Page 30 of Filthy Little Fix
Dante stands close to me, in silence. He wants to watch. He wants to see me squirm, probably. Well, I'll squirm, but not in the way he expects. This isn't a show. This is just… work.
"What do you want?" I ask, my voice flat, devoid of any of the taunting tones I usually use with him. "The Malakovs' ghost? The missing shipments? The casino payout glitches?"
Dante's shadow looms. "All of it. And any other vulnerabilities you find. I want them closed. Permanently. You created this mess; you'll clean it up."
"I didn't create anything," I retort, starting to type. "I just exposed what was already there. Your systems are Swiss cheese." I don't look at him. I scan the directories, quickly navigating through the Volkovs' network. It's the same old thing. Predictable.
I access the main server logs. The network traffic is a chaotic mess, a hurricane of data packets. I ignore the noise and sift through the layers of encryption and firewalls that are utterly useless against my intrusions.
"The Malakovs aren't subtle. These recent attacks are too refined for them," Dante says, in a low voice. "My IT team hasn't found anything inside."
"Because it is subtle," I reply, tracing a hidden path through their compromised logistics hub. "It's embedded in your existing infrastructure. I don't need to break in when I already have the key."
I pull up the code for their East Coast shipping manifests. There it is. An elaborate script, disguised as a routine inventory check, systematically diverting high-value cargo to undetectable ghost addresses. It's elegant. It's my work, of course. I see the nested anomalies I incorporated.
Dante's gaze is heavy. He's waiting for a reaction. For a moan, a shiver, a desperate plea. He's waiting for Nyx. But how am I supposed to moan while fixing my thousandth broken system?
"It's a phased attack, diverting a percentage, not everything. Keeps it off the radar." I observe his reflection on the dark screen, his jaw clenched.
"And the casino?"
I navigate to the casino's financial records. The payout discrepancies. A hidden script that manipulates the random number generator for certain slot machines, increasing payouts. The transfer errors are a simple redirect to inactive accounts, disguised as failed transactions. More ghost work. More of my art.
"Subtle," I repeat.
I feel his presence behind me, closer now. His breath, warm and heavy, hovers over my neck. A flicker of something, a tiny spark of awareness, tries to ignite in my stomach, but I smother it.No. Not here. Not for this.
"Then fix it," Dante snarls. "Fix it all. And then find the Malakovs' main operational hub that you benefited."
I shrug, already writing a script to identify the initial injection point, a backdoor left open by the very rat Dante hunted.
"I will," I say. "Just tell me what you want me to do. I'm just the guy who does the job."
It's the worst insult I can offer him. Reducing myself, theaberrationhe was expecting, to a mere tool. He expected Nyx. He got Leo, the IT guy.
He must be relieved.
Dante says nothing. A silent rage. I keep typing, ignoring the phantom ache in my jaw, the ghost of his touch.
I need to find the quickest path to freedom from this gilded cage.
"How long?" I hear Dante suddenly. He's impatient.
I don't stop working. "Depends. Maybe a few days for the immediate threats. A week to truly fortify everything. Dependson how many other neglected backdoors you've got scattered around your network. Depends on how much coffee I'm allowed, and if the chairs in this gilded cage are comfortable enough."
Then, he doesn't speak to me. But his eyes still burn into my back. "Luca," he says. "Get out."
I don't need to look to know Luca obeys without a second thought. I hear the footsteps, the click of the door, and the subtle shift in the air. Alone. Did I piss him off?
His shadow deepens over me, blocking the dim room light. I keep typing. I keep focusing on the code.
"What the hell is your problem?" Dante, now, speaks low. Like a threat. As if hedislikedthat there was no Nyx here.
I stop typing. I turn my head and meet a furious gaze I'm not sure I fully understand. I answer with sincerity. "My problem is that your systems are outdated. And I miss my fern."
I see the muscle in his jaw jump. His eyes narrow, and a fist clenches.
A slap.
