A Temporary Farewell, Dom's Commission Begins
When he heard the familiar, throaty rumble of a heavy V8 car engine starting up outside the window, Arthur who had been perfectly, seamlessly pretending to be asleep, finally opened his dark eyes.
She's gone? Arthur thought, listening as the tires crunched over the dry gravel of the driveway.
She completely left without saying a single goodbye, again!
He sat up smoothly, the cool morning air washing over his bare chest, walked silently to the window, and parted the cheap blinds just enough to watch his matte-black Ford Mustang rapidly disappear down the winding dirt road.
Arthur knew perfectly well that the beautiful woman who had suddenly been so incredibly, aggressively forward last night ,and who had ultimately, passionately achieved the absolute peak of uninhibited intimacy with him ,had just driven off into the sunrise.
Probably, exactly after waking up in the harsh light of day, her highly educated, conservative mind completely couldn't quite accept exactly how wild, proactive, and intensely desperate she had been in the dark.
So the proud Stella Bridger simply chose to run.
Do you really think you can permanently run from me? Arthur mused, a low chuckle escaping his lips.
He casually glanced down at his broad, muscular chest and shoulders, noting the faint, red claw marks her long nails had violently left on his skin during the absolute height of their nocturnal madness.
The corner of Arthur's mouth couldn't help but curve upward into a highly satisfied, predatory smile.
Never in his absolute wildest tactical dreams had he ever logically imagined that, right after coming back to the isolated farm with the undeniable, photographic news that he had violently executed Steve,
And exactly after taking a scalding shower to wash the grime off and heading exhausted to bed,
Stella ,who had finished washing up a full half-hour earlier and retreated to her own space ,would suddenly, aggressively knock on his locked bedroom door in the dead, quiet of the night.
He already knew perfectly well that the sprawling farm had originally been John Bridger's cherished property.
After the legendary lock-picker died and Stella had meticulously paid a massive, hefty inheritance tax, the quiet land legally passed to her.
This secluded place was her absolute safest haven, her other home away from the chaotic city.
Yet when Stella, dressed absolutely only in barely-there, sheer lace pajamas, knocked firmly on his bedroom door late at night and boldly, aggressively asked to come inside,
Exactly what happened next was completely, undeniably obvious.
Lightning struck, fire violently blazed ,it had been an entire, exhausting night of absolute, unbridled madness.
Recalling the intense, action-packed scenes that had lasted relentlessly until the small, early hours of the morning, Arthur shook his head.
He had logically thought winning over the fiercely independent, beautiful lock-picking expert would be incredibly tricky and require massive, calculated effort over a long period.
It turned out it was far, far easier than he had ever tactically expected.
He had expended vastly less emotional effort than when he had organically won over Mia Toretto.
But his highly intelligent mind knew that this sudden passion only underscored exactly how deeply, profoundly Stella had loved her murdered father.
So, exactly as long as I managed to violently kill Steve and perfectly avenge her beloved father's death, Arthur reasoned, stretching his sore muscles.
I could instantly, flawlessly win this gorgeous blonde's absolute affection and deep gratitude.
He vividly remembered that in the original, cinematic plot of The Italian Job, the absolute real, underlying culprit behind John Bridger's tragic death had undeniably been Charlie Croker.
If the arrogant Charlie absolutely hadn't desperately begged his old friend and mentor for one last, massive heist after John had already firmly decided to retire for good,
John Bridger absolutely wouldn't have been on that freezing mountain, and he wouldn't have died violently at Steve's treacherous hands.
At the absolute start of The Italian Job, Stella clearly, intensely couldn't stand Charlie Croker. She blamed him completely.
But in the bitter end, exactly after Charlie successfully helped aggressively avenge her father ,by flawlessly setting Steve up and letting the ruthless mob boss, whose brother Steve had violently killed, drag Steve away to a brutal death ,Stella's heart had softened.
Even if she didn't personally, physically witness Steve's bloody execution, the massive debt of vengeance had been paid, and Stella still ultimately ended up romantically involved with Charlie.
It clearly showed exactly how much she cared about her father's brutal murder above all else.
She drove off in my dark Ford Mustang, Arthur thought, turning away from the window. Exactly what does that subtle action mean?
Is she silently, implicitly telling me that I need to aggressively come back to the city to get the heavy car ,and her ,myself?
