Joe leaned back in his chair, the neon café light flickering over his face. Nadya Riot tilted her head, her eyes burning with mischief.
“Don’t present your body to me,” Joe said firmly, holding up a hand. “I’ve been engaged to Nelly Furtado ever since her Try video back in the early 2000s. Spiritually, emotionally… maybe even cosmically.”
Nadya arched an eyebrow. “Cosmically engaged?”
“Absolutely,” Joe said. “The day that video dropped, the universe mailed me the invitation.”
She smirked. “So I’m just out of luck, then?”
“Not quite,” Joe replied, leaning in conspiratorially. “I do have someone for you. The future president of Peru… and the South American Union. Old friend of mine. Name’s Nicholas. Sharp dresser. Knows how to survive coups and cook ceviche.”
Nadya tapped her fingers on the table, considering. “You’re trying to set me up with a politician?”
“Not just a politician,” Joe said with a grin. “A romantic revolutionary. Big difference.”
Nadya: smiling faintly, half-serious “Can’t I have a clone of you?”
G.I. Joe: leans back, shaking his head “Clones are bullshit, Nadya. I wasn’t made by God for you.” pauses, pointing gently toward her heart “Nick from Peru was.”
And you’re gonna work with him on a movie he wrote—Che’s Rosary.”
Nadya: tilts her head “What’s it about?”
G.I. Joe: eyes narrowing with a half-smile “Psalm 144—God trains my hands for war. A rebel’s prayer, whispered through the beads of a rosary… before the first shot is fired.”
The CIA cut off Che’s hands to eat in the Tomb at Yale. They believe they were taking in his power. You are what you eat is the brotherhood of death’s motto.
Nadya’s voice was calm but carried a bitter edge.
“I have a husband,” she said, “but he cannot protect me from Putin. He can’t even protect himself.”
She stared at the empty coffee cup between them. “I wish Sonar hadn’t been cancelled. Back then, masks were forbidden—remember?—now they’re mandatory. The rules always change, but the fear stays the same.”
Her eyes lifted to meet Joe’s, a flicker of defiance in them. “Tell me, can the president of Peru protect me? Or is he just another mask?”
Joe leaned back, letting her question hang in the air for a moment.
“The president of Peru?” he said with a half-smile. “Nick’s no president—at least not officially. But he will be. He’s my neighbor, a few blocks away.”
He leaned forward, his tone sharpening. “If you’re close by, Nadya, I can protect you. Nick can protect you. You won’t have to wonder if someone’s going to show up when it matters. We’re not politicians—we’re right here.”
Joe’s gaze held hers. “But you have to be close. Otherwise, it’s just words, and words don’t stop wolves.”
Nadya Riot laughs softly and says, “Joe, you really didn’t know? Nick’s been out for years.”
Joe shrugs, looking a bit embarrassed but smiling. “I guess I missed the memo. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he adds quickly.
Nadya grins, teasing, “Relax, Joe. It’s not the ’90s anymore. You’re allowed to be surprised without getting canceled.”
Joe chuckles. “Yeah, well, I just never noticed. Guess I was too busy worrying about my own drama.”
Nadya pats him on the shoulder. “That’s okay. Nick says the same thing about you — he never knew you were straight.”
Joe bursts out laughing. “Touché, Nadya. Touché.”