Episode 2: Love in the Lagunes
Venice. The floating city of romance… and international crime.
As the bells of St. Mark’s tolled midnight, a lavish masquerade gala took over the Doge’s Palace. Inside, champagne flowed, strings played, and danger mingled with desire behind every jeweled mask.
Salty arrived in style, gliding in on a private gondola. His mask? Midnight black. His suit? Custom-cut Italian velvet. His intentions? Mostly diplomatic… but mostly not.
Zinshed whispered through the comms, stationed in the shadows of the Rialto Bridge. “The buyer is here. Katarina’s client. Goes by Il Corvo—The Raven.”
“Masked?” Salty asked.
“Like everyone else.”
“Perfect,” Salty murmured, stepping into the golden ballroom. Three women approached him almost instantly.
First was Sofia Leone, an Italian Interpol agent deep undercover. Chestnut hair, piercing eyes, and a loaded sidearm tucked beneath her silk gown.
“You must be new,” she said, clinking her glass to his. “You move like trouble.”
“I move like I know what I want,” Salty replied.
Sofia smirked. “That’ll get you in bed or in jail.”
“I’ll take both.”
Second came Aiyana Cruz, a Brazilian tech mogul with a scandalous reputation and a golden mask shaped like a jaguar. Her fingers danced across Salty’s chest.
“You’re Salty, right?” she purred. “I’ve heard of your... stamina.”
Salty raised an eyebrow. “You doing background checks, or just checking me out?”
She whispered, “Both.”
Third? None other than Cherry, in a blazing red gown and feathered mask. “Having fun, lover boy?” she teased. “You’ve collected more numbers than intel.”
“Research,” he replied smoothly. “Science demands sacrifice.”
Cherry rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her grin.
Meanwhile, Zinshed trailed Il Corvo—an elegant, androgynous figure dressed in raven feathers—into a private gallery above the dance floor. Delphine met him there, whispering: “He’s got the ledger. All the smuggling routes—drugs, weapons, human cargo.”
“Let’s steal it.”
“Or seduce it,” Delphine purred.
Back downstairs, Sofia grabbed Salty’s hand. “Time for a waltz. Try not to step on my toes—or give me a reason to arrest you.”
As they danced under the chandeliers, Aiyana watched, sipping absinthe with a sly smile. Cherry, watching both women, leaned against the wall, whispering into her earpiece, “He’s gonna start an international incident with just his hips.”
Suddenly, gunfire cracked outside—a distraction. Il Corvo tried to slip away with the ledger.
Delphine cut him off. Zinshed tackled a guard into a marble statue. Cherry disarmed another with a hairpin.
Salty, seeing Corvo run, turned to Sofia. “Dance break’s over.”
They chased Corvo across the rooftop—moonlight, feathers, bullets, and a narrow leap to a gondola.
Salty landed on the boat, tackled Corvo, and yanked the mask off—
Il Corvo was a woman. Stunning. Cold. Scarred. She grinned at him.
“Too late, officer.”
“Too handsome to be late,” Salty said, cuffing her with silk restraints from her own belt.
Final scene: Back at the safehouse, Salty poured himself a drink. Cherry sat nearby, arms folded. Sofia sat on the couch, smirking. Aiyana texted from a yacht: Dinner soon?
Zinshed walked in. “So, how many girlfriends now?”
Salty sipped. “Three too few.”
Cherry rolled her eyes. “Your libido’s gonna get us killed.”
“Not before dessert,” Salty said, heading toward the candlelit bedroom.
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