Lucia slipped the massive diamond onto her finger, offering the older woman a perfectly manicured, pitying smile. “You can show yourself out.”
For a second, the older woman just stood there, seemingly paralyzed by the crushing weight of her own embarrassment.
Then, the facade cracked. The shock melted off the woman’s face like cheap wax. Her wide, frantic eyes narrowed into predatory slits, and her trembling lips curved into a ruthless, icy grin.
“Oh, I think I’ll stay, Lucia,” the woman whispered. Her voice was suddenly smooth, deadpan, and entirely devoid of her shrill hysteria.
Lucia’s smile vanished. A cold spike of dread hit her stomach. She looked down at her left wrist. Her bespoke platinum smart-watch—the one-of-a-kind biometric key for the boutique’s subterranean vault—was gone.
The older woman casually raised her hand. The watch dangled from her nimble fingertips. The aggressive grabbing of Lucia’s arm hadn’t been a baseless accusation at all. It was a world-class sleight of hand. A flawless, weaponized misdirection.
“Security!” Lucia barked, instinctively stepping backward.
But the alarm never screamed. Instead, heavy titanium blast shutters suddenly slammed down over the pink walls and glass doors, sealing the bright store from the outside world.
Lucia spun toward the counter. The dark-haired clerk—her trusted manager of three years—wasn’t calling the police. She was calmly resting the barrel of a suppressed pistol on the glass display case, aimed directly at Lucia’s chest.
The clerk smirked, tossing a heavy canvas duffel bag across the immaculate counter.
“Like the lady said,” the clerk murmured, her polite retail voice twisting into something venomous. “Hand over the ring, Boss. And then let’s go open that vault.”