"Oh? We got ourselves a punk, huh?"
The fat stranger rubbed a thick finger over the stubble on his double chin, eyes glinting with the thrill of intimidation.
Beside him, the woman in the too-tight sequined dress cocked her hip and gave Shen a languid, sultry once-over. Her red tongue flicked out to lick her painted lips.
"Mmm," she purred, voice low and smoky. "He's kinda cute. Real snackable."
Shen didn't even spare her a glance. His eyes stayed locked on the fat man, voice cool as the morning breeze.
"Sorry, plastic," he drawled. "I'm taken—and happily engaged."
The man lifted a brow, amusement and irritation mingling in the folds of his broad face. "Name's Rodrigo. I came here to settle the little problem your…mama over here created." He jerked his chin toward Belle, who stood pale and trembling behind Shen's shoulder.
"We just want what's owed," Rodrigo went on, flicking invisible lint from his coat. "Settle the payment, and we'll be on our way. No hard feelings."
Shen's voice didn't waver. "How much? And tell me exactly what this debt is about."
Rodrigo sighed theatrically and motioned to a goon behind him—a young man with a shaved head and hollow eyes. The man stepped forward, holding out a slim leather briefcase.
Rodrigo popped it open with a snap, then pulled out a stack of neatly printed documents. He flipped through them with stubby fingers before slapping them against Shen's chest.
"Seven hundred thousand," he declared. "Malaysian ringgit. Acquired by your dear Mama's late husband Vince, who thought it wise to take out loans to cover his gambling debts and bad investments. And when he disappeared, well—" Rodrigo made a gesture of helplessness. "All that fell right on your sweet little family's shoulders."
Shen's eyes flicked across the contracts, scanning the fine print in a heartbeat. When he looked up, something hard and cold gleamed behind his steady gaze.
"Seven hundred," he repeated, voice flat. "Understood."
He turned, meeting Belle's frightened eyes. "Mama Belle," he said gently, "this true?"
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Y-yes, sugar. Vince left us with nothin' but debts and shame. I been tryin' to keep it quiet…not burden Ryona."
Shen nodded once. In that moment, he felt the vow in his bones—he would end this, no matter the cost.
He looked back at Rodrigo. "Nine p.m. tonight. You pick the place."
Rodrigo tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "And if you don't show?"
Shen's smile was a razor. "I'll show. I'm a punctual man."
Rodrigo paused, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a glossy black business card. "My nightclub. Viper's Tongue. One block from the Haven Hotel."
Shen took it between two fingers, then let it fall to the tiles as if it were a used napkin.
Rodrigo's grin twitched, but he said nothing more. He turned, his girl clinging to his arm, and waddled back to the black Bentley.
The moment they were gone, Shen knelt beside Belle, cupping her hand in both of his.
"Mama Belle," he murmured, "go home. Rest. I'll handle this."
Her chin quivered. "Oh, sweet boy…it ain't right you shoulder this burden."
Shen shook his head firmly. "It ain't a burden. It's a promise."
She raised a trembling hand, palm brushing his cheek. "God bless you…you're the son I always prayed for."
He kissed her forehead, then rose and left the olace, noce she left, turning to the quiet men in black who'd arrived from across the street.
"Clean this place," Shen ordered. His voice was iron. "Make it spotless. Like nothin' ever happened."
One of the security detail stepped forward and saluted him. "Yes, sir!"
Meanwhile, Rodrigo's Bentley rolled through the streets, the woman beside him fidgeting with her cheap clutch purse.
A flicker of recognition crossed her painted face.
"Ah!" she gasped, eyes wide. "Now I remember who he is!"
Rodrigo's thick neck swiveled. "Who?"
"Shen. Shen Goddem. They call him the Lord of the Underworld. One of the founders of the Monarchy."
Rodrigo's cup of iced coffee slipped from his hand and splattered across the leather seats.
"Shen Goddem," he whispered hoarsely. "As in, the Black Dragon Group?"
She nodded.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner, you stupid bitch?!"
She shrank back, lip trembling. "I'm just a pole dancer! I only saw him once—he came to see Lady Mawu in private."
Rodrigo's face drained of all color. "Oh God…not her. Not that crazy woman. She's here in Malaysia too. This is a damn nightmare…"
Back at the apartment, Shen slipped in quietly. Belle was already tucked into bed, exhaustion etched in every line of her face.
Ryona burst through the front door not long after, her heels clattering across the tile.
"Mama!" she cried, racing to the bedside. She clutched Belle's hand, her tears falling fast.
Later, once Belle was resting more peacefully, Shen took Ryona's hands in his.
"I'll handle this," he said simply.
She looked up at him, her lip trembling. "But how, Shen…?"
He didn't answer. He only brushed his thumb across her cheek, then turned and walked out into the gathering night.
A sleek black Rolls Royce glided to the curb outside. Xin Yin Jin stepped out, her long black coat flaring around her perfect figure. She opened the rear door with a small bow.
Shen slipped inside without a word.
Ryona had hurried to the balcony, drawn by the sound. She pressed a hand to the cold railing, her heart thumping hard when she saw him step into that elegant car.
"Shen…" she whispered and was confused on what she just saw.
Inside the Royce, Xin Yin Jin settled into the passenger seat and opened a polished wooden box. Inside was a folded black suit and a sigil of pure hammered gold.
She hesitated, her voice small. "Boss…are you sure?"
Shen picked up the sigil, the weight of it familiar in his palm.
"I'm still retired," he murmured. "This is just an old score."
She didn't argue.
Minutes later, the car glided to a stop in front of the Haven Hotel. Shen stepped out, carrying a slim briefcase, and crossed the foyer.
A tall, thin black man in a perfect suit waited at the reception counter. His skin was dark as polished mahogany. Thin glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and he radiated quiet command.
"Welcome to the Haven," he intoned. "Mr. Goddem."
Shen placed a single gold coin on the polished counter. The crest of a Roman legion was engraved deep in its face.
"Just one night, Stefan."
Stefan smiled faintly. "Absolutely, sir. Will you be needing the usual arrangement?"
"Not tonight," Shen replied. "But I will need to speak to your manager."
"Of course." Stefan dipped his head in a graceful bow and picked up the phone.
While he waited, Shen turned slowly, surveying the grand lobby. It was a place that stank of old money, secrets, and quiet danger. The guests around him watched in silence.
He lifted his voice, speaking a single word that cracked across the hush like a whip.
"Rules."
Every eye dropped. The conversations resumed in polite murmurs as if nothing had ever interrupted them.
Stefan set the phone down, unruffled.
"The manager will see you now."
He guided Shen to the private elevator and pressed his palm to the biometric scanner. When the doors opened on the top floor, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped forward.
His suit was dark charcoal, tailored to an impossible perfection. A scar like a pale lightning bolt creased his cheek.
He stopped, studying Shen with cold, assessing eyes. Then, slowly, he smiled.
"Well, well," he drawled. His accent was somewhere between Moscow and Chicago. "If it isn't the Sovereign himself."
Shen didn't flinch.
"Slavic," he said evenly. "Long time."
The manager's pale blue eyes glimmered with something that was not quite respect…and not quite fear.
"Welcome," he said softly. "Shall we discuss why your here?"
---
Chapter 8 — End