The rain drummed against the windows of the Cobalt Lounge, a rhythmic warning of the storm building outside. But inside, another storm was already taking shape—one far deadlier.
Ochieng sat with Lin Feng and Cassandra, their gazes locked in silent agreement. The war had begun.
Veyron had set his pieces in motion, but what he didn't know was that his intended prey had already begun plotting his downfall.
"We don't have time," Cassandra repeated, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Veyron won't wait for us to strategize. He's already moving."
Ochieng leaned back, fingers tapping against the table. "Then we move faster."
Lin Feng chuckled, though there was no amusement in his voice. "Easier said than done. Veyron isn't an enemy you take lightly."
Ochieng's eyes darkened. "And neither am I."
Cassandra smirked. "That's what I wanted to hear."
---
They didn't need to discuss it—Marco Delacroix was the weakest link.
Unlike them, Marco operated in the open, his wealth and power shielding him from the dirtier aspects of their world. But now that protection was useless. Veyron had marked him.
If Marco fell first, it would send a clear message: Veyron was eliminating them one by one.
They couldn't let that happen.
"We get to him before Veyron does," Ochieng said. "And we don't just warn him. We use him."
Lin Feng raised a brow. "Use him how?"
Ochieng's expression was cold. "As bait."
---
The plan was simple. Find Marco. Secure him. And set a trap for whoever Veyron sent after him.
But the execution?
That was the hard part.
Marco was a man of luxury. He wasn't hiding in some underground bunker—he was most likely lounging in one of his many penthouses, sipping expensive wine, oblivious to the danger creeping toward him.
And that was the problem.
By the time Ochieng and the others arrived at Marco's private residence, they were already too late.
The glass doors were shattered. The security team—six highly trained bodyguards—lay motionless on the floor, their bodies riddled with bullet holes.
The metallic scent of blood filled the air.
Cassandra's hand went to her gun. Lin Feng remained unnervingly calm, his sharp eyes scanning the room.
But Ochieng?
He was already moving.
Stepping past the bodies, he followed the trail of blood leading deeper into the penthouse. His mind raced. Was Marco dead? Had Veyron's men already completed their job?
Then—
A low, pained cough echoed from the corner.
Ochieng's gaze snapped toward the sound, his gun already drawn.
Marco Delacroix lay against the marble wall, blood pooling beneath him. His suit was torn, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
He was alive.
Barely.
Cassandra knelt beside him, checking his pulse. "He's in bad shape."
Lin Feng turned to Ochieng. "Veyron's men did this, but they didn't finish the job. That means—"
"They're still here," Ochieng finished, his voice like steel.
As if on cue, the soft click of a gun being cocked sounded from behind them.
A shadow emerged from the doorway, dressed in black, a silencer attached to his weapon.
He didn't hesitate.
He fired.
---