Elias Receives an Order to Stay Away
The air in the dimly lit warehouse smelled of oil and damp wood. Elias stood before Dominic Graves, who leaned casually against his desk, twirling a glass of whiskey in his fingers. The glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across his face, accentuating the deep lines of a man who had seen too much blood and betrayal.
Dominic exhaled slowly and looked Elias in the eye. "You're going to lay low for a while," he said, his voice calm but firm. "The streets are crawling with heat after that disaster at the club."
Elias clenched his jaw. "I can still finish the job," he said, his hands tightening into fists at his sides.
Dominic chuckled. "You're eager, I'll give you that. But eager men end up in shallow graves, Elias. This isn't just about killing Anton Sorelli anymore. There's a bigger game at play now."
Elias remained silent, waiting for Graves to continue.
"The Vescari Syndicate took a big hit," Dominic went on. "Adrian Vescari lost his brother in that ambush. That means he's out for blood—doesn't matter whose. The African gang is a problem, sure, but someone fed them information. There's a rat somewhere, and Vescari's going to tear the city apart to find him."
Elias shifted his weight, considering the implications. "And you want me to stay out of it?"
"For now," Dominic confirmed. "Go to my casino, relax, let things cool down. When the time is right, I'll tell you to act. And when I do, you'll finish the job without hesitation." He raised his glass. "You do that, and you're free."
Elias met his gaze, searching for any sign of deceit. He found none. With a slow nod, he turned and walked out, leaving Dominic Graves in the dim light, swirling his whiskey with a knowing smirk.
---
A Night at the Casino – Meeting Karma Zobkov
The city pulsed with life as Elias arrived at The Golden Mirage, the casino owned by Dominic Graves. A palace of neon and excess, the building loomed over the street, its golden lights reflecting off the rain-slick pavement. Inside, the air was thick with cigar smoke, laughter, and the endless chime of slot machines.
Elias moved through the crowd, his eyes scanning the faces of gamblers, gangsters, and women draped in luxury. He needed a drink.
At the bar, he ordered whiskey, neat. As he took his first sip, a voice to his left caught his attention.
"You don't look like a man here to enjoy himself."
Elias turned his head and found himself staring into the sharp, knowing eyes of Karma Zobkov. She was dressed in a form-fitting black dress, her auburn hair cascading over her shoulder like liquid fire. There was something unsettlingly confident about her, as if she could see straight through him.
"I'm not," Elias admitted.
Karma smirked and took a sip of her own drink. "Then why are you here?"
"Orders," he said simply.
"From Graves?" she guessed, raising an eyebrow.
Elias studied her for a moment. She was no ordinary casino guest. She spoke as if she knew the world he lived in, the dangers that lurked in every corner.
"You know Dominic?" Elias asked.
Karma chuckled. "Everyone knows Dominic." She leaned in slightly, her perfume a mix of jasmine and danger. "But me? I don't belong to anyone."
Elias found himself intrigued. "Then what's your story?"
Karma swirled her drink, watching the amber liquid dance in the glass. "Let's just say... I know how to survive." She met his eyes. "And I know men like you. You're waiting for something. For permission to act. But one day, Elias, you'll realize you don't need anyone's permission."
Elias exhaled slowly, absorbing her words. There was something about Karma Zobkov that unsettled him—in a way he couldn't quite define.
Before he could respond, the lights flickered for a brief second. And in the shadows beyond the casino floor, he saw a man watching him.
---
The Stranger in the Dark – Marco Silvester
The man didn't move when Elias approached. He remained in the darkness near the edge of the casino, just out of reach of the neon lights. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark coat.
"You've been staring at me," Elias said, his voice measured.
The man smirked. "Because I know who you are."
Elias stiffened slightly. "Do you?"
Marco Silvester took a step forward, just enough for the dim light to reveal his sharp features. "I know everything, Elias. About Graves. About your debt. About what you've done... and what you're about to do."
Elias clenched his jaw. "You don't know anything."
Marco's smirk didn't waver. "I know that you have one way out of this mess, and it's not through Graves. You think he'll let you go? You think he'll keep his promise?" He chuckled. "Wake up, Elias. You're nothing but a weapon to him."
Elias felt his fingers twitch toward the knife hidden in his jacket. "And what do you suggest?"
Marco's voice dropped to a whisper. "Let me help you."
Elias stared at him, searching for any sign of deception. And then he turned and walked away.
---
The Vescari Syndicate's Meeting
Elsewhere in the city, in a hidden room beneath an old butcher shop, the Vescari Syndicate gathered. Adrian Vescari sat at the head of the long table, his face dark with fury. Anton Sorelli, Luca "The Hammer," and the remaining high-ranking members were present.
"There's a traitor among us," Adrian growled. "The African gang knew when and where we'd be. Someone sold us out."
Anton sorelli, his face still bruised from the ambush, spat on the floor. "We find them, we gut them."
Luca cracked his knuckles. "Ok, king. But how?"
Adrian's eyes burned with hatred. "We start with the usual suspects. Anyone who had access to our plans. We rip apart their lives until we find the rat."
Anton Sorelli leaned back. "And the African gang?"
Adrian's lips curled into a sneer. "We end them. Completely. They don't get to walk away from this."
The room was silent for a long moment, then Adrian spoke again.
"Anyone who betrays the Vescari Syndicate…" He leaned forward. "Dies screaming."
---
Adrian Vescari's Wrath
Later that night, Adrian Vescari stood alone in his office, staring at a framed photo of his brother Eduardo Vescari, now dead. His fingers curled into fists.
"They'll pay," he whispered. "All of them."
His mind raced. The African gang would suffer first. Then, he'd find the rat. And when he did…
His smile was cold and filled with promises of pain.
---
The Arrival of the New Sheriff
As the underworld plotted and festered, a new lawman arrived in town.
Sheriff Thomas Grayson stepped out of his car, his polished boots hitting the pavement with a quiet authority. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore a hat tilted just enough to shadow his piercing blue eyes. His reputation had preceded him—ruthless against crime, incorruptible, and relentless.
He looked up at the skyline of the city, knowing that beneath its glittering lights, rot festered. He had cleaned up worse places before.
And he would do it again.
The mafia had ruled this city for too long.
That was about to change.