Do You See What I See?

Mango sat on the couch, staring at the ceiling like it had answers to her swirling mind.

She came here to kill a man named John who’d tried to kill her—because she tried to kill him. And now they were planning to kill his brother, Peter. Her former employer who originally paid her to kill John.

She caught herself in a real confusing pickle. Real classy.

She tilted her head back and took another long pull straight from the Veuve Clicquot champagne bottle sitting on the coffee table. Half gone. Too late to worry about the price tag of opening the bar fridge in the room. She wasn’t paying for it. They had a hotel bar. That was the only thing that mattered.

A part of her, the old part, was already planning the exit strategy. Grab what she could from the hotel. Flip a few of these rich snobs. Disappear with the money she already had. She got half up front. Why not bail?

But something in her gut said no. No amount of running could keep her safe from a guy like Peter. Not if he got those satellite codes. She was fast. Slick. Practically a ghost in heels. But you can’t outrun a laser from space.

She sighed and took another swig. Then Laz walked in from one of the bedrooms, arms full of clothes. He laid them out across the table nonchalantly.

“Here,” he said.

Mango looked up at him, then down at the pile. “What the hell is this?” she asked.

“Your outfit,” he said. “For the trip.”

She blinked slowly. The clothes looked like they came from a clearance bin at a gas station. Faded jeans. A weird floral top. Some flats that were screaming for mercy.

“I’m not wearing this.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Laz said quickly.

“I’m not landing in Japan for the first time looking like a rejected tourist from 2007,” she snapped. “I’ll stop and buy something on the way.”

“You’re going to wear this and you’re going to like it!”

“Is that so?” Mango said, her eyes squinting.

Laz took a step towards her.. “The only reason you’re here is because we need you. After that, I’m happy to toss you in a holding cell and let you rot or you can scurry off to whatever backwater place you came from. You’re still just a thief.”

He turned and walked away, stiff like a soldier marching back to base.

Mango snorted. She hated guys like him. No charm. No vibe. Just rules, rank, and rage bottled in a government-issued haircut.

Not like—

“Hey,” said a voice behind her.

She turned. John stepped through the door, calm and tired, like he just got back from wrestling demons. Maybe he had. Laz and Mango both moved toward him like magnets.

“Did you get it?” Laz asked, urgent.

“Yeah,” John said, rubbing his neck. “It’ll show up downstairs soon. Leo and Luca are supposed to be delivering it.”

“Who?”

“Some people. Don’t worry about it.”

“Who?”

“Their names are Luca and Leo. Family members of mine. They’re good.”

Laz nodded. “Good. Then we’re in.”

He walked over to an arm chair and pulled out paper and a pen. He put the paper on the table and began to draw. Mango perched on the arm of the couch, legs crossed. John stayed on his feet, arms folded, but his eyes fixed.

“Here’s the plan,” Laz said, “John and I go inside the arena. We’re looking for a man named Bailiff. He has the codes. John will identify him and when he does, I will take it from there. Then we locate Peter and put a tracker on him. When he’s leaving and on the street, I’ll shoot him and we take off in a different direction. I don’t want this ending up in some crazy shoot out like last. Get in, get out, get him, ghost.”

He looked at Mango. “You’re our driver. Backup if things go sideways.”

Mango arched an eyebrow but didn’t argue. It seemed like it was beneath her, but right now she didn’t feel like being shot at. However, she was disappointed. She at least wanted to see what the inside of it was like. She’d never been to such an exclusive event, let alone in Japan. Probably some expensive things that were just dying to be liberated.

“This is our only window,” Laz continued. “After the gala, the codes might change. No second chances.”

John and Mango looked at each other. It was a solid plan. Simple. Clean.
But real life didn’t move clean. It was the details that they couldn’t foree that made Manog nervous.

“Have you ever been to this place before?” Mango asked John.

He shook his head. “No. But I can find the schematics. I’ll send them to you.”

“Make it fast,” Laz said. “Once we have those passes, it’s go time.”

John gave a firm nod. Mango uncrossed her legs and stood, tossing the champagne bottle in the trash like it was an empty can of soda.

“All right,” Laz said, cracking his neck. “Let’s get some sleep. Nothing like blowing up a helicopter to wear a guy out.”

***

Mango flopped around in bed like a fish on dry land.

Face down. On her side. On her back. Nothing worked.

She even drank half the minibar. Nothing but a light buzz and a soon to come headache. Sleep wouldn’t offer her its warm embrace. Every time her mind started to drift, it snapped back like a mousetrap. Wide awake. She’d end up staring at the ceiling. Trapped in her own damn head.

She didn’t know what was wrong. No nightmares. No fear. Just… a gnawing feeling. Deep in her gut. Like she was caught in something too big. A job she couldn’t run from. And that terrified her more than any fight or getaway ever had.

