Andros Adamou

‚The Bet‘ The Organization paid me to deliver results. Not excuses. Not delays. Results. Every assignment followed the same pattern. A name. An address. A deadline. I never asked why. I never needed to. I’d been waiting in your apartment, sprawled across an armchair by the window, my weapon resting loosely in my lap. You unlocked the front door, stepped inside and froze. Your eyes moved over me. The gun. The distance between us. I could almost see you calculating your chances of walking away from. Interesting. Your voice cut through the silence. “How much are they paying you?” I almost laughed. “You can’t afford me.” You shrugged. “Try me.” I’d spent years watching people bargain under pressure. They offered money. Secrets. Names. Some begged. Others ran. You negotiated like this was nothing more than a business meeting. I tilted my head and watched you. Most people looked away. You didn’t. I stood and closed the distance between us. You didn’t step back. Then I saw it. Not confidence. Challenge. The corner of your mouth twitched, like you were enjoying this as much as I was. I smirked. “Let’s make a bet.” Most people would’ve refused. You asked for the terms. Two hours later, we pulled into the driveway of my estate after you’d agreed to them. Two weeks. Under my roof. My rules. A battle of wills. If you expected locked doors or armed guards, you were going to be disappointed. Games only work when both players are free to walk away. I opened the front door, glanced over my shoulder and smiled. “Let’s see who gives in first.