The underground men Antonio had attacked fevered panic. Elias lay dead while the rest of the men who had thought themselves untouchable were nursing broken bones and bruised egos. The underground men who had hired Elias gathered in a windowless room behind a shuttered tailor shop. They were furious in a way they rarely allowed themselves to feel—hot, personal, animal. Nobody in their circles had been humiliated like that. Antonio had walked into their trap and undone them like a child untying a knot.“It’s not business!” the scarred leader, Leo, bit out, slamming a fist flat on the table until the maps and receipts fluttered. “It’s an insult!”The way Antonio had moved had made their training look clumsy.Reinforcements, someone suggested and the scarred leader agreed. If Antonio was to be stopped, it would take a level of coordination they had not yet needed. He picked up the phone and started calling names that made the other men go pale—leaders of operations from towns two

Cynthia’s hand found Antonio’s sleeve and squeezed with a kind of desperate tenderness. “Please,” she said, voice trembling, “don’t do anything rash. Don’t go looking for fights with those men. I love you—I can’t lose you.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Matilda’s right. Hide for a while. Leave the city. Lay low until the heat dies down.”Matilda nodded faintly at Cynthia while she watched them from the hospital bed.Antonio let out a sound that started like a breath and turned into a laugh. It was sharp and incredulous that it startled both women. “I didn’t come this far to crawl under a rock because some nameless men think they can scare me,” he said with amusement flickering at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not the kind of man who disappears when pushed. If there is someone out there dangerous enough to make me run, let them show themselves. I’ll face them.” Cynthia’s face fell. “Antonio,” she said softly, “this isn’t about pride. It’s about survival. Matilda said—”

Harry swallowed hard and began. He carefully listed the places Antonio frequented to Robert.Piece by piece, Harry presented everything he had gathered about Antonio, convinced it would make an impression.When he finished, he straightened his back, trying to mask the nervous tremor in his hands. “All of this, sir, can help you track that fool down. You’ll know where he’ll be before he even arrives.”For a moment, Robert was silent with his eyes studying Harry like a predator sizing up prey. Then, he leaned back in his chair with his lips curling into something between disdain and boredom.“Old information,” Robert said flatly.Harry blinked, confused. “Sir?”“Everything you’ve just told me,” Robert continued, his tone sharp, “I already know. Antonio’s routes, his schedule, his so-called patterns. Do you think I haven’t had men on him? Do you think your scraps of surveillance are new to me?” He leaned forward, his gaze cutting like a knife.“I need new information. Something I d

Florence raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. She stayed relaxed in her seat, slowly swirling the drink in her glass. “A deal?” she repeated softly, as if testing the word.“Yes,” Harry pressed, seizing the chance before nerves betrayed him. “This is serious. I’m prepared to pay handsomely if you can deliver.” He leaned closer, lowered his tone, and named the amount."$500,000."For a moment, silence fell over the lounge. Then Florence let out a low, rich laugh. It was sharp, dismissive, tinged with ridicule. She shook her head slowly, her gaze piercing him with the disarming frankness of someone who didn’t need to pretend.“Young man,” she said finally, “whatever this deal is or whatever task you’re about to put before me—the amount you’ve just named is laughable. Insulting, even. To you, perhaps, it sounds enormous. But to me?” She flicked her fingers as though brushing away dust. “It’s nothing. A mere piece of cake. Do you truly know who you’re talking to?”

She contacted a few media contacts—reporters who cared more about money than the truth.With the right payment, they would write whatever story she demanded.Florence provided them with the details of the stories she wanted published.“Make it scandalous,” she said coldly over the phone.“Every word should drip with betrayal and deceit. When you’re done, Antonio Morris’s name should leave a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth.”The journalists smirked, already imagining the money in their pockets.Soon, headlines began to appear across tabloids, blogs, and evening broadcasts. They claimed Antonio’s rise to fame had been anything but honest. According to the stories, Antonio had not earned his place in the national conferences he featured, by merit. Instead, he had supposedly bribed a high-ranking woman, begged her, and even warmed her bed to gain her favor. They painted him as a desperate man willing to sell his dignity for recognition.The reports went further, digging into his achie