The mall was a three-story box of glass and concrete, the kind of place that had been nice in the eighties and had been slowly decaying ever since. The parking lot was half-empty, the stores inside a mix of chain brands and local businesses that couldn't afford anywhere better.
Rainbow Coffee sat on the second floor, wedged between a cell phone repair shop and a store that sold only novelty socks. The sign was new—too new, the paint still bright, as if it had been recently replaced.
Inside, the café was small but warm. Couches in mismatched colors. Local art on the walls. The smell of fresh coffee and something sweet—butterscotch, maybe, or caramel.
A man stood behind the counter, his back to them, wiping down an espresso machine.
He was tall—five-eight, broad-shouldered, with black hair and a single golden stripe dyed along one side. His arms were muscular, his hands steady. When he turned, his face was young—mid-twenties—with sharp cheekbones and eyes that moved too fast, taking everything in.
His name was Shazi Sheikh.
He saw Shupto.
His eyes widened. His expression shifted from professional neutrality to something closer to panic—or rage.
"Nope." Shazi pointed a finger at the door. "You get out. You short goblin. Out."
Shupto didn't move. "Hello to you too."
"Last time you came to meet, I had to change the sign." Shazi gestured wildly at the café's name. "From Nightsight Coffee to Rainbow Coffee. Do you know how much that cost me?"
"Because you only let women customers order sweet coffees while letting men customers only order black coffee." Shupto's voice was calm, reasonable. "Which sucks, by the way. Black coffee is terrible."
"Black coffee is traditional!"
"Black coffee is bitter and sad."
Marina and Nikki watched from behind Shupto, exchanging amused glances. This was a side of him they hadn't seen—casual, almost playful, like siblings bickering over something stupid.
Then Shazi noticed Nikki.
His whole demeanor changed. The panic vanished. The anger evaporated. He straightened his spine, smoothed his shirt, and smiled—a warm, charming smile that probably worked on most women.
"Hello, beautiful," he said, his voice dropping to a smoother register. "You like butterscotch milkshake? My favorite recipe. Very sweet. Like you, I'm guessing."
Nikki blinked, caught off guard.
Shupto's eye twitched. "There's also another woman. Her name is Marina."
Shazi waved a dismissive hand. "The moment these ladies walked in with you, Marina's eyes kept moving toward you again and again." He looked at Marina, then back at Shupto. "She's not available. I respect that. But this one—" He gestured at Nikki. "—she came alone."
Marina's face flushed. She looked at Shupto before she could stop herself.
Shupto was already looking at her.
Shazi's eyes moved to Nikki's belly. His smile flickered, dimmed. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost hesitant.
"She has a husband? Or a boyfriend?"
Nikki's face went pale, then sad. Her hand tightened on her belly. "No. I don't have anyone except—" She glanced at Marina, then at Shupto. "—the baby in me. Marina. And Shupto."
Shazi's smile returned—brighter this time, warmer, edged with something that looked like determination.
"Now you have me."
Marina laughed—a sharp, surprised sound. She clapped her hands once, drawing everyone's attention.
"If you're done flirting, can we talk about why we're here? But first—" She pointed at Shazi. "—make me a butterscotch milkshake too. Like Nikki's."
Shupto stepped forward. "Make me a vanilla."
Shazi crossed his arms. "Only you pay first."
"This is an investment." Shupto's voice was calm, but his eyes were serious. "The plan we have will either make us rich or dead."
Shazi looked at Shupto. Then at Marina. Then at Nikki.
He sighed—a long, theatrical exhale.
"Son of a bitch," he said. "I'm gonna die."
---
An hour later, they stood in the mall parking lot, the sun higher now, the heat pressing down like a weight. Shazi leaned against a concrete pillar, his bike—a sleek Ducatti—glinting behind him.
Marina, Shupto, and Nikki stood in a loose triangle, the Sentinel parked nearby.
"How do you know him?" Marina asked, her voice low.
Shupto's gaze drifted to Shazi, who was pretending not to listen. "One year after I came to VEX City, I was looking for work. Any work. I had nothing—no papers, no references, no English that anyone understood." He paused. "Shazi gave me a job. Paid me under the table. Didn't ask questions."
"How old is he?"
"Two years older than me. Twenty-three."
Marina looked at Shupto—at the immigrant boy who had arrived with nothing, who had slept on docks and stolen to survive, who had clawed his way into existence in a city that ate people like him for breakfast.
"Look at you now," she said softly.
Shupto's smile was small, almost shy.
Shazi pushed off the pillar and walked over, positioning himself beside Nikki. His arm brushed hers—casual, maybe accidental, maybe not.
"So," he said. "What's the plan?"
