Stella Takes the Initiative
"Are we finally, truly safe?"
Sitting at the aged wooden table in the quiet farmstead, Stella Bridger finished reading the last of the desperate letters Arthur had brought back from the city.
She absolutely didn't blame him for slipping flawlessly into her private apartment and reading the personal correspondence without her express permission.
Arthur had made his tactical intentions perfectly clear: he needed to firmly grasp the current situation over there to ensure they weren't walking into a federal or mercenary trap. Besides, he had already informed her of his plan in advance before leaving that morning.
After reading through the chaotic news of the villa's destruction, Stella asked the question curiously while Arthur was busy preparing a rich, aromatic dinner in the small kitchen nearby.
The smell of searing meat and fresh herbs filled the room, a stark contrast to the gritty letters she held.
"Mm-hmm," Arthur nodded, his back to her as he expertly tossed ingredients in a heavy pan.
Then, exactly as if he were conjuring a clever trick, he smoothly reached into the air and produced a sleek digital camera from his invisible private space.
"See for yourself."
Stella walked over, her curiosity piqued. He handed her the device, the screen already lit up. Inside was a high-resolution photo he had taken earlier that afternoon.
He had used the military-grade Sniper crossbow to lethally hit Steve from a distance of over a hundred meters, then aggressively drove closer to the scene to flawlessly confirm the kill.
The digital picture clearly showed the heavy, dark alloy quarrel piercing straight through Steve's chest. A large, dark pool of blood had already spread aggressively across the concrete sidewalk where he lay slumped against a tree.
From the precise angle of the wound and the sheer volume of blood loss, Arthur knew with terrifying, professional certainty that Steve was doomed the second he was hit.
He had snapped the single, gruesome shot as physical proof, driven off into the city traffic, circled wide to shake any potential LAPD tails, and returned securely to the farm.
Stella glanced up at Arthur, her brow furrowing in thought. Though she had frequently dealt with high-end security professionals and even knew a few professional illusionists who could hide small objects like magic, she was still quietly amazed.
How exactly did he manage to conceal a bulky digital camera of that size on his muscular body without me noticing for a single second? she wondered.
Yet her curiosity about simple sleight-of-hand tricks had long since been worn down by her best friend, the stunningly beautiful escape artist Henrietta Reeves.
Stella knew that in the hands of a professional, the eye sees only what it is meant to see. Vastly more than wondering about the hidden camera, Stella desperately wanted to know exactly what the image represented for her future.
She took the device into her trembling hands, fiddled briefly with the controls, and opened the image gallery. When the main photo appeared and she saw exactly what it showed, she sat bolt upright on the kitchen chair, her breath hitching.
"Steve?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Though he was heavily disguised with a hat and a fake mustache, she recognized the sociopath at a single, terrified glance.
This was the exact man who had murdered her legendary father in cold blood on a snowy mountain, and who had violently kidnapped, imprisoned, and psychologically tortured her for two agonizing days.
Just as Arthur finished plating the last dish and set it on the table, he felt her sharp, intense stare fixed on him. He looked up smoothly to find Stella gaping at him in a profound state of shock and utter disbelief. Reading the silent, overwhelming question in her blue eyes, he merely offered a faint, calm smile and said absolutely nothing.
Helping her remove a lethal, permanent threat like Steve was simply his way of honorably repaying her for meticulously teaching him the world-class [Lockpicking] skill.
Besides, his highly intelligent mind knew that without his sudden, physics-defying interference, the original plot of The Italian Job would have likely still ended with Stella pocketing a few million US dollars and eventually living a life of crime with Charlie Croker.
During that alternate timeline, Stella would have undoubtedly run into some significant physical danger, even if none of it was technically life-threatening.
Although Arthur had firmly decided to be selfish for once and keep the massive mountain of gold bars entirely for himself, he had never once intended to cause Stella any physical harm.
As for the act of killing another man in the street, it hardly registered as an emotional event for Arthur now.
As a transmigrator whose very existence defied the laws of nature, and given that the gritty country beneath his boots wasn't his original home, Arthur no longer held any strong, conventional notions of societal good and evil.
He simply followed his own calculating whims and personal code, as long as he didn't violate his own foundational principles.
So Arthur genuinely didn't care in the absolute least about having just executed Steve with a crossbow. Especially when the other party had been an unrepentant, murderous scumbag who deserved to die.
Arthur remained perfectly silent, letting his calm expression and steady attitude say everything for him. All at once, Stella's mind flashed back to their conversation earlier that morning.
The rugged, handsome young man had given her his absolute, unwavering word before leaving the safety of the farm. In that single, overwhelming instant, Stella felt a profound, liquid warmth surge through her entire body.