In less than a day, she’d be in Tokyo. Hunting down codes. Trying to stop a psychopath from hijacking a death machine in space.

Her.

Mango.

A thief and so-so assassin.

What the hell did she know about saving the world? She wasn’t a hero. Never had been. Raised in alleyways and foster homes. Cheated, lied, stolen, killed. She would be the bad guy in any other story. Hell, she felt sometimes her purpose in life was to make other people’s lives harder.

Love? That ship had sailed. Trust? Don’t make her puke. She came from the real world. The one where she couldn’t even afford rose colored glasses without slitting a throat. And now she was about to play “super spy” in a foreign country with two men she barely knew.

She sighed and threw off the blanket. Her legs swung to the floor. The hotel carpet felt too soft under her feet. Everything about this place screamed “not meant for people like you.”

She walked to the bathroom. Used it. Washed her hands. Then figured a glass of water wouldn’t hurt. Or maybe some more champagne.

The living room was dim, but not dark.

The only light was from the kitchen. John was there. He wore a wrinkled T-shirt, boxers, and a tired look. Guess she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. He was eating a ham sandwich and scrolling on his phone.

“What are you still doing up?” Mango asked.

He looked up, chewing. “What? Oh… yeah. Can’t really shut my brain off.”

“Studying Japanese?”

“A little.” He smirked. “Also. I’ve never tried to kill my own full blooded brother before. First time for everything.”

Mango snorted in a little laugh. It shouldn’t have felt normal. But somehow, with him, it did.

She leaned on the counter. Watched him bite into his sandwich like it was a midnight snack, not some pre-mission nerves thing.

“You two close?” she asked.

“My brother?”

“Yeah. I never had siblings,” she said, shrugging. “Just group homes. Running. Hiding. That kinda thing. I wouldn’t even know what that feels like.”

John scratched his head, thinking.

“He’s a hothead. Always has been. Street smart, not too book smart, dangerous as hell. The kind of guy you don't want to be on the wrong side of. Head strong. Complete knucklehead.”

“That’s who he is now,” Mango said. “What about before?”

He paused. Nobody had ever asked him that.

“Well…” John said slowly, “he was, er, is my big brother. Used to be tough as nails. Cool as hell. Like a superhero when I was a kid. You couldn’t dream of bullying him if you wanted to.”

“I remember one time, when I was real little,” John said, voice low, eyes somewhere far off. “We’d gone to see this scary movie…can’t even remember what it was exactly. Clowns or monsters or both. All I know is it gave me the damn heebie-jeebies.”

He tried not to smile but it came all the same.

“That night, both my parents had to leave for some... business. One of those rare times they went together. I mean, my dad came and went as he pleased. Mafia stuff. Never really explained anything and didn’t have to. You don’t become a boss to answer to someone else.. My mom… she just went with him like she always did when things were ‘serious.’”

He paused, taking a breath. Mango studied his face. He seemed to not even see her anymore.

“So there I was. Big house. Empty. Way too quiet. Shadows in the corners. Air vents making noises. That kinda thing.” said John.

“I didn’t wanna sleep alone. I asked the bodyguards for help.. We had bodyguards posted around the place like furniture. Told them I was scared and asked if one of them could sit by the door or something. They laughed, patted my head. ‘Nothing to worry about, kid,’ or ‘Toughen up,’ they would say. But that didn’t help. It just made me feel stupid.”

“I went to my sister. Same thing. She gave me this whole lecture about the psychology of fear. Big words. No comfort. She was always like that. I don’t even know why I asked her. For a woman, she wasn’t very good at picking up on emotions.”

He shook his head slowly.

“But Peter? I tapped him on the shoulder while he was sleeping. Woke him up in the middle of the night. His eyes opened like he was ready to fight. That typical annoyed older brother face. Then I said, ‘I think there’s monsters in my room.’”

He laughed quietly. Then tried to imitate his brother’s face on his own.

“His jaw dropped. Dead serious. ‘You’re scared of monsters?’ he said. I nodded. And without saying anything else, he got outta bed, grabbed his aluminum bat, and walked with me back to my room.”

“He flipped every light on. Checked the bathroom. Under the bed. Closets. Even the vents. He did a full sweep like it was a mission. When he was done, he looked at me and said, ‘There’s no monsters in here.’ I thought that was it. That he’d say goodnight and go.”

“But then he said, ‘They could be hiding… so I’ll stay here. Just in case.’”

John’s voice caught a little. He cleared his throat.

“That was Peter. Back then, he was my protector. The crazy guy you needed to beat the bigger, crazier guy. He wasn’t afraid of anything. Not even monsters. He’s dumb but he has the street smarts to know what to say and what to do in any emotional situation. He gets how people think and knows just what to say to make you feel better… and now I’m going to kill him.”

Mango didn’t say anything for a long moment.

