Travis as he pulled the vault door open.

  Inside the vault were millions of dollars wrapped up, sitting on the shelves on both sides of the room, loose hundreds scattered all over the floor, with bars of gold and jewellery on the bottom shelves. The three of them stepped inside, and Travis handed D’Angelo a duffle bag. D’Angelo unzipped the bag, pulled out the rotary hammer drill, and headed towards the wall at the back.

  “You might want to shut the vault door,” D’Angelo said. “It’s about to get loud.”

  When the news spread about the Black Hood and the crimes he committed, I chose not to believe it,” said Mario. “My anger towards my childhood friend would not allow me to see what was right in front of my eyes this whole time. I thought it was nothing but a facade put into this world to create disruption and chaos—divert all eyes from the true perpetrator.”

  “Well, Father—you were wrong. A generation ran on stubbornness and blindness—stuck in their own way, refusing to adapt,” Julius said. “I, on the other hand, was a sponge—willing to listen and learn my trade from anyone who had anything to offer. A true chameleon in this world, who brought this family to heights not even your imagination would allow you to think.”

  “Indeed, my boy—indeed,” Mario shot back with a proud smile on his face.

  “Now that the Black Hood’s authenticity has been confirmed, Derrick, we can begin to discuss pricing,” Julius said as he leaned back in his seat.

  As Derrick went to speak, his phone vibrated in his pocket, causing him to jump. He reached in, pulled it out, and a text from Travis was highlighted on his screen—two simple words: we’re in. Derrick couldn’t help but smile as he slipped his phone back into his trouser pocket.

  “Good news, I take it then, Derrick?” said Julius. “But when we’re doing business, common courtesy would be to check your phone when business is concluded.”

  Derrick’s head rose, and yet his smile was still there as he looked into Julius’s eyes. His plan was going perfect.

  “The Black Hood,” Derrick said as he swayed his head from side to side. “We can start negotiations at two million.”

  “Two million, Derrick—have you lost your goddamn mind?” Julius said through gritted teeth as he sat up in his chair in utter disbelief.

  “Two million is more than fair, Julius,” Derrick responded. “You make that type of cash in less than a day. Me opening the starting price with anything less would be disrespecting the boys who stand with me today—and myself. So two million. Plus, as your father said, the Black Hood has committed crimes towards your family that not even you were aware of, which surely raises his value.”

  Julius was still in shock, his hand slowly sliding down his face as one eye fixed on Derrick.

  “Just pay him, son—what’s two million to us?”

  Julius took one sideways glance at his father, then scanned the men before him. He sat up, composed himself, then began. “Here’s what we’ll do, Derrick. You see, I had a moment to think—and you coming to me like this, looking for money, can only mean one of two things. Either your money has dried up and you need cash fast, or something’s happened and you need to skip town. My bet is the latter.”

  Derrick tried to remain calm, not letting Julius read him, but the moment his smile disappeared, he knew he’d hit a nerve.

  “So here’s what I’m proposing to you three—one point five million for your troubles, and you can be on your way that much richer,” Julius said. “You see, I don’t want the Black Hood dead. No, no, no. I want him working within my organisation—putting those skills to use alongside some of the greatest thieves in Miami.”

  Mario began to smile as he sipped on his drink, proud of the master tactician his son was presenting before his eyes.

  “And Derrick,” Julius continued, “I would think very long and hard about what number you come out with next. Because that flicker of a smile on your face allowed me to see some of the key cards you had hidden. So if I were you, I’d take the win and accept.”