"The most of one's problem is self-made."
Mr. Massino's study exuded the kind of power that whispered rather than shouted. The polished oak desk bore the weight of years of decisions, both calculated and impulsive, while a Persian rug, deep crimson with intricate gold patterns, lay underfoot like a pool of blood. The walls, lined with leather-bound books and ornate portraits of his ancestors, seemed to watch over him, their judgment eternal. A heavy crystal chandelier dangled above, its facets scattering soft light across the room, but casting ominous shadows along the corners.
Seated behind the desk, Mr. Massino struck a solemn figure. His tailored charcoal suit clung perfectly to his broad frame, yet his expression betrayed an unease that no clothing could mask. He lit a cigarette with practiced ease, the silver lighter clicking softly in the hushed room. Taking a deep drag, he let the smoke curl around him like a shroud before exhaling slowly, his gaze momentarily lost in the haze.
Across from him, Mr. Coppola reclined in a leather armchair, the soft creak of the worn material the only sound between them for a moment.
"VPS conveyed his message last night from India," Mr. Coppola said in a cheerful tone, leaning forward slightly. "He is happy with your decision to send Sonny without hesitation. He promises to keep Sonny safe and soon will come with him to join in Sonny's wedding ceremony."
Massino flicked the ash from his cigarette into a crystal ashtray shaped like a coiled snake. His gaze lifted to the chandelier, where the flickering light seemed to dance uneasily.
"Many of my close friends never cease to remind me," he said, his voice low and measured, "that I am nothing but a bootlicker of VPS. That I am not independent enough to make my own decisions—a privilege even the lowest of family heads enjoy. And if you look at it a certain way, it's undeniable. After aligning with VPS, my power shifted. I went from deciding my son's marriage on my terms to discussing it with a man who is, frankly, a stranger to our family."
His voice tightened as he continued. "He sits in some far corner of the world, dictating how I speak to others, host parties, arrange meetings—even attend funerals. Isn't that insulting?"
Coppola's grin faltered, replaced by a grim seriousness. He adjusted his tie before speaking. "No, Massino. Those who call you a bootlicker are fools, envious of your success and power. I won't say you weren't powerful before VPS, but you were a small name among many. The Massino Family, as grand as it was, didn't command the fear it does now. With VPS, your rise was meteoric. In two years, you've gone from a faction leader to the undisputed ruler of the Italian underworld. Small families that once mocked you now cower in fear. That's not submission, my friend. That's strategy."
Massino gave a wry smile, though his eyes didn't soften. He stubbed out the cigarette and leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning under his weight. "I wish things were that simple. With powerful friends come bloodthirsty enemies. VPS's strength rests on his allies. The LLF funds him, the Japanese protect him, and we supply the men. If any of us falters, his empire crumbles. Rico Martinez and Hutch Dempsey know that, which is why they'll target the weakest link. LLF and the Japanese are strong. That leaves us."
Massino's words hung in the air like the lingering smoke, heavy and foreboding. He rubbed his temples, his fingers pressing into the grooves etched by years of tension. "I just fear something ominous is brewing."
Coppola's laugh broke the tension, though it rang hollow. "Massino, you're overthinking. VPS has accounted for every contingency. Rico is too preoccupied fighting his factional wars in South America, and Hutch is a beggar trying to form his so-called High Table. They're flies compared to us. They couldn't touch us if they tried."
Massino sighed, his gaze drifting to the window. Beyond the velvet curtains, the moon hung low, its pale light struggling to pierce the shadows outside. He shook his head slowly. "Maybe you're right, Coppola. But my heart tells me otherwise. A storm is coming. I can feel it."
Coppola studied Massino's face, his own smile fading. The room, once warm with the glow of the chandelier, suddenly felt colder.
Osako, Japan
Nafisa stormed down the dimly lit hotel hallway, her heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor. Her face was a mask of fury, her jaw clenched so tightly it seemed as if she might shatter her own teeth. When she reached Giovanni's door, she raised her fist and began pounding with such force that the wooden surface trembled under her assault.
The door creaked open, revealing Giovanni's round, sweat-slicked face. His wide eyes barely had time to register Nafisa's blazing expression before she drove her knee into his stomach. He doubled over with a groan, clutching his belly, as she barked, "WHERE IS YOUR MASTER?"
Giovanni gasped for breath, his voice quivering as he stammered, "He... he never came to the hotel. He left for India a week ago."
Nafisa's eyes widened, then narrowed to furious slits. The veins on her temple throbbed as she processed his words. First the news of Andrich's arrest by U.C.I.D., and now the absence of VPS. It was too much. Without warning, she raised her hand and slapped Giovanni across the face, the crack of her palm against his cheek echoing down the hallway.
"Listen, you fat pig," she spat, her voice laced with venom. "Call your boss and tell him I am not going to Nairobi. To hell with his mission. I will only do the job when Andrich is released from the clutches of U.C.I.D."
Giovanni cowered against the doorframe, blood trickling from the corner of his lip where her ring had caught him. Nafisa shot him one last withering glare before spinning on her heel and marching down the stairs.
She reached the parking lot, her anger radiating off her like heat waves. Her sleek black Lamborghini gleamed under the overhead lights, an aggressive beast waiting to be unleashed. She slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and roared out of the lot, tires screeching as she vanished into the night.
Back in the room, Giovanni staggered to his bed and collapsed onto it, clutching his throbbing face. The blood on his hand smeared onto the white sheets, but he didn't care. He sat there for a long moment, his body shaking. Then, all at once, the tension broke. He buried his face in his hands and began to cry, the tears coming in wracking sobs that echoed in the silent room.
After what felt like an eternity, Giovanni wiped his face with a trembling hand. He reached for his phone and, with reluctance, dialed VPS's number. The line rang once, then twice, but the automated voice told him what he already knew—it was unreachable.
