Vincent had just fired the last shot, clean and precise, straight into the red dots.
With no hesitation and no mercy.
His arm dropped to his side as he stared at the two men kneeling before him. Their wrists were cuffed behind their backs, mouths sealed tight with thick plastic. Fear trembled through their bodies, visible even through the silence.
He calmly reloaded his pistol.
Click. Click.
The sound echoed through the cold, empty room as his footsteps followed, slow and deliberate. The men struggled uselessly, already knowing what awaited them.
They had been traced through a burner phone, one they'd foolishly used to communicate while plotting to siphon money meant for the Blax Dynasty. Greed had whispered to them. Promised them more. All of it.
Unfortunately for them, Vincent Carpel was always three steps ahead.
Gonzalo had worked closely with AISE—the Italian foreign intelligence service, alongside Interpol contacts, quietly tracking their movements once they went rogue. The men had planned to flee Italy within forty-eight hours, tickets already booked. Their plan was simple: hide briefly in Venice, melt into the tourist crowds, then disappear out of Europe with the money.
They never made it that far.
Gonzalo and his team apprehended them at a private city club in Milan, where they were drunk, reckless, and drowning in cash, lavishing champagne and money on women who didn't even know their real names. Men who had been paid five million dollars to ensure the shipment passed east through the Blax sea routes.
Men entrusted with Vincent's lifeline.
The sea was Vincent's kingdom. Most of his empire flowed through it.
But greed twisted loyalty.
They had secretly contacted the Nile Empire, the organization that once tried, and failed, to buy their allegiance with ten billion dollars in exchange for inside information on the Blax Dynasty. Back then, they had sworn loyalty, signed contracts sealed with blood and death.
Now, seeing a ship carrying an unimaginable fortune, they reached out again.
This time, the deal was different.
They would take five hundred million dollars, thirty stacks, while the Nile Empire would claim the remaining twenty, laundering it clean through their global networks. The Nile Empire, masters of making dirty money disappear, accepted instantly.
The men had coded every message, convinced no one would uncover the truth until the ship sailed three days later, headed toward Trieste, where Blax connections would legalize the funds.
By then, they planned to be gone. Living like kings. Spending without limits.
Vincent cocked the gun loudly.
The men flinched, muffled cries escaping their sealed mouths.
"So," Vincent said coldly, turning to them, "which one of you orchestrated the plan to run with my money?"
They pointed at themselves. At each other. At anyone but fate.
Vincent lifted the gun, pressing the barrel close to their faces.
"I will remove the plastic," he said evenly, "and you will tell me where my money is. I don't joke about things like this."
Gonzalo stepped forward at Vincent's glance and tore the plastic away.
The men gasped, lungs burning.
They had been beaten during the ride, by masked men with dark glasses who had calmly walked into the club, guns raised, laughter dying instantly. Regret had come too late.
Vincent had been waiting for them in the danger room.
Patient. Silent.
After shooting the red dot, he turned to them.
"It's the devil's work, sir," the first man sobbed. "I was forced. He pressured me. I knew it was risky, but… the money—"
Vincent looked at him. "And the result of the devil's work is?"
The man swallowed hard. "F-forgiveness?"
Vincent shook his head slowly.
"That is God's work," he said. "The devil brings punishment. Severe punishment. And I choose death."
His voice hardened. "So tell me, where is my money?"
"It's heading west," the man blurted out. "It'll land in Slovenia by tomorrow evening!"
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"You planned to disappear with it," he said, lifting the gun again. "Whose help did you use?"
Silence.
Vincent fired a warning shot inches above one man's head.
"The Nile Empire!" the man screamed.
Vincent's eyes darkened.
Enemies.
All of them.
"That money was meant to reach Trieste in three days," Vincent said quietly. "If it turns back, five days. That's loss. Loss I have to pay for."
He fired into the man's leg.
The scream tore through the room.
Blood poured freely as the man collapsed, writhing in agony.
Vincent turned to the second man, who was already crying uncontrollably.
"Tell me why I should spare you."
The man trembled. "I—I can give you something valuable. Something rare."
Vincent paused. His gun remained raised.
"And that is?"
"My daughter," the man blurted out. "She's sixteen. Untouched. A virgin. She lives with her mother in Florence. I'll give her to you, do whatever you want. Just spare me."
Silence.
Vincent stared at him.
Then he fired.
The man screamed as the bullet tore through his leg.
Vincent paced slowly, blood pooling beneath them.
"Tell me again," he said calmly, "why I should spare your life."
The men only cried.
Vincent stopped.
"Since there is no reason," he said, lifting the gun, "it's time to meet your graves."
Three shots.
Clean.
Both chests.
Silence returned.
Vincent removed his gloves and tossed them into the burning furnace.
"Send men to the ship," he ordered. "Fire on Nile sailors from a distance. Take them unaware. The money must reach Trieste in three days."
"Yes, sir."
"Take them to the Red Hills. The vultures will feast."
Then his phone vibrated.