Marina met his eyes. "The Espinoza brothers have made us ghosts. They want us to take over the southern strip."
Shupto added, "And no one knows the southern strip better than Shazi Sheikh himself."
Shazi's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted—a straightening of the spine, a sharpening of focus.
"Espinoza," he said slowly. "The ones who took the Verona mansion?"
"The same."
Shazi whistled low. "You don't aim small."
"We don't have time to aim small," Marina said.
That's when the four men appeared.
They came from around the corner of the mall—tall, broad, moving with the easy confidence of people who had never been challenged. Dark clothes. Gold chains. The particular swagger of gang muscle.
Shazi stiffened. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Panther gang. They control Neoshington Beach. Everything from the strip to the marina."
Marina's eyes tracked the men as they approached. "Then we start with them."
The lead man—the tallest, the cockiest—sauntered toward the group. His eyes scanned them lazily, dismissing Shupto, dismissing Shazi, dismissing Marina.
His gaze landed on Nikki.
He smiled.
"Nice body." His voice was slow, drawling, cruel. "Looks like you're pregnant. I like breaking them."
He reached out and slapped Nikki's ass—hard, deliberate, his hand lingering.
Shazi moved before anyone else could react.
His hands closed around the man's throat, and he lifted—choked him, lifted him, drove him down onto the asphalt with a choke-slam that made the ground shake. The man's head bounced. His eyes rolled back.
Another man lunged at Shazi.
Marina stepped into his path and drove an uppercut into his jaw. His head snapped back. He staggered, and she followed with a hook to the temple that dropped him like a sack of bricks.
The remaining two men looked at Shupto.
Shupto smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
He moved through them like water through cracks—low kicks to the knees, palm strikes to the throats, an elbow to the base of a skull that sent one man face-first into a concrete pillar. The last man tried to run. Shupto caught him by the collar, spun him around, and drove a knee into his stomach. The man folded, gasping, and Shupto let him fall.
The parking lot was quiet again.
Shazi stood over the bodies, breathing hard, his knuckles bloody. He looked at Nikki.
"You okay?"
Nikki nodded, trembling, her hand pressed to her belly.
Shazi pulled out his phone and dialed. "Ambulance. Mall parking lot. Four men down." He paused. "No, they're not dead. Unfortunately."
He hung up and looked at Marina. "The Panthers won't take this easy. They'll fight back."
Marina's eyes were cold. "Then this is the first step."
Shazi turned to Nikki. His voice softened. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face—gentle, almost tender.
"Don't worry," he said. "Your protection is solely my duty."
Nikki's lips parted, but no words came.
Shazi looked at Marina and Shupto. "Tomorrow morning, I'll come to your place. I'll bring everything—maps, names, connections. Every piece of information I have on the southern strip."
He looked at Nikki one more time, then walked to his bike. The Ducatti started with a throaty roar. He swung a leg over, settled into the seat, and disappeared into traffic.
Marina turned to Nikki.
Nikki was blushing.
Marina opened her mouth.
"Don't," Nikki said, her voice tight. "No man will take a baggage like me. No man will raise someone else's child."
Shupto stepped forward. He flicked Nikki's forehead—gentle, brotherly.
"It's not wrong to have hope," he said. "And Shazi flirts with everyone, but he's never fought for someone the way he fought for you. Not once."
Nikki's eyes glistened. For the first time—the first time since Marina had pulled her out of that alley—something like hope flickered across her face. She smiled. Small. Fragile. Real.
Shupto kissed Marina's cheek—longer than necessary, his lips warm against her skin. Then he kissed Nikki's forehead—quick, brotherly, fond.
"Go home," he said. "Take the car. There's a place I know—Bengali food. I'll bring dinner."
He walked away before either of them could respond, his grey hair catching the sun, his silhouette shrinking as he moved down the block.
Marina watched him go.
Nikki watched Marina watch him go.
"You're staring," Nikki said.
"I'm not staring."
"You're staring so hard I'm surprised he hasn't turned around."
Marina tore her gaze away. "Shut up."
"I didn't even say anything."
They got into the Sentinel. Marina drove. Nikki sat in the passenger seat this time, her hand on her belly, her eyes on the road ahead.
The southern strip sprawled before them—neon and sand, beauty and rot, a kingdom waiting to be claimed.
Somewhere behind them, a man with grey hair was walking toward a Bengali grocery store, thinking about spices and rice and the woman whose cheek he had just kissed.
Somewhere ahead, a man with a golden stripe in his hair was planning maps and strategies and ways to protect a pregnant woman he'd met an hour ago.
The ghosts were no longer alone.
And VEX City would never be the same.