Tyrone paced back and forth in the dimly lit office of his club, his frustration evident as he argued with Jamal. His voice was low, but it seethed with anger, each word sharper than the last.
"I'm done with this," Tyrone snapped, slamming his fist on the table. "First that old man tried to mess with our shipments, then the crooked cops show up out of nowhere, planting evidence to slow us down. Now Ricco and the Los Ballas Boss think they can play me? I'm not having it."
Jamal leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his own frustration growing. "I hear you, but we gotta be smart. You start making moves on them now, you're playing into their hands. Ricco's trying to rattle you."
Tyrone's eyes burned with rage. He knocked a stack of papers off the desk in one swift motion, sending them fluttering to the floor. "I'm not playing into anyone's hands. I'm sick of everyone thinking they can take what's mine."
The tension in the room was thick as Jamal stayed quiet, watching Tyrone pace like a caged animal. Before either could say another word, the door creaked open, and the former CIA agent stepped in. Dressed in his usual low-profile attire, he moved cautiously but with a quiet confidence, his eyes locked on Tyrone.
"Tyrone," he said, voice steady, "we need to talk."
Tyrone barely glanced at him, still seething. "Not now, man. I'm not in the mood for more bad news."
The ex-CIA agent didn't back down. "This isn't just bad news. It's something you need to hear." He pulled out a small folder and tossed it on the table. "I've been going through the call logs, monitoring the supplier's contacts. There's something off."
Tyrone stopped pacing, eyeing the folder warily before grabbing it. He flipped it open and scanned the pages, his brows furrowing.
"What am I looking at?" he asked, his tone edged with impatience.
The ex-CIA agent stepped forward, his voice lowered as if revealing a critical piece of intel. "The supplier and Ricco... they're family. Cousins, actually. I did some digging, and it turns out they're a lot closer than we thought. They've been keeping things quiet, but there's no doubt about it."
Jamal straightened up from the wall, his eyes wide. "You're telling me the supplier's been playing us this whole time?"
The ex-CIA agent nodded, his face grim. "Looks like it. I found several calls between them—conversations that were far too friendly for just business. This was a setup, Tyrone. Ricco's been using the supplier to feed him information. That's how they've been one step ahead."
Tyrone's jaw clenched tightly as he processed the revelation. "That slimy bastard," he muttered under his breath. He slammed the folder shut, his knuckles white from gripping it too hard. "Ricco thinks he's smart, but he just signed his death warrant."
Jamal's gaze darkened. "So, what's the play?"
Tyrone took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. His mind was already working, formulating a plan, but his rage was barely contained. "We don't make a move yet. We hit Ricco when he least expects it. And the supplier? He's gonna wish he never crossed me."
The ex-CIA agent nodded, satisfied that Tyrone was thinking clearly again. "I'll keep digging. There's more here than just family ties. They've got a whole network working together. We'll take them apart piece by piece."
Tyrone exhaled, his anger now focused and cold. "Good. Start with the supplier. Make sure he knows he's being watched. We'll let him dig his own grave."
Jamal smirked. "Looks like we're about to send a message, loud and clear."
Tyrone's eyes narrowed. "No more games. It's time for Ricco to pay."
As the ex-CIA agent continued speaking, Tyrone's frustration slowly gave way to a cold, calculated focus.
"One more thing," the agent said, glancing down at his notes. "I traced some recent bank transfers linked to a name that might interest you. The police captain—the one responsible for working with Giovanni to frame you—he's holed up in Massachusetts, living off a ranch. A large sum of five million dollars just landed in his account. It's a chunk of the twenty million that was funneled to corrupt law enforcement to help set you up."
Tyrone's eyes flickered with interest. His anger from earlier was now fully replaced by a steely calm. "So, the old man's puppet is living easy, huh? Five million for helping ruin my reputation?"
The ex-CIA agent nodded. "Exactly. But he's sloppy. I flagged the transfers. There's more dirt to dig up, but he's already exposed enough for us to take advantage."
Jamal folded his arms, shaking his head in disbelief. "So that's where some of that money went. I should've known the old man was paying off cops too."
Tyrone leaned back in his chair, a dark smirk forming on his lips. "Seems like we've got ourselves a corrupt cop living the good life while trying to play me for a fool. What a surprise."
