Outside the Golden Orchid, the city exhibited a restless energy. Neon signs flickered in an erratic manner, casting distorted colors onto the rain-slicked pavement. The air was imbued with the scents of gasoline, damp concrete, and the faint bitterness of cigarette smoke wafting from alleyways. Noctavia remained perpetually awake. Beneath the hum of the nightlife, danger lay concealed in the shadows, and this evening, Alessio Vargas was acutely aware of it.
Upon exiting the lounge, he adjusted his coat around his broad shoulders. His gaze traversed the sidewalk, looking for anything amiss. His instincts, honed over years of maneuvering through the underworld, screamed at him that something was amiss.
The black sedan waited at the curb, its polished surface mirroring the city lights. The driver's face was obscured by tinted glass. The scarred bodyguard who had departed earlier stood by the open door, his expression inscrutable.
Inside the comfortable sedan, Alessio sat with a deliberately relaxed posture, though his mind remained alert. He felt the smooth vibration of the engine beneath him as the car began to move, gliding slowly onto the wet streets.
The window beside him was slightly open, allowing the city's sounds to slip in—the rain tapping against the asphalt, the clinking of glasses from a bar on the street corner, the roar of other cars passing by.
"Where to now, Mr. Vargas?" the driver's voice was calm, professional.
Alessio didn't answer immediately. He stared at the city's reflection in the window, his eyes searching to see if the man across the street had moved. But before he could confirm, Scar spoke first.
"He's following."
Alessio glanced briefly at Scar, who sat beside him, eyes fixed on the side mirror with a neutral expression.
"Car or on foot?" Alessio asked, his voice steady.
"On foot. Probably hoping you'll stop somewhere else."
Alessio tapped his fingers on his knee, thinking quickly. If the man was bold enough to follow from such a short distance, he wasn't just a casual observer. This could be a warning from someone—or worse, a trap.
"Let's make him nervous," he said finally. "Take a detour to the industrial district. If he still follows, then he's not just curious."
The driver nodded without further questions. The sedan picked up speed slightly, turning onto a quieter street, away from the city center still glowing with neon lights and nightlife.
Scar opened a small compartment in front of him, retrieving a gun with practiced ease. He didn't point it at anyone, merely checking the ammunition before clicking it shut again.
"If he's still there after two blocks, I'll get out first," he said.
Alessio only gave a thin smile. "Let's see what he wants first."
As they entered a darker, more desolate area, far from the crowds, Alessio felt the tension in the air.
As the black sedan turned into the quieter industrial district, Alessio glanced at the side mirror. The figure that had stood across the street earlier was now gone. However, Scar kept watching the road behind them, his sharp eyes scanning for any suspicious movement.
"Too clean," Scar muttered. "If he were an amateur tail, he should've panicked when we turned here."
Alessio tapped his fingers on the armrest, his expression remaining calm. This isn't just some random guy.
Seconds later, a motorcycle emerged from the shadows, its headlights kept dim. The rider wore a full black helmet, his posture firm yet agile, as if ready to move at any moment. He kept a safe distance—not too close to be obvious, but not far enough to lose track of them.
Scar let out a quiet sigh. "Professional. Could be a hitman, or maybe someone's messenger."
Alessio finally spoke, his voice deeper than usual. "If he was just delivering a message, he wouldn't be working alone."
Scar only nodded. They both knew the kind of world they lived in. If someone was bold enough to tail Alessio Vargas, it meant he carried something important—either a threat or an offer.
"Stop at the abandoned warehouse near the docks," Alessio ordered the driver.
The driver didn't ask. The sedan made a sharp turn, leaving the main road and entering a more secluded area. Only old warehouses and flickering streetlights remained in the distance.
Alessio glanced at the side mirror again. The motorcycle turned with them.
He smirked slightly. Good. Let's see what he wants.
Suddenly…
The air inside the sedan grew heavier, as if the oxygen was vanishing along with Vargas' hope of getting out of this situation easily. He felt the cold steel of a gun pressed against his ribs, the traitor beside him firm on the trigger.
His mind worked fast. Lilith wouldn't waste time on empty threats. If she was sending a message, it meant her grip was already tight. Vargas just didn't know how deep the betrayal ran.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the driver still focused on the road—but not with the tension of a man who had just committed treachery. No, the man was calm. Too calm. Already programmed for this.
