The dimly lit warehouse smelled of oil, gunmetal, and stale smoke. Teacher sat at the head of the long metal table, his face half-shadowed by the flickering fluorescent bulb above him. Around him stood five of his most trusted men, what was left of them since Celeste and Ben had vanished. His fingers tapped impatiently against the cold surface as he spoke.“We move the next shipment to Brooklyn tomorrow,” Teacher said, his tone clipped and sharp. “No mistakes this time. No calls, no familiar faces.”He paused, scanning their faces one after the other. These men had been with him for years, yet lately, he could no longer tell who was truly loyal and who was simply waiting for the right price to sell him out.One of them, Pablo, nodded quickly. “Yes, boss. Everything’s set. The new route...”Teacher cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t ask about the route. I asked if you’re sure.”Pablo swallowed hard. “I am, boss.”Teacher leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. “You bet

Antonio’s voice was small, dangerous. “I hurt because I was hurt first.”Silence again. The boys shuffled, unsure.Luis, who had been quiet, spoke up. “Boss, if she goes back, we’ll make it clear, she goes with a device. We tail her. We watch. We pick her up the moment she leads us. If Teacher kills her at sight, we catch the trail. We will get his foot soldiers. We won’t just release her and hope.”Antonio considered. The idea had merit. “We rig her. We give her a tracker. A mic. Someone to pull if she signals. Someone at the ready. But if she gives away us?”“She won’t,” Marco said. “She wants to live. She wants whatever advantage she can buy.”Celeste’s eyes flashed. “You’re amateur. You want to put a mic on me and think you’ll control the whole field? He’ll find the device in five seconds. He’ll cut it out and string it on my neck as a warning.”“Then we rig it different,” Antonio said. “Not obvious. Hidden. She’s left with options. A button. A sound. We pick her up if she tries t

The tunnel was cold, damp, and poorly lit, the walls smelling of concrete and old smoke. Teacher’s grip on Celeste’s arm was firm, almost bruising. She stumbled once, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back. His steps were steady, angry, deliberate.“Where does it end?” Celeste asked, half whispering, half panting.He didn’t reply. He only tightened his grip.“Teacher...”“Don’t talk.” His voice came out low, like thunder before a storm. “You already said enough to get half my men killed.”Celeste bit her lower lip, her heart pounding. Every echo in the tunnel sounded like footsteps chasing them, but she knew no one was coming yet. Not yet. Antonio had said to hold out for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes and they’d storm the place. But that was if she stayed alive long enough.Teacher finally slowed down when they got to a small underground room. It was more like a bunker, with a steel table, a few chairs, and security monitors showing parts of the house above now in flames. He

The man in the suit put the phone down, folded his hands, and smiled like a man who enjoyed the last piece falling into place.“Then it’s time we met him,” he said aloud to no one.His assistant hovered, waiting. “Shall I inform the board?” she asked.He shook his head. “No board. This is personal. Call Salazar. Tell him to clear his flights. Get me three men who know how to make a corpse look accidental. And bring me those files — the ones marked Deluca.”She moved like a shadow. “At once.”He stood and walked to the window. Beyond the glass the city spread, indifferent. He tapped a pen against the sill and the smile faded; his face smoothed into a mask of planning.“Antonio Deluca,” he murmured. “Show me what you do when you think you’re king.”-----Antonio sat at the kitchen table with a cigarette in his hand. Dawn bled through the blinds. The house smelled of smoke, whiskey, and old leather. He hadn’t slept. No one had. The men moved like ghosts in the rooms — cleaning, burning,

Valen’s office smelled like gun oil and citrus polish. He sat behind the glass desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a faint jazz tune humming low from the hidden speakers. His eyes were on the digital board flickering before him — names, faces, maps, and coded coordinates. Phase Two wasn’t just a plan. It was a purge.“Begin extraction in twenty,” he said without looking up.His lieutenant — a scar-faced man called Huxley — nodded. “The offshore accounts first?”“All of them,” Valen replied. “And start pulling the ones tied to Teacher’s old shell companies. Clean the names. Replace them with ours.”Huxley hesitated. “You sure Deluca’s ready for this level?”Valen smiled faintly. “He doesn’t have to be ready. He just has to obey.”The room went quiet for a second before Huxley’s radio buzzed. “Sir, package one is secure. Package two en route.”“Good,” Valen said. “Tell our friends in Monaco the same thing — if they stall, we drown them in their own vaults.”Huxley left the room.Valen l