Dante arrived at the warehouse faster than lightning.
When he finally pulled up, the night sky was painted in orange and black. Flas licked the collapsing skeleton of the warehouse, sending up plus of smoke that rolled into the air like choking storm clouds. The heat hit him even from where he stood, a dry, suffocating wave that made the air itself feel heavy.
The n were scrambling, faces streaked with soot, voices rough from shouting orders. Buckets of water and hoses fought against the fire, but it was useless. The building was already reduced to little more than charred beams and rubble.
It wasn’t just destroyed—it had been erased.
"We found human skulls inside," Rico said grimly, his voice muffled by the black mask over his mouth and the gloves covering his hands. He was picking his way through the remains with practiced care, boots crunching over glass, ash, and the twisted remnants of tal shelves. "I think the people who did this burned the bodies of our n along with the warehouse."
Dante followed him in, his long strides deliberate. The closer he got, the more the stench of burnt flesh clung to the air. It was thick, foul, and it lodged itself into the back of his throat.
"There was no single survivor?" Dante’s voice was low, almost calm, but the cold bite in it could’ve cut through steel.
Rico didn’t answer at first. He crouched, lifting a chunk of scorched debris from the ground. Beneath it lay what used to be a torso—charcoal-black, unrecognizable. His jaw tightened as he stood.
"They made sure there were no witnesses," he said flatly.
Dante stared down at the remains, his eyes narrowing, his expression unreadable. Anger didn’t just rise in him—it crawled under his skin like a living thing, hot and relentless.
"And the guns?"
"They took them."
Dante’s fists curled so tightly that his knuckles popped. The weight of the loss wasn’t just in money—it was in reputation. The kind of shipnt that had been in this warehouse was worth enough to buy loyalty, fund operations, and silence enemies. Now, not only was it gone, but it had been taken in a way that scread humiliation.
Nobody knew of this warehouse’s location. Nobody except Rico, his father, and the n trusted to guard it. Which ant...
"There must have been a mole in our midst," Dante said darkly. "Find out who it was."
Rico turned to face him, his expression almost incredulous. "A mole? Dante, half our n were burnt in this fire. Unless the mole decided to throw themselves into the flas just to keep from getting caught, this doesn’t make sense. And this..." He gestured to the destruction. "This isn’t the first ti."
Dante’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt.
"This is the third ti," Rico continued. "Third warehouse. Sa pattern. We rebuild sowhere no one could possibly find, and they burn it to the ground. Every ti, they wipe it clean—no guns, no bodies left in a condition to identify, nothing."
Dante said nothing for a mont, his gaze fixed on the glowing embers scattered across the floor.
He rembered the years they’d been hunted like this. And then... silence. The mysterious group had vanished from their radar for over a year, and Dante had believed they’d finally thrown them off the trail.
He had been wrong.
The evidence stood here in ash and ruin, mocking him.
"In that case..." Dante’s voice was like gravel. "We don’t wait for them to co to us again. We catch them. Set up fake arms shipnts, leak the location, and be ready. When they show up—kill them. Leave no survivors behind."
Rico gave a single, firm nod. "Understood."
**
Hours later,
Alisha arrived at Nix Company, her steps slower than usual. Each one sent a faint pulse of pain through her side where the wound lay hidden under her clothes. She kept her expression neutral, chewing back the small, involuntary sounds of discomfort that threatened to escape.
The lobby was sleek—glass walls, marble floors, gold accents catching the light. It was the kind of place where everything slled faintly of fresh flowers and expensive polish. But the shine didn’t make her walk any easier.
She stepped into the elevator alongside Maxine, who gave her a sideways glance. "Are you okay?"
"I’m fine," Alisha said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
The elevator chid, doors opening with a soft hiss. As they stepped out, the sound of heels clicking against the polished floor echoed toward the eting room.
Alisha had debated with herself for hours last night before deciding—she would sign with Nix. The opportunity was too significant to pass up. Still, she wasn’t naïve. She knew the industry well enough to anticipate politics, backhanded comnts, and strategic sabotages.
gan’s manager, Allison, had insisted on attending as a representative to oversee the contract signing. The woman’s presence was... stiff. Her heels struck the marble in perfect, asured clicks, and her posture was as rigid as the spine of the folder she carried.
"Good day, everyone," Allison greeted as they entered the eting room.
Alisha’s brows arched slightly when she spotted Katherine already seated at the table. She hadn’t expected it. Katherine looked up, offering a small smile, but the curve of her lips didn’t reach her eyes.
Alisha didn’t return it.
"Good morning, Alisha," said Nix herself—the CEO of the company, and the woman behind one of the most renowned jewelry brands in the industry.
She was in her fifties, her silver-streaked hair swept into an elegant twist. Fine wrinkles frad her eyes and mouth, but instead of hiding them behind heavy makeup, she wore them like a badge of experience.
"Good morning, ma’am," Alisha replied warmly, extending her hand for a handshake.
But Nix brushed it aside with a light chuckle. "What’s with the formality? Co here."
Before Alisha could respond, the woman had opened her arms. The hug was unexpected, but Alisha leaned into it politely, even if the movent tugged faintly at her injury.
"Now, let’s get down to business," Allison’s voice cut in, brisk and without ceremony.
Alisha inwardly sighed. Joy killer.
Everyone took their seats, the hum of quiet professionalism filling the space. Nix leaned forward slightly, folding her hands atop the polished table.
"I’ve seen clips of Alisha on stage," she began. "And I can say without hesitation she will be a perfect model for my upcoming jewelry collection. Which is why I’m offering her a contract."
The man seated to her right—likely the company’s lawyer—pulled a neatly prepared file from his briefcase and slid it toward Maxine.
"You’re absolutely right," ca a smooth voice from further down the table. Stella, Katherine’s manager. "Alisha has potential. But she’s still a rookie. Not far into her career. And lately, there have been... rumors circulating online, especially after word spread that you planned to have her work alongside Katherine."
Nix’s expression didn’t change, but there was a glint of curiosity in her eyes. "And what exactly do you an by that?"
Stella sighed, as if what she was about to say pained her. "Katherine is a professional with years of experience. Pairing her with a newcor risks... complications. A photoshoot requires chemistry, rhythm. Katherine will have to adjust her own work to compensate for soone who hasn’t reached her level. That kind of imbalance can cause stress—and cost ti."
Alisha had to admit, Stella’s point wasn’t unfounded. In the fashion world, big-na models were rarely paired with complete newcors. It wasn’t about ego, it was about efficiency and image.
The only thing Stella didn’t know was that Alisha was no rookie. She had a decade of experience—she’d just been out of the spotlight. But she had no intention of explaining that now.
"In that case," Maxine said suddenly, her voice cutting clean through the air, "let’s have a photoshoot test. See if Katherine is truly worthy of standing beside Alisha."
The room went still.
And Katherine’s smile, already thin, nearly vanished.
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