It was the intoxicating feeling of absolute warmth and total security that comes from being protected by a capable man ,a primal feeling she hadn't experienced a single time since her beloved father's violent death.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with genuine emotion.
She set the digital camera aside on the table, resisting the sudden, intrusive urge to peek deeper into the storage for more photos of Arthur's secret life and dark past.
Arthur smiled warmly, ignoring her curiosity, and quickly carried the rest of the prepared food to the dining table.
"Tomorrow morning, you can finally leave here, Stella," Arthur stated smoothly, as if discussing the weather.
"With Steve gone, the streets are significantly safer. Charlie and the others should contact you again very soon."
"But I hope you won't mention a single thing about my name, my age, my exact height, or my race to them," Arthur added, his tone dropping into a low, commanding rumble.
"Everything else, you can freely tell them," Arthur clarified, his dark eyes locking onto hers with intense seriousness.
"Tell them I am male, that I flawlessly stole Steve's safes, and that I rescued you ,none of that tactical data matters to me now."
Although Charlie's elite crew possessed truly astonishing thieving skills and vast underworld connections, the heavy Worthington safes had already been securely stashed by Arthur into his physics-defying private space.
Even after he eventually bought a massive luxury villa or a secluded manor in the future, he would still ruthlessly keep every important item, including his staggering financial assets, tucked safely away inside his invisible private space.
Therefore, Arthur genuinely didn't care if Charlie's lot eventually came looking for him to reclaim their "rightful" share of the gold. In the past weeks, he had taken incredibly thorough, paranoid precautions, knowing perfectly well that a top-tier hacker like Lyle existed in their team.
In nearly every single operation he undertook, Arthur meticulously changed his bike's physical appearance and custom paint job. He used a rotating set of untraceable fake plates and completely, flawlessly disguised his face and skin tone.
So, exactly as long as Stella didn't give the analytical Charlie his specific name, race, and approximate age, Charlie's crew would have a far harder time finding Arthur than they had searching for the coward Steve over the past year.
This was especially true since Arthur was about to aggressively help Dom Toretto move that massive batch of hijacked electronic cargo. Once the six-hundred-thousand-dollar payoff was securely in his hand, he figured he wouldn't need to touch the gold bars taken from Steve for a very long while.
Even if Charlie and his company somehow miraculously tracked him down a year or so later, by then his superhuman physique and the various lethal skills he had mastered should have turned him into a genuine, terrifyingly powerful minor superhuman.
At that high-level point, if Charlie's lot still wanted to seek violent revenge on Arthur, the final outcome absolutely wouldn't be up to them to decide.
Of course, Arthur wasn't afraid of Charlie's crew in a direct fight.
Primarily, he just didn't want to be actively targeted by a gang of international thieves right now while he still had so many impossible secrets on him ,it could bring nothing but extra, unnecessary tactical trouble. Arthur didn't want to make his new life difficult for himself, hence the firm request for secrecy.
Stella agreed to his terms almost without thinking for a single second. "All right, I promise. I won't tell them a word about you."
Although Arthur had originally sought her out strictly to learn the [Lockpicking] skill through an apprenticeship, after spending the past dozen quiet days living together, she didn't dislike this straightforward, rugged young man in the slightest.
Besides, Arthur had bravely saved her when she was most helpless, and ,vastly more important than that ,he had personally helped her finally avenge her father's murder.
It allowed the well-educated, high-society Stella, who morally couldn't bring herself to pull a trigger and kill the villain who had murdered her father, to feel both a profound, righteous satisfaction and a deep, soul-level gratitude toward him.
Not to strategically mention ,Arthur was undeniably, incredibly handsome. Even by the strict Western standards of Los Angeles, that rugged face counted as striking and physically attractive.
Though he was technically a bit younger than her, his behavior was consistently very mature, calm, and protective.
And she had personally confirmed on the motorcycle and at the cliff that his physical fitness and raw strength far surpassed any ordinary adult man she had ever met.
When talking with him during those long farm evenings, Stella frequently forgot he was a boy more than eight years her junior. It always felt to her as if she were conversing with a captivating, fully grown man ,a man who was strong and unyielding when he should be, yet surprisingly gentle when needed.
So, realizing with a sudden pang that they would highly likely part ways permanently tomorrow morning, Stella felt a sudden, heavy reluctance to let go. Looking at that young, handsome face across the table, something else began stirring in her chest, a restless energy ready to burst out.
Stella suddenly thought that maybe, just this once, she should take the initiative herself before he vanished into the shadows of the city.