He eyed the agent, the glint of approval evident. "You're doing good work. Uncovering all these pieces. Seems like every day you're bringing me closer to cleaning house."
The ex-CIA agent remained professional, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. "I'll keep the pressure on. The police captain's isolated out there on that ranch, thinking he's safe. But he's just another piece of the puzzle. We can get him whenever you're ready."
Tyrone exhaled slowly, his mood lighter than it had been moments before. "That dirty cop's gonna get what's coming to him. But first, we deal with Ricco. I want this supplier and anyone else connected to him taken care of. Then, we'll handle the captain."
Jamal looked over at Tyrone, a sly grin forming. "Seems like your boy here is the best thing that's happened in a while."
Tyrone glanced at the agent, a sense of trust settling in. "Yeah, he's proving to be a blessing. The more you keep uncovering, the better."
The ex-CIA agent nodded firmly. "I'll keep following the trails. I'll expose every plot against you, Tyrone. We'll turn the tables on all of them."
Tyrone leaned forward, cracking his knuckles. "Good. Let's make sure everyone who's ever crossed me regrets it."
The supplier, lost in the rhythm of his lavish lifestyle, danced around his opulent living room, unaware of the danger creeping up on him. His mansion's walls vibrated from the loud music blasting through the speakers, drowning out any sound from the outside.
Meanwhile, four masked men, dressed in all black and armed, moved swiftly along the outer perimeter of the mansion. Like shadows, they scaled the walls with precision, leaping over the top and landing silently. With trained efficiency, they rushed toward the back entrance, their guns drawn and their eyes scanning for any sign of movement.
The music continued to blast, giving them the perfect cover as they approached the door. One of them signaled to the others, and they eased the back door open, slipping inside.
The supplier was still oblivious, twirling in his designer clothes, his back to them as they crept forward. In one swift motion, the lead man knocked the supplier out cold with the hilt of his gun. The room fell silent for a brief moment as his body slumped to the floor.
They wasted no time. With quick hands, they bound his wrists and ankles, securing him tightly to a chair in the middle of the room. The men took their positions, waiting for their real target to arrive.
Minutes later, the low growl of an engine signaled Tyrone's arrival. His black Mustang pulled up smoothly to the front of the mansion. He stepped out, his expression cold and determined, the weight of the situation settling heavily on him as he approached the front door.
Inside, the men were already forcing the supplier awake. They slapped him lightly across the face, causing him to stir. His eyes fluttered open, confusion washing over him as he saw the masked men surrounding him. His heart raced in panic, but before he could scream, one of the men clamped a hand over his mouth.
Tyrone entered the room, his presence commanding as always. He walked with purpose, each step echoing in the now quiet mansion. He stopped in front of the supplier, who was groggily trying to comprehend what was happening.
"Wake him up properly," Tyrone ordered, his voice low and menacing.
One of the men grabbed the supplier by the chin, forcing him to look up at Tyrone. The fear in the supplier's eyes was immediate as the realization hit him. Tyrone had come for him.
"W-what do you want?" the supplier stammered, his voice shaky.
Tyrone leaned down, his face inches from the supplier's. "You're going to call Ricco," he said calmly, but the threat in his tone was unmistakable. "You're going to tell him to come here. And you're going to do it without raising any suspicion. Got it?"
The supplier's face paled, sweat dripping down his forehead as he nodded, fear gripping him. He had no choice. His hands trembled as they placed the phone in his hand, and they dialed Ricco's number.
As the phone rang, Tyrone watched the supplier closely, his eyes cold and calculating. The supplier cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice as Ricco answered on the other end.
"Hey, Ricco… It's me," the supplier began, his voice cracking slightly. "I need you to come by… Got something you might want to see."
Tyrone gave a slow, approving nod as the supplier continued to speak, doing everything in his power to keep his voice from betraying the terror inside him.
When the call ended, Tyrone stepped back, his gaze never leaving the supplier. "Now we wait," he said softly, a dark smile forming on his lips.
The supplier slumped in the chair, dread pooling in his stomach as he realized his betrayal of Tyrone was about to come full circle, and there was no escaping it now.