Mmmhmm…
A low hum slipped through the candlelit room, thick with cigar smoke and shadows. Beneath satin sheets, two bodies lay tangled in sweat and secrets. Rose petals littered the bed and floor, flickering candlelight danced like flirtatious ghosts in the breeze slipping through the open window.
"You know....you didn't need to go all… melo-romantic," murmured one of the couple, a man with tousled blonde hair pressed to his lover's chest, one arm draped lazily around his waist. "I thought we agreed, this was a no strings attached relationship. Mmmhmm... how am I supposed to explain myself to Viper? My skin's soaked in your cologne and the scent from these scented candles. You've properly set me up this time."
The other man exhaled slowly through his cigar, smoke curling from his lips like a warning.
"Just tell him you were with me," he said. "That snakehead knows better than to mess with the Bull Dog. If he does… I'll have his head for lunch."
Steven groaned. "Ugh, Don, stop being such a showoff—it's maddening."
His fingers traced idle patterns across Don's chest.
"But still... it's kind of amazing, isn't it? All these years you've played the errand boy, bowing and scraping, running errands for those bastards who had no idea they were kissing the feet of the real Bull Dog. The one they all fear and supposedly 'serve'. I can imagine Rockworth's face when he finds out the master he thought he was? Is actually the slave. I can already picture his baby-fat cheeks turning red and popping like fireworks. Ha! Ha!"
Don chuckled, flicking ash into a silver tray.
"Yah… that'll be a sight to behold. But tone it down a little, my Poison Ivy," he said, voice low and amused. "You've been a naughty boy lately. Don't forget—we're still wearing masks. Playing charades for the sweet crew until we win that golden prize. And we're getting close. Very close."
Steven shifted, face lifting.
"You found his trail?"
"Not exactly," Don replied. "But one of my informants swears he spotted him in Monopoly. That city's crawling with shadows—and if memory serves, one of his relatives lives there. He's likely hiding out. All we need to do is grab the relative… shake out the truth."
He smiled darkly.
"And once we've got it? Game over."
Steven leaned against the silk-draped headboard, gaze locked in thought.
"Mmm… I'm not sure," he murmured. "The Black Tulip has always been Silver Snake's most prized possession. There's no way he'd let any intel slip without reason. My bet? He already knows exactly where he is—he's just playing quiet to toy with us. Or worse… to lure us out and attack."
Don sat at the edge of the bed, cigar now idle, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"You've got a point," he said. "And let's not forget—the Supreme Boss is insanely guarded when it comes to Black Tulip. If word gets out that we're sniffing around?" He exhaled sharply. "We're finished."
He shook his head slowly. "So… what's your move? We're not walking away from this trail, right?"
"Of course not," Steven said. "But we tread carefully now. Stay in the shadows. Watch how the lion sets his trap—and find the blind spot that saves our skins before it snaps shut."
Don nodded. "Smart. But no more blood baths. Things are already messy with Blane and Peruz's deaths. WFAB's crawling all over Rosa like bloodhounds—I don't plan on becoming their next headline."
He lit his cigar again, voice low. "You need to go back to Luz. Lay low. Hole up in your old man's cave. If things hit the fan, that's your only sanctuary… Just make sure he doesn't find out what you've been playing at. Or he'll turn you into pulp."
Steven smirked. "Relax. I know how to handle myself. Speaking of handling... about the thing I asked you—any news?"
Don inhaled, then replied, "She's not dead."
Steven's eyes narrowed.
"The girl's alive. WFAB's keeping her under wraps. My men haven't traced her location yet, but they'll sniff her out soon."
Steven's jaw tightened. "I knew it. That means that I was right. There is no way Milton could have stayed sane and not backed away from the race because of the death of her best friend. Which also means that somehow, Milton must be involved with the WFAB, otherwise they wouldn't be hiding her friend."
"You really think she's embedded?"
Steven's gaze darkened.
"Not sure. Not yet. But I know there's more to her than we thought. And I'm going to find out what."
Then—like lightning—he sat up sharply.
"I got it."
Don raised a brow. "Got what?"
Steven chuckled, voice low and wicked.
"Don't worry… you'll see soon enough. Just roll out the red carpet for our dear sister racer."
He leaned back into the pillows.
"And I'll do the rest."
An evil glint sparked in his eyes.
....
Meanwhile…
"His name is Gabrièl Otto Peruz," Davis muttered, scanning the report in front of him. "Age 46. Served eighteen years on the Rosa police force. Clean bill of health. No allergies. No deficiencies."
He flipped the page.
"Witness statements say he ordered his usual at the café. No substitutions. No suspicious ingredients. And yet… he collapsed. Cause of death listed as an allergic reaction to an unknown substance."
He exhaled hard. "Untraceable. Lethal. Convenient. If that's not a professional hit, I don't know what is."
Davis tossed the report onto the desk, sinking into his chair with a groan.
"This game keeps getting messier. I swear, the moment we got a whiff of the real mastermind behind this, we tore open a Pandora's box full of smoke, mirrors, and god-level toxins. I miss our boring cases. Ones that don't eat months of our lives or send us running in circles to nowhere."
Isaac remained silent, his gaze locked on a sequence of photographs laid out across the desk.
In them—
A man with tousled blonde hair. Shades. Black overcoat. Casual elegance.
Captured sitting alone in the café. Then walking out as chaos unfolded.
Isaac's jaw clenched.
He can still remember his low irritating seductive voice and his arrogant grin as he waved him goodbye before that warehouse exploded.
Without a word, he picked up the photos and pinned them to the evidence board.
One photo at a time.
The face stared back—frozen in ink and suspicion.
The hunt was far from over.
"Did you send one of our guys to tail Officer José Pathos?" Isaac asked, voice low and steady.
"Yeah," Davis replied, flipping through a folder. "He's being watched."
"Good." Isaac leaned back slightly. "What about our dear Poison Ivy? Any word on what hole he's slithered into?"
Davis sighed. "Unfortunately no. This guy is a sneaky rat and a smart one for that matter. He only shows up whenever he wants to and also disappears like he never was there. He is lethal for a reason and I don't like that...not one bit.."
Isaac nodded grimly. "At least now we know who he's working with."
"The Bull Dog?" Davis scoffed. "Do we even know who that guy is? I mean, we only have vague information about him, that he is a derby racer and an eccentric business man that practically rules all of Costa Rica like his private kingdom. Just like his master, he never shows his face during derby races so no one knows what he looks like. It's like chasing a ghost through smoke."
Isaac stared at the board covered in photographs and timelines.
"I don't think we need to complicate this further, Davis. We just need to infiltrate the lion's den and unveil it's mask to reveal the jackal beneath it. I already don't like the idea of this guy racing with my Patricia."
He paused.
"I don't like him near her. He reeks of trouble. And I won't have her entangled in it."
Davis leaned forward. "So what's the move?"
Isaac's lips curled into a slow smile.
"Let's roll out the red carpet for him. No arrogant smug is able to resist the attention from adoring fans. And we are fans alright, big ones and I can't wait to grab a hair or two.... for my special collection..."
Davis grinned. "Fanboy traps. I like it."
Just then, the door burst open.
"Captain!" an agent gasped. "We cracked the chip! We've accessed the burner phone's call records!"
Isaac's grin deepened.
"Well hell," he said. "It's about time."