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Nocturne Éternelle

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There was something psychotic about the passion with which Deb threw herself into her work. She was an artist through and through, unrepeatable, with a talent gifted by Kobe, and enough of a smartass to turn it into money. She was known for her love of exotic jewels, something not only reflected in her designs but also in her guest list.

Roz didn’t have room for emotions or passion at work tho. What she had instead was pure professionalism, cold calculation, long hours spent analyzing plans. Perfectionism that had ruined her every relationship, but here, in the criminal underground, it gave her the upper hand.

And although there wasn’t a safe in the world that wouldn’t open before her like a sesame, that goddamn ruby job in London had thrown her off balance.

And that never boded well.

One unexpected maid. Three fucking seconds too late.

Roz got it done, but she was furious. She liked clean heists, clean vodka, and clean sheets.

The party was in full swing. She shook hands here and there, without a smile, carefully remembering the names of the guests. Not that she cared. But anyone here could be a mole.

She wasn’t here to mingle or make small talk. She was here to deliver the goods. And for the money.

They met on the balcony. The metallic London air made goosebumps rise on their backs, exposed in their evening gowns.

Roz pulled out the satin pouch.

It was definitely Deb’s eyes, evaluating the contents, that were the most beautiful gems of the night.