The wind howled through the terrible looking pile of ruins like a dirge for the dead. Derrick Morgan stood at the heart of what had once been home–his home. Crumbling stone, blackened timbers, and overgrown weeds that clawed through the fractured floors were all that remained of the Morgan estate. Even the faintest whiff of smoke was still carried by the air, as if the fire that had destroyed everything ten years ago still lingered, unwilling to release its hold. He knelt and gently brushed his fingers against the cold, cracked earth. His gloved hands came away covered in gray dust–ashes, perhaps, of those he loved. "Father. Mother. Elaine..." His voice broke on the last name, and he bowed his head in honor of the times they shared.Ten years ago, he had been away–training at the neighbouring district, unaware that the world he held so dear was burning. When he returned, only the charred ruins greeted him. No bodies to bury, no survivors, no clues. Just silence. That night, Derri

The morning air in New York City buzzed with its usual mix of chaos and rhythm–car horns blaring, vendors shouting, and the faint scent of roasted coffee drifting from the corner cafés.Derrick Morgan stood outside the hotel, adjusting the strap of his travel bag. The wind tugged lightly at his coat as he hailed a passing taxi. "Where to, sir?" the driver asked, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. "Blacksite Ops," Derrick replied in a calm but resolute voice. The driver froze, his eyebrows rising almost comically high. "Blacksite Ops? Wait a sec... the Blacksite Ops you mean?" Derrick nodded. "Yeah. That's right." The man gave off a low whistle, muttering the words, "New York psychos." Then he started the engine, glancing at Derrick through the rearview mirror. "You're kidding, right?"Derrick's eyebrows furrowed. "What?""Well... you don't exactly look like someone working there," the driver replied. His tone wasn't cruel–just curious, laced with that sort of casual di

Outside the Lorenzo villa, elegant lanterns lined the pristine driveway, and it was calm and luxurious–the direct opposite of the chaos going on in Derrick's mind."Sir, at least let me come with you," Dominic said beside him. "You're meeting a distinguished family, and it's proper etiquette if I'm there too.""No," Derrick brushed him off immediately. "That won't be necessary."This was the umpteenth time Derrick was turning down the request, but Dominic tried once more, this time dramatically placing a hand on his chest."But the Lorenzo women, sir. Half the men in the city dream about them every night!""Well, I'm not here to dream," Derrick replied, turning to Dominic with an evil smile. "I'm here to break off an engagement."Dominic inhaled sharply as if Derrick had just blasphemed against the pure heavens. "But sir, you should settle down early before building your career. At least, have some girl to manage your daily–" "No.""Sir–""Dominic please," Derrick interrupted, rubbin

The clerk stamped the document with a sound of finality.Derrick watched the red seal settle onto the paper, his name and Ivy's bound together in clean, official lines. Marriage certificate–a document that seemed to carry more weight than some of the troubles he'd encountered in life.Ivy stood beside him, arms crossed, and jaw set tight. She hadn't uttered a single word since they were ushered into the government office under her grandfather's personal supervision. No ceremony or celebration, just signatures, witnesses, and an unspoken understanding that refusal was no longer an option.When they stepped outside, the noise of the city rushed back in–car horns, distant sirens, and footsteps echoing along the pavement. Life seemed to have continued, indifferent to what had just happened inside the clerk's office.Ivy exhaled sharply. "So," she said, not looking at him, "congratulations Ivy. You're officially trapped." Derrick let out a short breath that could have been taken for a lau

For a while after the doors flew open, chaos reigned.Then some began to notice the disciplined fingers around the guns, the perfect masks the men wore, and their steady muzzles despite the commotion in the club."These aren't locals," someone near the bar whispered in a shaking voice.Another voice followed, sharper with recognition. "It's them. The Syndicate dogs." The name moved through the room like a chill. It needed no repetition, as it belonged to the largest criminal syndicate in the city. They were men whose reputation alone ended conversations. They had no history of bargaining or warning, and when they were done, there were no witnesses left to speak of them.The air in the room changed gradually, and the chaos died down. Bodies began to lower, and knees bent. People pressed backward, trying all they could to become smaller than the space they occupied. A few tried to slip toward the side exit. But Dora stepped in front of them. "Stay calm," she said without raising her