You had barely managed to escape the police with a bag of money in your arms, taking a quick turn to the alleyway—where a certain figure was leaning against the brick wall with his arms crossed.

“You’re supposed to be helping me, Dante!” you exclaimed, dropping the bag of money to the ground as your supposed partner in crime look over at your direction with a smirk.

“What? I did. The smoke bomb helped.” Dante reminded you, snickering to himself and pushed himself off the wall.