Rio flipped up the hoodie of his jacket over his head as he stepped onto Beth's driveway, pulling it all the way forward as if it it were protective armor.

His heart hammered a little in anticipation as he easily picked the lock of her front door. He knew no one was home. Beth was at the grocery store, every Thursday afternoon like clock work. Kids were all at school where their grandmother would pick them up for the afternoon. Her husband was driving around the city for Uber Eats. So Rio wasn't nervous about being seen. In fact, that's exactly what he wanted to happen in about fifteen minutes when Beth came home. The tension was from decision to willingly step into Beth's house. There was a line that existed between boss and dealer and Rio had let that line blur so deeply and disastrously that he almost lost his life.

He didn't believe in regret, but he believed in learning from mistakes and he refused to slip up with Beth ever again. He almost lost his footing, almost didn't catch himself, the night he went to the paper store. The simple act of watching her make money put a spell on him. Money and power and attraction and success filled the room, thickened the air between them so it was all he could breathe in. It almost seduced him. Almost, but not quite. That's why he no longer did drops by himself. Having back up was how they always did business and Beth was simply business. And his business was being threatened, again, by whatever she was up to.

His eyes darted around the house as he stepped through the doorway. It looked exactly the same as he'd left it. Completely empty. A shell of its former cluttered, family-filled self. Mick gave him a funny look when he told him to get some boys and clear out her house. Todo?, Mick asked. Rio simply nodded, the firm set of his lips leaving no room for interpretation. Two hours and two moving trucks later, every single thing that existed under Beth's roof was crammed into three storage units. An extreme measure, sure, but Rio wasn't one for subtlety, especially not when it was about the consequences of stealing from him. Not when it was about Beth. He let the empty house speak for itself, along with his brief simple note.

Signs of life were scattered on the built-in shelves in the hallway. A laundry basket, a toy turtle, some books, a plastic truck discarded in the corner. A small grey utility table and two mismatched fold out chairs occupied the dining room. There was no way a family of six was eating in the room. Rio imagined Beth organizing family picnics on the floor, making the best of it with blankets and paper plates. Or maybe they were eating out. But that would get expensive quickly. Maybe that's where Beth's cut was going. Pizza and Mexican and Chinese takeout. It definitely wasn't going to refurnishing her home. It wasn't going anywhere that Rio could tell. Which was the problem he came to solve.

Rio was struck with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia as he walked into the kitchen. The counters were bare, but the room was heavy, filled with the moments that formed and defined his relationship with Beth. He ran a hand along the island counter where he'd perched himself all those months ago to wait for the Elizabeth Boland that stole his money. He could have never imagined how his world would be turned so upside down and sideways from one brief encounter. Rio checked his watch. He still had time before Beth got home so he opened a few cabinets until he found what he was looking for. A bottle of bourbon on a top shelf, out of reach from the kids. Rio smirked, remembering how Beth poured a glass that night he came over after she left her pearls as a calling card. Stopping in front of the sink, he looked out the kitchen window to the picnic table, seeing their encounters from her point of view. Pointing a gun under her chin, laughing about panties. There was hardly ever a neutral with them, just one exhausting extreme to another. He turned away, walking past the refrigerator, walking past the way she giggled about making him a sandwich. She was adorable when she giggled.

Whispers of that day followed him, haunted him, as he turned the corner into her bedroom. A sad looking air mattress replaced the bed that still existed clearly in his mind, as did everything that happened on it. The memories of the seduction, the attraction, the sex hit him like a wave. Phantom sensations stunned him momentarily motionless. Suddenly he could taste her lips, feel her tongue and the weight of her body on his, hear her breath and the rustling of the sheets twisting around their legs. In that rare moment in time, he'd wanted exactly what she wanted. He'd been honest when he told Beth it was lonely at the top. Having family and friends took on a different kind of meaning in his line of work and his lifestyle had broken his heart more than once. But he let himself feel something for Beth. He let himself imagine, ever so briefly, opening his world to her. For a moment he thought he could have it all with her. He'd been so wrong.

Rio stuffed his hands in his pockets, squared his shoulders, and blinked it all away, re-focusing on why he'd come to Beth's house in the first place. There was no large TV in the bedroom, the drawers were empty. No jewelry box. She was still wearing that same sea shell necklace, no sign of any new over the top jewelry like when the money first started rolling in. No sign of money being spent anywhere.

He wandered up the stairs, faint square outlines holding empty places of the paintings that used to line the walls. A good opportunity to modernize some of the decor in the place, Rio thought. When he reached the landing and faced the kids' rooms Rio paused with a flicker of contrition. Business was business and sometimes that meant collateral damage, like taking the kids' stuff away too. They were innocent in all this, but he had to hit Beth hard and show no mercy. He fished four small slime eggs from his pockets and left two in each of the rooms. Marcus was obsessed with making slime, finding the right ratio of Tide to glue so it didn't stick on his fingers. Hopefully the Boland kids would have a little bit of fun with it.

Rio glanced at the spare room at the end of the hallway that had been filled with a treadmill, exercise ball, ironing board, toy bins and all the miscellaneous stuff that quickly took over a house. Rio liked nice things. He could afford them. But he had very few prized possessions, and prioritized quality over quantity. Partly out of preference for order and organization. Partly out of necessity, ready to pack up and go on a moment's notice. The only things he'd make sure to carry with him, rather than lock up in storage or leave behind, fit in one box. A handful of framed photos of his family, a few handmade gifts from Marcus and heirloom jewelry passed down from his great grandfather.

Maybe Beth would thank him from his grand gesture. Being forced to build something back up from nothing was not easy. But usually, things came back stronger and better than ever. Rio knew about that. He almost died because of Beth and had never been more determined to reclaim his power, to rebuild his defenses against Beth.

Rio bounced down the steps when he heard Beth's van pull into the driveway, his body tingling with anticipation in the way it always did around Beth. He leaned against the corner of her living room, out of sight. Surprise was critical. When someone was not expecting him there was no time to think or prepare a lie. Rio trained himself to observe a person's body language in that split second moment of awareness that he was there. It was in that reaction that honesty and truth jumped out.

But Rio was the one who was surprised when Beth danced through the door. Whatever song she was listening to on her earbuds had her smiling and bouncing and flipping her hair. When she twirled past him, oblivious to anything around her, he leaned against the doorway and let himself watch her for a moment. She looked so happy and carefree, expressions he'd never seen on her before. He reminded himself that looks were deceiving. In fact, in his experience, there was a strong inverse relationship between the pleasant outward appearance of someone and how dangerous they were. Like poison frogs or puffer fish. He waited until Beth popped open up a bottle of champagne and took a sip from a plastic flute before he spoke.

"What are we celebrating?"

There it was. The frozen moment of surprise, the slump of her shoulders, the slow way she turned around. The high pitch of her voice when she responded, her nervous laughter.

"Nothing."

And it was exactly then that Rio knew the exact opposite was true.