With a snarl of frustration, Giovanni hurled the phone onto the bed. He stared at it for a moment, his chest heaving, before letting out a resigned sigh. "Bad luck," he muttered under his breath, sinking back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling, the weight of his predicament pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.
Nafisa clenched her jaw as she swerved onto the main road, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her Lamborghini's engine growled under her aggressive driving, the roaring hum a reflection of the storm raging within her. She snatched her phone from the console, her fingers stabbing at the screen with the same fury that burned in her chest. VPS's name blinked on the screen as she dialed, her breath quick and shallow.
The line rang, once, twice, but then the dreaded automated response echoed through the speaker: The number you are trying to reach is currently unreachable.
"Goddammit!" Nafisa snarled, her grip tightening as she tossed the phone back onto the passenger seat. Her chest rose and fell as she forced herself to steady her breathing. Reaching for the phone again, she scrolled through her contacts and stopped at another name. With a quick tap, she called Brian, an mutual friend of both Nafisa and Andrich and a professional killer by profession. Her voice was ice-cold and controlled when he answered.
"Andrich got arrested in the Netherlands," she began, her tone clipped. "He's being transferred to the London-based U.C.I.D. headquarters. Can you do something about it, Brian?"
There was a pause on the other end, then Brian, with his detached calm, replied, "I can't. He was caught with a lot of drug money, Nafisa. They've got him under tight security, and Sir Lorenzo himself is overseeing it. Freeing him? That's a suicide mission. You're better off talking to VPS. Word is, he has inside men at U.C.I.D. Maybe he can help."
Nafisa's grip on the phone tightened as her rage bubbled up again. "That bastard VPS is the reason Andrich got captured in the first place!" she hissed. "His holier-than-thou ethics are going to get all of us killed one day. No drugs, no prostitution—those are the biggest revenue streams in the underworld! But no, he wants us to play by his damn rules!"
Brian sighed on the other end. "Look, I get it. But if VPS won't help, there's always Peter. He might not be able to get Andrich out, but he can at least pass messages to him from you."
Nafisa's tone turned grim. "No. It's better for Andrich to cut all ties with us until he's free. Sir Lorenzo is a sly fox, and I won't risk him using Peter to trace anything back to us. Andrich knows what he signed up for."
Brian hesitated but eventually said, "Fair enough. Be careful, Nafisa."
"Thanks for nothing," she muttered and ended the call.
Her fingers trembled as she stared at the phone in her hand, a surge of frustration and helplessness crashing over her. With a sharp cry of anger, she hurled the phone out of the open window, watching it shatter against the pavement in the rearview mirror.
She gritted her teeth, slamming her foot on the accelerator. The Lamborghini shot forward, its engine screaming as it tore through the streets. The city blurred around her, the world narrowing to the pulse of her fury and the ceaseless hum of the car's overworked engine.
Amsterdam, Netherlands
Sir Lorenzo and Ms. Maria was sitting in the seats of a private jet. Between them, Andrich was sitting. His hands were in handcuffs and he was looking at the small television in the back of the seat before him.
The news reporter read the news, "Famous smuggler and notorious criminal, Andrich Balushahi was arrested in Netherlands yesterday and now is currently being taken to the London based headquarters of U.C.I.D. After his arrest, his family fled from Germany and their whereabouts are currently undisclosed. Both the local police authorities and international authorities are in pursuit of them and it is most likely they will be apprehended soon. The alleged locations of Andrich's drug dens are being thoroughly searched and till now no location showed any incriminating evidence against him."
Sir Lorenzo smiled, "Criminals are getting more cautious nowadays. But, no matter how much caution they practice, they cannot escape from the authorities. Eventually, they will be arrested sooner or later." Ms. Maria smiled, "I don't think this guy, Andrich is cautious. Any cautious person won't be so careless to notify the whole world about his deal. His hubris got him arrested."
Andrich said grimly, "Do whatever you want with me. But, please don't harm my family. They are innocent. They have no connections with my businesses." Sir Lorenzo smiled, "We know that perfectly, Mr. Andrich. That's why we kidnapped them and put them in a safer place. But, the duration of their safety is diminishing with every passing second." Andrich said grimly, "You already know everything. What can you possibly ask from me?"
Sir Lorenzo pulled some photographs from his brown leather bag and put them on Andrich's lap. He said, "Recognise them? Don't try to lie. We know that you do." Ms. Maria said, "These guys are no saints. A fact that we all know. Now, tell me where they are?" Andrich said timidly, "I don't know. I vow on my children's name. I don't know." Ms. Maria smiled, "Another lie. You had a conversation with Nafisa over the phone just three days before the deal happened. We know everything, buddy. Nothing is opaque for us. We managed to overhear some bits of your conversation with her, but we couldn't trace her location. She apparently was interested in the deal and as far as we could conclude she is having a fight with her boss, VPS. Isn't it right?"
Andrich said grimly, "I don't know the details, ma'am. I am just a small-scale businessman and by coincidence Nafisa is my friend. VPS and Nafisa are like a couple. Disagreement on matters is frequent between them. She was not interested in the deal, she just wanted to make sure my product doesn't go to waste and I could have some money to feed my wife and children. VPS apparently is strictly against drugs and threatened to kill me if I do any dealings with Rico Martinez." Sir Lorenzo smiled, "Yes. Rico Martinez. Another beast. You claim to be a small-scale businessman, but apparently your consumer list consists of three big criminals."
Andrich said grimly, "As I have said. My involvement with them is just professional and nothing more than that." Sir Lorenzo smiled, "Don't worry, Andrich. Once, we reach the headquarters, we will have enough time to discuss your "professional" relationships in detail." Sir Lorenzo and Ms. Maria smiled as the jet slowly took off...