For the immediate moment, Arthur completely couldn't figure out exactly what complex emotions were running through her highly intelligent mind. But her sudden departure absolutely wouldn't stop him from strictly following his own meticulous plans and tactical pace.
Still, for the next few quiet days, he absolutely wouldn't aggressively go looking for her in Los Angeles.
The reason was incredibly simple and time-sensitive: he absolutely had to physically move Dom's massive, hijacked cargo across the country quickly. If he delayed any longer, he deeply feared the towering racer might aggressively run into massive, federal trouble.
After a freezing cold shower to fully wake his senses and a quick change into fresh, dark tactical clothes, Arthur enjoyed a hearty, massive breakfast alone in the quiet farmhouse kitchen.
He meticulously locked the desolate place up, leaving absolutely no trace of their extended stay, and wheeled out his ever-changing, heavily modified vintage motorcycle from the dusty barn.
He mounted the heavy leather seat, kicked the starter, and sped aggressively away from Stella's quiet farm, the engine roaring down the highway.
Two hours of high-speed riding later, he arrived flawlessly at the massive, sprawling port of Los Angeles.
The air was thick with the suffocating smell of salt brine, industrial diesel, and rusting metal.
Following Dom's highly precise, earlier instructions, Arthur navigated the chaotic maze of towering steel and soon located the exact shipping container hiding several million US dollars in dirty, highly illegal money.
After meticulously checking the immediate perimeter for hidden watchers, federal agents, or active security cameras, he slipped smoothly into the dark shadows directly up to the heavy container doors. He pulled a few thin, rigid metal wires directly from his invisible private space.
Utilizing his newly mastered, terrifying Level5 [Lockpicking] skill, he didn't even need to look at the mechanism. Within mere, fleeting moments, he had the massive, industrial padlock popped open with a sharp click.
He quickly, quietly raised the heavy steel door and slipped inside to meticulously inspect the contents hidden within the darkness.
Arthur ripped open a few tightly sealed cardboard boxes and flawlessly confirmed they were packed to the brim with pricey, recently-released, high-end consumer electronic devices.
That completely settled it: this massive, hidden container was undeniably the very haul Dom and his tight-knit company had violently stolen on the asphalt highways.
Arthur securely relocked the heavy container doors from the outside, stepped back, and with a swift, calculated wave of his hand, quickly stowed the entire, multi-ton metal box directly into his invisible private space.
During the ten-odd, grueling days completely isolated at Stella's farm,
Although Arthur had aggressively devoted the absolute vast majority of his time to meticulously learning and digesting the complex [Lockpicking] skill,
He had absolutely still found highly creative uses for practicing several of his other abilities during his limited downtime.
Thanks directly to that relentless, superhuman work ethic, many of his secondary abilities had organically risen by one or even two full proficiency levels.
As a direct, miraculous result of these system upgrades, the absolute cubic volume and sheer size of his invisible private space had aggressively increased once again.
Furthermore, ever since the massive, bulky Ford Mustang had been suddenly driven off by Stella that morning,
Arthur's current, available private space was now vastly, incredibly large enough to easily, flawlessly swallow the massive, industrial shipping container without running out of room.
With the highly valuable cargo completely secured out of thin air, he left the bustling docks at once, melting seamlessly back into the Los Angeles traffic.
After cruising aimlessly around the dense downtown area for a while, making completely sure he hadn't picked up a single federal tail,
He finally headed straight to the Los Angeles International Airport and legally bought a standard commercial ticket to Boston.
Dom's highly classified delivery point for the stolen electronics was securely located all the way across the country in Boston.
A few tedious hours later, Arthur smoothly cleared the invasive airport security ,having absolutely nothing illegal or metallic on his physical person ,and boarded the cramped, Boston-bound flight.
Only exactly when the heavy commercial plane was actively taxiing down the runway and about to take off ,and his highly enhanced senses had still absolutely not noticed anyone suspicious tailing him in the cabin ,
Did he quickly pull out a secure burner phone and rapidly type out a highly encrypted message to the specific email address Dom had specially given him.
"About to land, absolutely all good."
"Will securely contact you once the massive package is safely signed for by the clients."
After flawlessly confirming the digital message had successfully gone through the network, he smoothly slipped the burner phone directly into his invisible private space to avoid any signal tracking.
Then he leaned back against the uncomfortable seat, closed his dark eyes, and rested his mind for the long journey.
At the exact same moment, far below on the West Coast, inside a familiar, sprawling private house in Los Angeles.
