The meeting had ended. One by one, the representatives of the Obsidian Court logged off or left the room—until only the Deputy remained, flanked by two of his soldiers clad in their signature black suits with gold stripes and jaguar insignias: the Golden Fangs.
"The Golden Fangs are to return to court. You'll all be dismissed until the next call," the Deputy commanded, his voice calm but resolute.
The two soldiers didn't move immediately. They waited for him to step out first, a mark of their respect. Without further words, he rose from his seat and exited the conference room. The guards silently followed him until they reached a fork in the hall, where they turned off into a different corridor, disappearing into the obsidian-colored mansion's shadowy recesses.
Outside, the air carried the tang of salt and ocean breeze. The stars glittered above like scattered embers as Alfonso, his white-haired butler and confidant, stood at attention beside the armored Rolls Royce Phantom.
"The jet to Italy is currently on standby, sir," Alfonso said, opening the door.
"Let's go," the Deputy replied.
The car purred to life, and within the hour, they were cruising above the clouds aboard a private jet. The Deputy sat by the window, eyes distant as he stared at the void beyond.
Twenty-one years... Now that I've reached where I am, it's time.
---
Two hours later, the aircraft touched down in Italy's principal airport. Another Rolls Royce awaited them on the tarmac, ready to escort them to Villa Tenebris—a hidden estate nestled deep along the Amalfi Coast. The ride meandered through isolated cliffs and ancient pine forests, eventually leading to a private road that coiled like a serpent around the hills.
They reached the gates of the villa: iron wrought, engraved with the Serafini crest—a lion surrounded by roses. The car passed through and followed a cobbled path lined with gnarled olive trees, until they arrived at a wide circular drive. A marble fountain stood at its center, glowing beneath ambient lights.
As the Deputy stepped out, a familiar voice greeted him.
"Congratulations on your safe return, young master Angel."
It was Gabriel River, the family's First Capo. A hardened man in his fifties, Gabriel had once been a top-ranking hitman before dedicating himself fully to protecting the Serafini family.
"Mhm. Where's Father? I wish to speak with him," Angel asked as he adjusted the cuffs of his gold-lined coat.
"He is currently in his quarters, resting."
"I see. Alfonso, prepare what I asked for. I'll go speak to Father for a moment."
Angel ascended the main steps of the villa, walking through its sleek, modern halls until he reached a large oak door. He knocked gently before entering. Inside, Raffaele Serafini sat on the edge of his bed, eyes focused on the vibrant sunset over the Tyrrhenian Sea.
"Father, I've returned," Angel said, dropping to his knees and bowing his head respectfully.
"The sunset is beautiful, isn't it?" the old man murmured, not yet turning.
"It is, as it has always been, Father."
Raffaele Serafini—his adoptive father—had taken him in decades ago in the Philippines. He wasn't a man of power nor ambition, just someone seeking companionship in his twilight years. But because of Angel, he had been dragged into a world far more brutal than he had ever intended.
"You sound as if you're in a rush. Stay, and enjoy the sunset with me. Just for a moment."
Angel hesitated. "Please, conserve your strength."
"I'm still strong, you know," Raffaele chuckled softly. "My business is steady. And you… you've grown into someone I almost don't recognize."
"I don't plan on stopping, Father. I know you understand. I just… I want you to stay safe. The world I walk is a dangerous one."
Raffaele nodded, finally turning to face him. "It always has been. But know that no matter where you go, I will always be proud of you."
"The sunset is beautiful today," Angel repeated, standing up.
He gently closed the door behind him and returned to his personal office. The room was minimal—glass, obsidian, and leather. He opened a drawer and took out a small photo, worn by time. It showed a younger version of himself, smiling with a little girl and two adults beside them—his original family.
---
Flashback – Philippines, 21 years ago
Inside a modest Catholic orphanage.
"Brother, please… don't leave me alone…" a young girl sobbed, clutching at Angel's shirt.
"Rica, I'm sorry. I'll come find you, okay? So go with them. I promise," Angel said, his voice cracking as he wiped her tears.
The adoptive parents pulled her away gently, and Rica cried as she was led off.
"I'll definitely come find you," he whispered.
---
"Twenty-one years have passed, and this brother of yours still hasn't found you. What a ridiculous bastard I am," Angel muttered, eyes misty.
Two knocks on the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Sir, the reservation seats to Philippine Airlines have been finalized," Alfonso called from outside.
"I see. Thank you. I'll be heading out shortly."
He placed the photo back in the drawer and straightened his coat.
"I'll find that conglomerate… and make them pay."
Moments later, he stepped out.
"Alfonso, let's go."
"Of course, young master."
As the clock struck midnight, they left the villa, drove to the airport, and boarded a first-class flight to Manila. A flight attendant approached them with practiced grace.
"Would you like some wine, sir?"
"Yes, thank you."
Angel sipped slowly, gazing at his phone. A news article caught his eye:
> Zenith Biotech Corporation announces its next project: Zenith Tower Complex—A multi-purpose megastructure aimed to revolutionize urban life.
"They've come far," he murmured. "I'll bring down that tower… brick by brick."
---
Several hours later, they landed in Manila. A private taxi awaited them and took them to one of Taguig City's elite condominiums.
"Everything has been furnished to your preferences, sir," Alfonso said as they entered the penthouse.
Angel nodded, taking in the sleek modern design, bamboo touches, and expansive view.
"I like it. You've done well."
"I'll take my leave. Please get some rest."
Alfonso departed, leaving Angel to his thoughts. He poured himself a cup of black coffee and toasted some bread, standing by the window as people bustled around the mall across the street.
A phone call broke the silence.
"Answer."
"We've found her, sir."
Angel's eyes widened. His heart skipped a beat.
"Tell me the situation."
"She's in her final year of high school. Her family appears ordinary, but they're struggling—father's terminally ill and unable to work."
"Send everything to my secure line."
"Yes, sir."
He placed the phone down, exhaling slowly.
"The Jaguars never disappoint," he muttered. "Let's hope the court doesn't call this a misuse of power."
After a short nap, he descended the elevator and walked into the mall. It was just as he remembered—noisy, chaotic, alive.
"Still the same," he muttered.
People began whispering and staring. Some thought he was an idol or celebrity. He hadn't thought to wear a cap or mask.
"I should've dressed down."
He stopped at a department store to buy casual clothes better suited to the sun. After checking out, he headed to an elite restaurant in the mall—one frequented only by the ultra-wealthy.
"Bon appétit," the waiter said with a bow.
Angel was mid-bite when he felt it.
A presence.
Familiar.
Unmistakable.
Someone he hadn't seen in over two decades passed just meters from his table.
His breath caught.
Rica...?