A message from Derek.
Meet me at Via Marina, Naples. I have your money. Cash.
Vincent slipped the phone away.
"Send three men to follow me," he said calmly. "It's time to play with someone who thinks he's clever."
—
Vincent stepped out of his vehicle and slammed the door shut, the sharp sound cutting through the night.
Cold air pressed against his skin, thick and damp, his breath visible as it spilled into the wind. The ocean roared below the cliffside road, waves rising and crashing in the darkness .
Derek was already there.
He stood beside his sleek ivory-red vehicle, waiting.
"Derek," Vincent said calmly as he walked toward him. "Where is my money?"
Derek stepped forward to meet him, stopping just a few feet away.
"Mr. Vincent, it's here," he replied, lifting the bag in his grip. "Exactly one billion dollars."
His voice echoed down the wet concrete road. Wind swept through their hair as the ocean surged below them.
Vincent's gaze dropped to the leather bag.
Derek unzipped it.
Stacks of dollars appeared.
Then Derek let go.
The bag hit the ground.
Vincent's eyes lifted slowly from the money to Derek's face.
"What are you doing, Derek?" Vincent asked quietly.
Derek's eyes fluttered. His hand fell limply to his side.
"Fine," he said, his voice echoing in the cold air. "You caught it."
Vincent's dark gaze pinned him in place, heavy enough to suffocate.
"Yes," Derek continued, his tone shifting, "they're fake. I didn't know what else to do, so I did this."
He kicked the bag open.
The money spilled out, scattering across the ceramic ground. Loose bills slid and danced as the breeze carried them farther away. Derek threw the empty bag aside in frustration.
"Are you trying to repay my good with evil?" Vincent asked. His hand moved behind his back.
Derek's eyes burned with fury.
"You call charging four billion interest on a two-billion loan good?"
"You had no issue with it when you signed the document," Vincent replied evenly. "Am I wrong?"
"I was desperate!" Derek shouted. "My club was about to collapse! And now you expect me to lose it anyway because I owe you one billion? I was trying to fix it! I can't lose my club, Mr. Vincent, I built it from nothing!"
His voice cracked.
"I'm sorry I took matters into my own hands. I was pressured. You pressured me!"
"Derek," Vincent said coldly, "how could you be so stupid?"
Derek shook his head violently.
"No. I'm not the stupid one here. You are."
Vincent's left brow lifted slightly.
"Is that so?"
Derek laughed, sharp, almost hysterical.
"Yes. Because you've been played. You're surrounded, Vincent. One wrong move and you're finished. I'm sorry for Blax Dynasty, it's going down with you. Unless someone else replaces you at the top."
He stepped closer.
"I tried, Vincent. You left me no choice."
Vincent raised his hand.
Five fingers.
Two.
One.
Five.
Gunshots shattered the night.
Derek's men dropped before they even understood what happened.
Derek froze, eyes wide, mouth hanging open as bodies hit the ground around him.
"Looks like you're the one going down," Vincent said calmly. "I am Vincent Carpel. And I am never the fool."
Derek knew then.
His men were dead.
Only him remained.
"I—I apologize," he stammered, terror flooding his face.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He had planned everything, every angle. He thought he'd trap Vincent, save his club.
Instead, he was the one surrounded.
"I apologize, Vincent," he repeated weakly, bowing his head.
"I hate apologies," Vincent said coldly. "Especially when they come after betrayal. You made your choice the moment you signed that agreement and still tried to betray me. How pathetic."
Tears spilled from Derek's reddened eyes.
"I could die right now," he sobbed. "Or live. You could've just let it go. One billion is small to you."
"One billion isn't small," Vincent corrected.
"But for you—it is!" Derek broke down completely.
Vincent kept his hands behind his back as he spoke.
"How do you think I made my money, Derek? By pity? Do you think pity builds empires? I'm a trillionaire because I'm cruel, ruthless, dangerous, and I show no mercy."
Derek clasped his hands together, shaking.
"Please," he begged. "I have a family. A wife. Children. They need me."
Vincent's face hardened, lines creasing his forehead.
"Family?" he said. "Mine was destroyed by men like you."
Derek stumbled backward, hair whipping wildly in the wind. For a split second, he thought about running, diving into the ocean, disappearing into the dark.
Too late.
Vincent drew his pistol from inside his black suit and aimed.
Derek froze.
"Your club belongs to me now," Vincent said.
Derek collapsed to his knees, palms pressed against the freezing concrete.
"Please forgive me! Have mercy, please don't kill me!"
Vincent scoffed.
"Mercy?" His voice dropped. "Mercy wasn't shown sixteen years ago when my family died."
His arm remained steady.
"You killed yourself the moment you decided to betray me."
Two shots rang out.
Derek fell sideways, blood spreading across the ground.
Vincent stared down at the body.
"Pathetic," he muttered.
He turned away, holstered his gun, and stepped into his sleek, dark-tinted car.
The engine roared.
Vincent drove west.