Dom stared completely blankly at the glowing television screen, the heavy plastic remote clutched loosely in one massive hand, absentmindedly flicking through the loud channels.
Absolutely anyone with a pair of working eyes could easily see his highly stressed mind wasn't on the broadcasted programs in the slightest.
But that profound, suffocating distraction was entirely understandable ,not long ago, he and his core crew had been violently arrested in a massive, highly publicized joint LAPD - FBI sweep.
Though they had successfully made exorbitant bail and walked free quickly, the psychological damage was done.
Ever since their tense release, however, his paranoid, experienced mind had meticulously swept the house and discovered highly sophisticated listening bugs planted deep in his home.
He had already violently crushed more than one microscopic transmitter hidden in the baseboards.
He strongly suspected there were absolutely still more advanced, pinhole cameras watching his every move from the ceiling fixtures.
And during this entire, agonizingly tense period,
He had physically sensed the heavy, constant weight of federal surveillance boring into his back everywhere he went.
The first day or two directly after getting out of the cold holding cells, the prickly feeling had been relatively faint and manageable.
But over the past four or five grueling days, the number of plainclothes watchers lurking around his quiet house ,and even aggressively staking out the perimeter around his sister Mia's small neighborhood coffee shop ,had noticeably, terrifyingly multiplied.
Meanwhile, Old Parker's dusty repair shop had been violently raided and tossed by heavily armed FBI agents.
The highly modified, nitrous-injected cars Vince and the others securely kept hidden there had all been aggressively impounded for carrying highly illegal street racing modifications.
Dom absolutely couldn't be one hundred percent sure whether the federal FBI had successfully turned up any new, concrete physical evidence during the brutal raids.
All his tactical mind knew for certain was that true, catastrophic exposure was highly likely closing in on them like a tightening noose.
It absolutely better not be one of those reckless punks letting something highly classified slip to the feds, Dom muttered silently, his jaw clenching with raw tension.
Even right now, his fierce loyalty refused to logically believe that absolutely any of his trusted brothers would ever cowardly sell him out for a plea deal.
Yet his survival instincts knew perfectly well it was absolutely time to aggressively run.
Over the past few adrenaline-fueled years, he had foolishly sunk the absolute vast majority of his massive, illicit highway earnings directly into wildly expensive car mods, neighborhood parties, and a lavish, carefree lifestyle.
He absolutely still had some emergency savings locked away ,but it was only a few measly hundred thousand US dollars.
Normally, for an ordinary citizen, that sum wouldn't be too bad at all.
But with the entire, massive weight of the FBI actively watching their every move, slipping flawlessly away completely under their highly trained noses meant operating on the high-end black market.
A set of completely flawless, biometric-beating forged passports or untraceable, private plane tickets out of the country could easily cost tens of thousands of US dollars per person.
He desperately, fiercely wanted absolutely every single brother in his crew to get completely out of the crosshairs safely.
So the massive financial sum he urgently needed was far, far larger than what he currently held.
Right now, in this suffocating federal trap, absolutely only one highly capable person could be counted on to deliver their salvation.
Yet more than ten agonizing days had completely passed since his desperate, high-stakes agreement with Arthur .
Since the exact day Arthur had confidently shown up, aggressively taken a custom, military-grade crossbow and two highly volatile fragmentation grenades, and vanished.
The young man had completely disappeared into the dark shadows without a single, microscopic trace.
Even Mia's frantic, worried attempts to securely reach him on his phone had gone completely unanswered, plunging her into deep anxiety.
It was absolutely no wonder Dom's paranoid mind was growing intensely, violently suspicious of a betrayal or a fatal failure.
Just then, breaking through his dark, spiraling thoughts, he felt a sudden, sharp buzz vibrate deeply against his thigh in his pocket.
Vibrate!
His massive frame stiffened. He immediately realized the highly secure, new burner phone ,whose encrypted number was completely known to absolutely only a handful of trusted people ,had just received an incoming email.
Dom felt a sudden, massive surge of profound joy hit his chest, but his stoic poker face stayed completely blank as he casually stood up and walked smoothly toward the private restroom to escape the hidden cameras.
The absolute moment the heavy wooden door shut securely behind him, locking him in the windowless room, he rapidly whipped out his secure phone and aggressively opened the encrypted email.
After meticulously reading and flawlessly confirming the coded contents, a faint, deeply relieved smile finally cracked across Dom's worry-stiffened, exhausted face.