Alice was flipping through a science magazine during a break on set.
"It says here Zeus kidnapped Ganymede from Mount Ida in Phrygia by sending an eagle to snatch him up while he was herding livestock. Then Zeus gave Tros two horses as compensation. In Olympus, Ganymede became immortal and took the prestigious role of cupbearer to the gods, replacing Hebe. Zeus even placed Ganymede in the sky as the constellation Aquarius," she read aloud.
"Zeus is a fuckman," Alice scoffed with amusement. "Turns out he didn't just sleep with women—he went for men too." She used the word man with a mocking tone, given that Zeus was ancient by now.
"What are you reading?" Joey asked as he sat beside her, a steaming cup of tea in his hands.
Alice showed him the last page of the magazine. Joey glanced at it briefly, not really interested in what it said. Still, he listened as Alice continued.
"I just read the story behind my zodiac sign, Aquarius," she said, turning to look at Joey sipping his tea. "Speaking of which, Joey, what's your sign?"
Joey shrugged. "I don't know."
"When's your birthday?"
"November 1st."
"You're a Scorpio," she informed him. Joey nodded and pulled his jacket tighter against the cold.
"It says here Scorpios are hard workers. That fits." Alice smiled.
She went on, "Mysterious."
Joey took another sip from his cup.
"Great at keeping secrets." She studied him with curious eyes. "Tell me, do you have a big secret?"
Joey shrugged again. "Not really."
A crew member passed by them, glancing briefly, while the two continued their casual back-and-forth.
"Really?" Alice didn't buy it.
"What would I even be hiding?" Joey replied, feeling like he'd always lived transparently.
Alice shrugged now. "Maybe a secret lover? Or a double life?" she teased.
Joey went quiet. Why is she so accurate? he wondered. Or was it just a lucky guess? He never really thought of his past with Dom or the way he straddled two worlds—his past and his present—as a "double life."
Just then, another man approached. "What are you reading?" he asked Alice. She handed him the magazine.
"Astrological articles?" Adam raised a brow. "Seriously? It's all made-up fluff, you know?" He dropped himself into the seat beside her.
"But some of it's accurate," she defended.
"Just some. Okay, let's test it."
"Joey, you're a Scorpio, right? It says here someone's going to come into your life."
Both Adam and Alice turned to look at Joey.
"Throughout your career, plenty of people have said you always turn down groupie girls who want to sleep with you," Adam added.
Joey didn't deny it. "That's true."
Alice was surprised. "Wait… are you gay?"
Joey gave them a look—the kind people wear when they're trying to find the right words. Alice realized she had gone too far. "Sorry… I guess I got too curious."
Joey gave a faint smile. "It's okay. I think everyone starts asking questions when they feel close."
Alice agreed. Since the first day on set, she and Joey had become fast friends, despite it being their first time working together.
"What about bisexual?" Adam chimed in.
Joey shook his head.
"No," he said, then looked around. He motioned for both of them to lean in. "That's the secret."
Alice and Adam both let out a dramatic groan of disappointment. A moment later, Adam's attention shifted to the magazine cover. He picked it up and read aloud:
"The construction of the port on Bedloe's Island, which had been delayed due to funding issues—especially after the embezzlement case involving former Mayor Will Scots—will reportedly resume this week. City Hall sources claim the project now has backing from private investors, including Domenico Cassano, a well-known figure and founder of Prima Neve Miracles, New York's most prestigious nightlife empire. Cassano's involvement, known in high society and business circles across Manhattan, is seen as a 'breath of fresh air' for the project. However, questions remain about the transparency of the investment process and connections to unresolved legal cases..."
"I didn't expect a nightlife mogul like Domenico Cassano to invest in a port project," Adam muttered, arms crossed, eyes on the magazine. "Wouldn't it be way more profitable to just open another casino or expand his club chain?"
Alice snorted softly. "If you had that much money and could invest in anything, why limit yourself to nightclubs?" she challenged, part cynical, part curious.