Vargas shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror. No vehicles were following. That meant they didn't want outside interference. This wasn't just an execution. They wanted him alive.
Shit.
"Lower your gun." His voice remained controlled, almost lazy, as if he didn't care that his life depended on the man's finger on the trigger.
The traitor didn't budge.
"You think I'm stupid?" Vargas continued, his eyes now piercing into the man. "If they wanted me dead, why go through all this trouble? Why not just put a bullet in my head back at the Golden Orchid?"
Silence followed. The driver remained quiet, but the traitor—the traitor was thinking. That was all Vargas needed.
He moved fast.
With one sharp motion, he elbowed the man beside him, slamming into his ribs with enough force to make him jolt. The gun went off—the deafening blast echoing inside the closed car—but the bullet only grazed Vargas' arm, not his heart.
As the man staggered, Vargas seized his wrist, twisting it with brutal force until a sickening crack echoed. A muffled scream filled the cabin, and the gun slipped from his grasp.
Scar, who had been sitting silently in the front, finally moved. With sharp reflexes, he drew his gun and aimed it at the driver's head. "Stop the car. Now."
The driver only sighed. He already knew how this would end.
"It's too late," he said flatly. "We're all dead."
Just as the words left his mouth, a thunderous roar filled the air. An explosion.
BOOM!
The bridge ahead of them erupted in flames and twisted steel, blocking their only escape route. The sedan screeched violently as the driver slammed the brakes, nearly flipping them over.
Vargas lurched forward, blood from his arm staining the leather seats. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a silhouette behind the fire.
Lilith Castellano stood on the other side of the ruined bridge.
And she was smiling.
Thick smoke from the explosion mingled with the faint neon lights still visible in the distance. The air was filled with the scent of burning metal, and occasional sparks fell from the remains of the bridge, now split apart. Just a few meters from the gaping void, Lilith Castellano stood still—her smile was thin, almost casual, as if all of this was just another part of her routine.
Vargas steadied his breathing. The wound on his arm throbbed, but that wasn't what made him tense. It was Lilith. The way she stood, the way she didn't rush toward him, as if she knew there was no escape.
Scar still pressed his gun to the driver's temple, but Vargas raised his hand slightly. "It's pointless." His voice was calmer than it should have been.
The driver let out a slow breath. He didn't look at Scar or Vargas—he looked at Lilith. In his eyes, it was clear that he hadn't been tricked or forced. He had chosen this betrayal from the start.
Vargas wiped the blood from his temple, then slowly opened the car door. The cold night air greeted him, slipping into his slightly open coat. He stepped out, letting the sound of his leather shoes against the asphalt be the only noise between them.
Lilith didn't move. Only her eyes followed Vargas's every step. Behind her, the silhouettes of several armed men stood in the shadows, each in a strategic position. Not too many. Just enough to ensure he wasn't going anywhere.
Vargas finally stopped a few steps from the edge of the ruined bridge. The firelight reflected in his eyes, making his gaze even sharper.
"A pretty expensive bridge to destroy just for me," he finally said.
Lilith let out a soft laugh—a sound that almost seemed genuine, if Vargas didn't know her better. "Don't underestimate your worth, Alessio."
Behind him, Scar shifted slightly, staying alert. The driver he had just betrayed remained silent inside the car, but the other traitor—the man whose right arm now hung limp and broken—groaned softly, trying to suppress his pain. He looked at Lilith as if asking for something.
Lilith gave a small nod.
A gunshot rang out.
The man collapsed to the ground before he could take his next breath.
Vargas didn't even blink. Scar only tightened his jaw.
"Loyalty is a valuable currency," Lilith said, lowering her gun again. "But if that currency isn't stable, it's better to get rid of it before it causes problems."
Vargas finally gave a faint smile. "That's an old lesson, Castellano."
Lilith tilted her head slightly, as if savoring the conversation. "And you already know I don't like repeating things I've already learned, don't you?"
A brief silence settled over them, broken only by the sound of burning wood still crackling from the bridge. Beneath this calm, there was something else. A bigger game. Lilith wouldn't go through all this trouble just to flaunt her power.
She wanted something.
And Vargas wanted to know what it was.