The shrill ring of a phone tore through the silence of dawn. Kaeliano's room was a mess, his desk cluttered with posters and scattered notes. Still half-asleep, he rolled over and buried his head under a pillow.
"Kael, your phone won't stop ringing!" his uncle's voice came from outside. Moments later, heavy knocks rattled the door. "Answer it, or I'll toss that phone into the street!"
Groaning, Kaeliano mumbled something incoherent. The ringing persisted until his irritated uncle barged in and shoved the phone against his ear.
"Hello?! Do you know what time it is?!" Kaeliano snapped, voice thick with sleep.
On the other end, Seraphine's sharp tone cut through.
"Kael, do you think this is nap time?"
He straightened reluctantly, his face still sour.
"Sera… are you seriously auditioning as my personal alarm clock now?"
"Listen carefully. Headquarters is in chaos! The operation's been pushed forward. That mafia isn't just messing with street gangs anymore—they're breaching national security. You need to be ready in one hour. Don't be late."
Kaeliano ruffled his messy hair, grumbling.
"Yeah, yeah… the most handsome agent is always ready. But don't blame me if I show up without breakfast."
His uncle shook his head, half-annoyed, half-amused.
"Are you an FBI agent, or a college kid late for class?"
Across the city, another phone rang. Teddy stirred awake, his wife still fast asleep beside him. He reached for the device on the nightstand, listening as headquarters delivered the same urgent orders.
His voice was heavy, tinged with frustration.
"An operation this morning? Do they think I'm a machine that doesn't need rest?"
Yet when his gaze fell on his wife's peaceful face, his tone softened. With a resigned sigh, Teddy slipped out of bed. Whatever grudge he held against Kaeliano, he knew this mission couldn't be ignored.
The bathroom was still fogged up when Kaeliano stepped out, a towel slung casually over his shoulder. He paused in front of the mirror, running a hand through his damp hair, then glanced at the outfit he had laid out.
No crisp FBI suit today.
Instead, Kaeliano pulled on black cargo pants with deep side pockets, a plain thick white T-shirt, and a black jacket that gave him a low-key but sharp look. He slipped into a pair of Vans sneakers, tapping them against the floor before tying the laces.
"If the Bureau had a fashion division, I'd be their star agent," he muttered with a smirk.
Downstairs, his uncle was already sitting with a newspaper in hand. Kaeliano leaned against the doorframe, grinning lazily.
"Uncle, pray I don't get caught yawning during the mission."
His uncle folded the paper, sighing. "Don't mess around, Kael. This operation is bigger than anything you've handled before. Don't rely only on your luck."
Kaeliano chuckled. "Relax. I've got more than luck on my side."
In the garage, his sleek black-and-red sports bike gleamed under the dim light — a gift from his brother in Italy. The engine roared to life, vibrating through the morning air.
With his helmet strapped tight, Kaeliano glanced once more at his uncle, who stood in the doorway, half worried, half resigned.
"If I come home late, don't go to bed yet. Make some coffee."
"Just don't make me fetch you from the hospital again," his uncle shot back.
Kaeliano only waved and twisted the throttle. The motorcycle growled, tearing down the street as he headed for the FBI headquarters in the heart of New York City.
The FBI headquarters was buzzing like a beehive that morning. Agents hurried through the hallways with laptops, files, and cups of steaming coffee. In the briefing room, a massive screen displayed the city map of New York with several red markers glowing ominously.
Kaeliano walked in last. His black jacket was still on, motorcycle helmet dangling from one hand. As he slid into his chair, Teddy, who was already seated, arched an eyebrow.
"Late. As usual," Teddy muttered with clear disdain.
Kaeliano smirked. "Relax, old man. The world won't end if I'm five minutes late."
"Brat," Teddy snapped back.
The division chief, a graying man with a hard face, slammed the table. "Enough. Save your drama for later. We need focus."
Across the table, Seraphine sat with arms crossed, suppressing a smile. She knew these two could never get along.
The chief began outlining the operation: dismantling a shadowy mafia network that had seeped into politics, business, and even the police force. Photos of mobsters, corrupt officials, and investigation charts flashed across the screen.
When Kaeliano was asked for input, he leaned back casually. "Honestly? This case screams Teddy's style. Straightforward, no nonsense. Me? I like playing freestyle."
Teddy shot him a glare. "Do you think this is a game? This isn't some street race or one of your flashy stunts!"
"Hey, I'm always flashy," Kaeliano said with a grin.
Their bickering was cut short when a red-line call came through. The operator's voice shook as she relayed the message:
> "There's been a mysterious murder in the East District. A contact inside the police department believes it's connected to the mafia. They're requesting FBI assistance immediately… the city detective hasn't returned from vacation yet."
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to Kaeliano. Seraphine's gaze lingered, sharp and knowing: This is your moment.
The chief exhaled. "Kael, you're going."
"Why me?" Kaeliano raised a hand in mock protest.
Seraphine cut in. "Because you have the connections. If this is tied to the mafia, you're the best shot at finding leads."
Teddy scoffed. "And I'll be coming too—to make sure this brat doesn't screw it up."
Kaeliano turned to him with mock seriousness. "Oh, so you're my babysitter now?"
Seraphine stifled a laugh, then clapped her hands on the table. "That's enough. Both of you are going. The crime scene is a nightclub long suspected of being a mafia front."
Kaeliano clicked his tongue but stood up, patting Teddy's shoulder on the way out.
"Fine, old man. Let's go hunt some ghosts at the club."
Teddy brushed his hand away. "If you make one wrong move, I'll drag you out myself."
Kaeliano only winked at Seraphine before striding toward the exit, helmet swinging in his grip.