She looked at a photo—an elegant candid of several men taken by a street photographer. One man stood out: a sharply dressed gentleman stepping into a luxury car.
"Ah... Mr. Cassano..." she whispered dreamily.
"Handsome, sexy, and filthy rich. The ideal sugar daddy. What woman wouldn't want to be in his arms? Even men could get lost in that kind of allure."
"Pffttt, ahahaha!"
Laughter burst out of Joey, raw and uncontrollable. Instantly, heads turned across the set—several crew members even looked over.
"Sorry," he managed through his fading laughter, wiping the corner of his eye. "You really don't know what he's like, do you?"
"You've met him?" Adam asked, frowning in curiosity.
"Joey was invited as a guest star at one of his casinos in Las Vegas," Alice jumped in before Joey could reply.
She turned to him. "So, how is he?"
Joey remembered that night in Vegas—how the man pulled off his own tie and whispered, "You're mine here. And everywhere else."
"Just ordinary," Joey replied, voice flat.
"Ordinary?" Adam echoed in disbelief.
"What part of that man is ordinary?" another voice cut in.
Charlie—their director—had walked up behind the camera, eyebrows raised. He glanced at Adam. "By the way, Cody's looking for you," he added. Cody was their assistant director; Adam handled visual continuity.
Adam stood up quickly but waved goodbye. "Carry on with the gossip."
Across the set, Alice walked off to find her assistant, leaving Charlie to sit beside Joey.
"You look sleep-deprived," Charlie said, eyes scanning Joey's face with a blend of concern and professionalism.
"Not really. I just have trouble sleeping at night," Joey answered softly, pulling one leg onto the chair. "I usually nap during the day if I get the chance."
"You need sleeping pills? I've got some—prescription, safe stuff."
Joey shook his head with a faint smile. "No need. Once I'm exhausted enough, I'll sleep just fine."
"You mean pass out?" Charlie raised an eyebrow.
"Obviously not," Joey replied flatly but with a touch of humor.
Charlie chuckled and patted his shoulder. "Alright then. Take care of yourself, kid."
"Thanks, Charlie."
"We're starting in a minute. Be ready!" he called as he walked away.
An Assistant Director handed Joey a pistol.
"This is a real gun," Joey said the moment he touched it.
The AD smiled. "You can tell right away, huh?"
"It's heavier than usual." He estimated the weight—around 1.145 kilograms. He glanced at the logo on the grip. Beretta. That's what it said.
"Beretta M9, with tactical light, standard U.S. Army holster. Perfect for your shootout scene. Don't worry, it's unloaded." The AD reassured him while Joey checked the magazine himself.
The Beretta's cold steel felt heavy and solid in his hand. He tucked it into the inner pocket of the dark duffel coat he had worn since blocking rehearsal that morning.
Around him, the crew was getting into position. A 35mm film camera was mounted carefully on a dolly track to follow the actor down a narrow alley. Tungsten lights were adjusted, casting moody shadows in classic '90s noir style.
Director Charlie settled into his chair, big wired headphones on, clutching a script clipboard worn with creases. He glanced at his Casio digital watch and gave the signal.
"Camera assistant—roll film."
"Sound assistant—standby. Recording."
"AD—cue the talent!"
Silence. Total focus.
Kevin ran into the dark alley, his leather shoes splashing on rain-slick pavement. Behind him, two CIA agents chased relentlessly. The alley was narrow, flanked by grimy red-brick buildings, dim yellow streetlights glowing through shuttered shop windows.
Footsteps echoed louder as the pursuit intensified.
Kevin vaulted over a pile of ripped trash bags, breathing hard, tension etched on his face. Deep down, he knew the alley likely ended in a dead end. But it was too late to turn back.
Suddenly, he stopped cold.
His hand reached into his coat pocket.
Beretta M9—drawn.
As the two agents rounded the alley corner—bam! bam!
Two gunshots rang out, echoing off brick walls. The bullets hit both men in the head before they could even reach for their weapons.
Their bodies collapsed simultaneously.
Dark red blood pooled across the frozen ground.
[]