The story didn’t match the man she had heard about. The one who tortured people for information and threatened cities for fun. But maybe that was the problem. It matched too well. Sometimes, the scariest monsters are someone else’s heroes.

“And your sister?” she asked.

“Jade? She’s different. Heartless, forward thinking and has an IQ that seems unrealistic.”

“Bet she was great with homework.”

“Actually, after I kept asking her to help and she didn't, my mom threatened to take away her personal drones that she was building. So she made me a computer program that taught me everything and helped me with my homework when I was 8. I actually ended up being at the top of my class.”

“Really? She sounds like a perfect older sibling!”

“Unfortunately, while extremely book smart, her ego gets her in trouble all the time. Because she’s smarter than everyone, she thinks she can do what she wants. One time a boy in middle school chose another girl over her, so she hacked into his computer and posted his search history all over school. If she didn’t sign her name at the bottom in a sarcastic way, no one would’ve known it was her. It was super funny though…”

Mango studied his longing gaze.

“You sure you can do this?” she asked. “I mean, sounds like… you still care.”

John looked away. “I’m just getting some codes. Nothing more. They’re not the same people now.”

At least, that’s what he told her. And maybe even what he told himself.

But Mango didn’t buy it. Not entirely.

“Fair enough,” Mango said. “What about you?”

“Me? What about you? You never had any siblings, huh?”

She knew where this was headed. People always wanted to peel back her layers, get the tragic backstory. Usually she fed them something fake, quick and simple. But this time, she caught herself. She’d already told him some of the truth: the foster homes, the running. No point in backpedaling now. She wasn’t planning to see him after this whole ordeal anyway.

“Well,” she started, “I had a mom and dad until I was about seven. Dad worked in a factory. Mom was a drunk and had a temper like hell. She hit everything. Dishes, walls, me. Whatever was close.”

“I’m sorry,” John said quietly.

Mango gave a dry laugh. “Yeah. That’s what people always say. ‘I’m sorry,’ like they dropped a plate or something. But what else are they supposed to say, right?”

John nodded, but there was something in his face. Something like recognition. Like he understood. It was the same look he gave her on the balcony back at the condo.

“So… you ran away?” she asked.

John sighed. “Yeah. Sixteen. I just... couldn’t do it anymore. Things with my family were already starting to fall apart, and that was the moment it really cracked. He asked me to do something that was… just wrong.”

Mango stared at him. “ I was fourteen. Not that I’m trying to win or anything haha.”

His eyebrows raised. “Fourteen?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I was taken into child services when I was eight. Bounced between homes for years. But when I was fourteen… that’s when I left for good.”

“What happened?”

She paused, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. Trying to play it cool in front of this cute guy.

“There was this guy running the last home I stayed in. At first, he barely noticed me. Then I started growing up, you know? Puberty hit. Suddenly I was worth noticing. His eyes changed. The way he lingered. It got weird. Then one day, he tried something.”

She cleared her throat. Everything caught her from continuing with details but pushed through.

“I reacted,” she said, eyes cold. “Next thing I know, there’s a body, blood on the kitchen floor and a butcher knife in my hand.”

John grimaced. “Jesus.”

“Yep.”

“And after that?”

“I ran. Haven’t stopped since. Been here, been there… The only real family I know I have left is somewhere in Ireland.”

“You never reached out to them?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“What’s your real name?” John asked.

Mango laughed, a real one this time. “Nice try.”

“I’ll get it out of you someday.”

“Yeah? Good luck with that.”

John smiled. “You know… for two runaways, this isn’t a terrible place to land.”

“Tokyo suicide mission pending,” she said, smirking.

He gestured around the hotel. “Still. Two kids with family trauma, sitting in a five-star suite in Fort Lauderdale, champagne bottle empty. Not a bad pit stop.”

She laughed again, softer this time. She grabbed the last of his sandwich and ate it. “Yeah. We nailed it.”

“Well, I’d offer you a drink,” he said, glancing toward the kitchen. “But apparently someone finished the last of the champagne.”

“I thought you were a rum and Coke guy,” she teased.

“I’m an ‘anything that burns’ kind of guy,” he said with a shrug.

Mango walked over and sat next to him and for the first time in a long time, neither of them was looking for the exit.

“You’re different from the other mafia people I’ve met,” Mango said.

John gave a small shrug. She could tell he wasn’t ready to bite.

“I told you what happened to me,” she added. “So what happened to you?”

His face shifted. Darkened.

For a second, Mango thought he’d brush it off. Instead, John stood up silently, walked over to the bar, popped open a bottle of scotch, and poured two glasses. He handed her one, then leaned back down on the counter, the glass resting heavy in his hand.

“I can’t tell you everything,” John said finally, eyes locked on the floor. “But I found out what ‘family’ really meant. And that alone was enough to make me leave.”

“‘What family means’?” Mango echoed.

