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The man was strange. Not in a bad way. Just… unexpected.

Kyle studied him as they stood in the hotel corridor. Grey hair, slicked back neatly, not a strand out of place. His face was wrinkled—deep lines around the eyes and mouth that no amount of expensive skincare could hide. But his energy didn't match his age. He moved like someone twenty years younger, gestures quick, eyes sharp.

"Who is this guy?" Kyle wondered.

Anthony had appeared out of nowhere, laughed at Kyle's bluntness like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all year, and somehow made Kyle feel like he wasn't being interrogated.

That was the trick, wasn't it? Making someone feel comfortable while you picked them apart.

Kyle respected it.

"You're American," Anthony said. Not a question.

"Yeah." Kyle responded.

"First time in London?" Anthony asked but his voice waa filled with interest.

"First time out of the country, actually." Kyle decided to let down his guard for a second.

Anthony's eyebrows rose. "And you're staying here?" He glanced around the corridor—the chandeliers, the marble floors, the royal crest above the elevator. "Quite the introduction." Anthony said with a smirk.

Kyle didn't answer. Let the silence do the work and hopefully, the man would go away.

"He can afford this place. Same as me. That means he's wealthy. And if he's wealthy, he knows people. Moves in circles I don't have access to," Kyle thought to himself.

Kyle had money now. More than he ever dreamed. But money didn't buy the thing he needed most: the etiquette. The unspoken rules. The way wealthy people talked to each other, trusted each other, vouched for each other.

He could learn. But learning took time. And time wasn't something he had in unlimited supply.

Having friends like Anthony might not be a bad thing. Could help me live in their world more accurately.

"You travel alone?" Anthony asked.

"With family," Kyle responded right away.

"Ah." Anthony nodded slowly, as if that explained something.

"Good man. Never understood people who leave their people behind."

Kyle didn't correct him. Let him think Cassandra and the others were family. In a way, they were.

The conversation drifted. Anthony talked about London—where to eat, where to avoid, which cab companies wouldn't rob you blind. Kyle listened, filed it away, asked a few questions.

Then, almost casually, Anthony pulled out his phone.

"Let me give you my number. In case you need anything while you're here."

Kyle hesitated for half a second. Then pulled out his own phone.

"Why not? Worst case, I block him. Best case, I have a local contact with money and connections."

They exchanged contacts. Anthony's name appeared as "Tony" on the screen. Kyle left it as Anthony.

"Good meeting you, Kyle."

"You too."

Anthony walked off, whistling something old—maybe Sinatra, maybe not. Kyle watched him disappear around the corner.

Then he turned and walked the opposite direction.

-

"Time to work " Kyle muttered to himself.

Kyle moved through the hotel lobby, then out the main entrance. He didn't have a destination. He was observing. Committing things to memory.

The side exit near the restaurant. The service stairwell behind the concierge desk. The alley that ran parallel to the main street—wide enough for a car, narrow enough to block if someone followed.

"If the worst comes to pass, I need options."

He hadn't felt those eyes on him since leaving America. That was good. But it didn't mean he was safe.

Marcello had contacts everywhere. Viktor probably had people in every major city. London was a hub for the kind of business the mafia did. There was a very good chance someone was watching. Someone better than the ones he'd sensed before.

"Just because I don't feel them doesn't mean they're not there." Kyle muttered under his breath.

Kyle crossed the street, turned left, then left again. Circling back toward the hotel from a different angle.

He noted every camera. Every blind spot. Every door that led somewhere other than where it should.

Total recall.

The skill had saved his life more than once. He didn't forget faces, floor plans, escape routes. Everything he saw got locked away, accessible whenever he needed it.

He stopped at a corner café, ordered a coffee he didn't want, and watched the flow of foot traffic.

"If I need to run, I go left. Past the flower shop. Through the underground parking. Emerge on the next block over."

Kyle noted all of these things because it was better he knew how to escape than not should the situation call for it.

He replayed the route in his head. Adjusted for time of day. For crowds. For the possibility of being followed.

"Good." Kyle was satisfied with what he had observed.

Kyle finished the coffee in one long sip, set the cup in a trash bin, and walked back to the hotel.

The ladies would be waking up soon. Jet lag was a bitch. He needed to be there when they did.

"Anthony. Tony. Whoever you are. We'll see if you're useful."

For now, though? Kyle had a city to learn.

And a daughter to find of the most dangerous crime syndicate in the world.

But he also realized he couldn't return empty handed, the hotel was a five-star hotel and should have all kind of food.

But Kyle knew there was a chance the ladies would want to taste something made by the everyday people.

He heard a lot about England but the youths here really did wear mask as an accessory, it was a unique sense of style but it made Kyle feel uneasy due to the fact that people tend to cover their faces before committing atrocious acts.

However, Kyle wasn't scared and noticed there was a shop open nearby.

It was called the Black Rooster Angel.

A strange name but it was catchy in a sense, and Kyle couldn't deny it had a pull.

It was calling him in amd he decided to give it a go.

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