Tyrone walked into his luxurious penthouse, the familiar dim lights and polished surfaces reflecting the city's nightscape back at him. He was about to head toward his desk when he noticed something was off. A figure sat in his chair, legs crossed, casually swirling a glass of whiskey in one hand. Before he could react, he felt the cold, unmistakable barrel of a gun press against the back of his head.
His instincts kicked in, but Tyrone forced himself to stay calm. Slowly, he raised his hands in a show of compliance. "Easy now," he said smoothly, keeping his voice steady. "No need for any of that."
The figure in his chair spoke, her voice cold and dripping with amusement. "I told you I'd be paying you a visit."
Tyrone's eyes narrowed, and then the woman turned around, revealing herself. It was **Isabella Rodrigo**. She smiled, but it wasn't friendly—it was the smile of a predator who had just cornered her prey.
"You're not as impressive as I thought you'd be, Tyrone," Isabella said, her eyes appraising him like a lioness sizing up her meal. She took a slow sip from her glass, letting the silence stretch out between them, the gun still trained on Tyrone by the unseen assailant behind him.
Tyrone lowered his hands slightly, glancing around without turning his head. "You always make house calls like this, or am I just special?" he quipped, his voice calm despite the dangerous situation.
Isabella chuckled darkly and stood up from his chair, walking around to face him. "I make exceptions for people who mess with my business. You think you can kill my connect and not face consequences?"
Tyrone's heart rate remained steady, though his mind was racing. He had been expecting retaliation, but not this direct confrontation. Still, he wasn't about to show fear. "That connect was in my way. Business is business. I don't owe you anything."
Isabella's expression hardened. "Oh, but you do. You've disrupted my operations in the U.S., and that comes with a price." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You've got two options, Tyrone. You either die slowly and painfully, and I hang your body for everyone to see as a message—or you pay for your transgressions."
Tyrone's gaze didn't waver. "And what does 'pay' mean in your book?"
Isabella smiled again, that predatory glint returning to her eyes. "You take on the role of the supplier you killed. You work for me now. You move my product, and you do it quietly. No more of this bold expansion of yours without my say-so. In return, I let you keep your head. Fair deal, don't you think?"
Tyrone stared at her, considering his options. His pride told him to refuse, to fight back. But his instincts—the same instincts that had gotten him this far in the game—told him to play this carefully. Isabella wasn't just a rival; she was a dangerous player with more power than most. And right now, she had the upper hand.
"I'm not one for working under anyone's thumb," Tyrone said carefully, keeping his tone steady. "But I get it—you want control, just like me. We can find a way to make this work… without me being your lackey."
Isabella raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh? And what exactly do you propose?"
Tyrone lowered his hands, feeling the tension in the room shift slightly. "I'll move your product, but I'll do it my way. My network's growing, and you know I can handle distribution better than anyone else you've got lined up. You want results, right? Let me do what I do best, but I'm not working *for* you. We partner, not master and servant."
Isabella studied him for a moment, her eyes cold and calculating. Then, after a long silence, she smiled again, but this time it was a little less menacing. "You're a bold one, Tyrone. I like that. But remember—if you cross me again, there won't be a third option."
Tyrone nodded slightly. "I got it. But don't worry, I'm not planning on crossing you. As long as the money flows, we'll both get what we want."
Isabella took a step back, nodding to the man holding the gun to Tyrone's head. The pressure of the barrel disappeared, and Tyrone could feel the tension in the room easing ever so slightly.
"I'll be watching you, Tyrone," Isabella said, turning toward the door. "Make sure you don't disappoint."
As she walked out of the penthouse with her entourage, Tyrone let out a slow breath, his mind already spinning with thoughts of his next move. He knew this was far from over, but for now, he'd play the game. He'd make Isabella believe he was on board, all while keeping his own plans in motion.
The game had just gotten a lot more dangerous. But Tyrone thrived in danger.
Jamal paced back and forth in Tyrone's office, his agitation clear. "How the hell did she even get into your penthouse, Ty? That place is locked down tighter than Fort Knox! What, you just let people walk in now?" His voice rose with frustration, the disbelief evident on his face.
Tyrone leaned back in his chair, casually sipping whiskey as he stared at the skyline from the large window. He remained calm, a stark contrast to Jamal's boiling anger. "Doesn't matter how she got in, Jamal. She did, and now we know what we're dealing with."
Jamal slammed his fist on the desk, eyes blazing. "Nah, man, this ain't right! She walks into your spot like she owns it, holds a gun to your head, and what? We just let her walk away like it's nothing?"
Tyrone swirled the whiskey in his glass, taking another slow sip before speaking. "It's not that simple, bro. She's got more power than we thought. You go after someone like Isabella, you gotta be prepared for what comes next."
Jamal wasn't having it. "So what? We just sit back and wait for her to make the next move? She's testing us, Tyrone. We can't just let that slide. We go after her. Hit her where it hurts, show her we ain't scared."
Tyrone set his glass down with a quiet clink, his gaze finally meeting Jamal's. "And what exactly do you think we're gonna do? March up to her, guns blazing, and take her out? You know damn well that's not how this works."
Jamal shook his head, still fuming. "You're tellin' me we just let this ride? That ain't you, Ty. You've never backed down from anyone."
Tyrone's voice lowered, but there was a steely edge to it. "I ain't backing down. But you gotta understand, Isabella ain't just some cartel boss. She's tied to people way higher up than we are, with resources we don't even know about yet. Going after her now is suicide."
Jamal's fists clenched, and he leaned over the desk, eyes locked on Tyrone's. "So what, we wait for her to come back and put a bullet in your head?"
Tyrone stood up slowly, his presence towering as he stepped around the desk. He placed a firm hand on Jamal's shoulder, his voice firm. "We're gonna play it smart. Isabella thinks she's got me under her thumb, but that's where she's wrong. Let her think she's in control for now, but we'll make our move when the time's right. Trust me, I've got this."
Jamal still looked uneasy, but he knew better than to push Tyrone when he was in this kind of mindset. "I hear you, but I'm tellin' you, Ty, we gotta be ready. If she makes another move, we hit back, no hesitation."
Tyrone nodded, his eyes narrowing as he thought about the bigger game at play. "Don't worry. When the time comes, we'll be ready. Isabella's not the only one who knows how to play dirty."
Jamal, still tense, finally took a step back. "Alright. But just know, I got your back if things go sideways."
Tyrone gave a small nod, picking up his whiskey again. "I know, Jamal. That's why we're gonna win."