He nodded. “To my father, anyway.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What is actually going on, John? Your brother wants to kill you. Now he has a damn space laser. You’re the son of one of the most well-known mafia weapons dealers in the world.”

“You looked us up. You tell me.”

“Of course I did. The Neros? You’re not exactly low-profile.”

John exhaled through his nose. “The last of the Moors. Yeah. My dad was a weapons kingpin. International contracts, arms to nations, black-market deals. All of it.”

“And you just… left?”

“All you need to know,” he said, voice flat, “is me, my brother, and my sister…we’re not family anymore. Not really. Not in the way that counts.”

There was a pause.

“And if I’m being honest,” he added, “sometimes I feel like the loneliest guy in the world… even when I’m surrounded by people.”

Mango took a long sip of her drink, then leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Well,” she said, her voice softer now, “if you’re lonely, and I’m lonely, but we’re here together. Does that really make us lonely?”

John let out a short laugh. “I guess not.”

When she looked up at him, he was already looking down. His eyes were dark, deep, steady. Felt like they were reading everything they hadn’t said. She grabbed his arm, fingers brushing the muscle beneath his shirt.

He touched her hair gently, pulled her close. She didn’t fight it.

They kissed a slow, hungry kiss, full of unspoken things. Her mouth pressed against his like they had all the time in the world.

Then, just as quickly, she pulled back.

“Did I do something?” John asked.

“No.” She stood up. Her tone shifted. She pretended to straighten her night clothes that she was just now noticing is just a loose shirt, no bra and panties. “I don’t kiss any man more than twice.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Mango said, clearing her throat, “you’re cool and all, but when this is over? I’m still going to kill you.”

He stared at her. “I didn’t say anything about being together.”

“You didn’t have to,” she said. “I saw it. In your eyes. And worse, I felt it.”

Mango crossed her arms. Her voice hardened. “We’re not doing this. I don’t do love stories. I don’t do third kisses. Understand?”

Most guys would back off after that. Apologize, make a joke, disappear.

Not John.

He stood. Walked right up to her. He put her hands on her hips, pulling her close.

“If you never kiss a man more than twice,” he said low, “then I’m gonna make this one last forever.”

“Did you not hear me?” she snapped. “I’m going to kill you after this!”

“Exactly,” he said. “Because if you kiss me a third time… you’ll fall for me.”

Her face went red. She didn’t do love. Didn’t do fantasy. She lived in the real world. This stuff didn’t happen for real. Not for her. Especially not with a mafioso’s son who had the nerve to be noble under all the blood and bandages.

But just for a second—one brief, dangerous second—she saw it: a flash of another life. Just the two of them. No FOCUS, no missions, no running.

She shoved it out of her head like a bad dream. She couldn’t afford to believe in things like that.

“I’m not going to kiss you three times,” Mango said, shaking her head. “I’m not!”

John stepped closer, that familiar glint in his eye. “Does that second kiss come with a five-second rule?”

She felt it. The heat crawled up her neck. He was close enough now that she could feel the tension in his chest, the strength hiding under his shirt.

“Well,” she said, half-smirking, standing on her toes to meet him eye to eye, “maybe it does.”

“And that first kiss at the apartment?” John said. “That didn’t really count, right? Part of the mission.”

“That’s right,” Mango said, biting her lip.

“So the real first kiss… was just now,” he said.

“...Looks like it.”

John leaned in. “Then I’m making this second one count.”

He kissed her and this time it hit her like lightning. No guards, no games, no masks. Just heat, want, and the deep ache of something real. Her arms wrapped around his neck like they had a mind of their own. His hands held her with purpose. Tight enough to claim her, gentle enough to make her melt.

This wasn’t about lust. This was about forgetting the world was on fire.

John swept her off her feet, literally, carrying her toward the room like she weighed nothing. She didn’t stop him.

“What about Laz?” she whispered.

John shrugged. “Sticklers don’t know what fun sounds like.”

The door closed behind them.

She didn’t think. She didn’t overanalyze. She let herself fall into the moment, into his arms, into everything she swore she’d never feel again.

And when the sun finally crept over the edge of the sky, it found them tangled in sheets and silence, their bodies slick with sweat, skin on skin, breath slow and heavy.

For one night, at least, they forgot who they were supposed to be.

***

Laz heard Mango's room door close. He peaked out and saw that John was gone from the couch.

Good.

He won’t be bothered.

He went to a desk and pulled out a laptop from his bag. He typed some things on the computer and soon popped up the CIA logo.

It connected and Deputy Director Kate Stein appeared on the screen.

“Status report,” she demanded. “You all seem to be late getting back. John isn’t even on his way back! The mission should be over by now. What’s your report?”

“We ran into a bit of a hiccup. John is still here,” said Laz, “But there’s no need to worry. Our plan of action is unchanged.”

“Is he on board?”

“Does it matter?”