In the VIP room, Francisco and Andrew sat across from each other. The air was thick with tension. Andrew leaned forward, voice firm.
"Francisco, we have business in this city too. You can't just make deals with outsiders. It goes against everything our gang stands for."
Francisco took a slow drag from his cigarette, then exhaled the smoke calmly. His eyes narrowed.
"I already said what I wanted. That port is mine. If your people can't handle it, I'll take over. Not a single item leaves unless I allow it."
Andrew tried to stay diplomatic, but Francisco cut him off.
"And you're getting your cut, aren't you? So stop acting like someone's lawyer."
James, sitting nearby, clenched his jaw. His voice rose, sharp and angry.
"We gave you your profits. Isn't that enough?"
Francisco turned to him with a smirk. "Profits?" he scoffed. "Right now, I want it all."
James slammed his fist on the table. "Do you really think this is how you win?"
Francisco stayed calm. He tilted his head, his voice low and mocking.
"A servant should keep his voice down in front of his master."
He leaned back slightly, still smiling.
"And a master needs to be trimmed when he starts barking."
That hit the nerve. James shot up, fury flashing in his eyes. Without a second thought, he kicked the table, sending glasses clattering.
Francisco didn't flinch.
The room fell silent, the tension sharp as glass. James's outburst echoed in the air, a loud crack in the middle of the uneasy calm.
Francisco sat still, eyes closed for a brief second, as if soaking in the silence. Then he stood slowly, composed and cold.
"Gentlemen, I have to go," he said flatly, voice cutting through the heavy air.
"Francisco..." Andrew called out, trying to salvage what was left of the meeting.
But Francisco shot him a cold, hard stare. It was a warning—back off.
Andrew went quiet. That look told him everything.
Without another word, Francisco turned and walked out, leaving the ruined meeting and storm of emotions behind him.
As the door shut, James's rage exploded.
"F**K!"
He slammed his hand on the table, eyes burning with fury.
"Andrew, I swear I'll kill that bastard!"
"I'll kill him!"
Andrew stayed quiet for a beat, letting the anger pass through the room like a storm.
He took a deep breath, tension pulling at his shoulders. He knew the danger of pushing Francisco. The man might be arrogant, but he had power... real, dangerous power.
Meanwhile, on the dance floor, Rafael's fingers traced Hazel's skin, the music setting a smooth rhythm between them. But just as the moment deepened, the music cut off—abrupt and jarring.
Hazel gasped as a hand yanked her away from Rafael. The wine blurred her balance, and she stumbled into a firm chest, the scent of strong cologne hitting her senses.
"Mm…" she murmured, dazed.
The man held her tightly. She blinked up, trying to make sense of the face through her tipsy haze.
"Hey," she said casually, her voice soft, confused.
It was Francisco.
His jaw was tight, eyes burning with fury. He kept one arm wrapped around her waist, the other clenched at his side. Then his glare shifted to Rafael.
"Mr. Francisco, you shouldn't have pulled her like that. She could've gotten hurt," Rafael said, voice sharp, fists tightening.
Francisco didn't flinch. He growled, "How dare you touch my PA?"
His words weren't just angry—they were possessive, jealous.
"She's your PA, not your girlfriend. Watch what you say," Rafael snapped, refusing to back down.
Tension crackled in the air. The crowd around them froze, watching.
Hazel, caught between them, stepped slightly toward Rafael, her voice soft but steady.
"Rafael, why were you standing so far from me?"
Her words hit like a spark in the middle of fire.
Francisco's grip tightened.
Rafael reached out to Hazel, but Francisco shoved him back. His face burned with rage, and his voice cut through the sudden silence.
"Don't you dare," Francisco growled, eyes locked on Rafael.
The party froze. Music stopped. Every gaze turned toward the confrontation.
"She doesn't like your company," Rafael shot back, stepping forward. "Let me take care of her."
His voice held firm authority.
Francisco scoffed. "Who the hell are you?"
Rafael's fists clenched. He struggled to keep calm, but Francisco's arrogance pushed him to the edge.
"You think I'll let you drag her around like property?" Rafael snapped. "What's the guarantee you won't take advantage of her again?"
Hazel's voice broke the tension.
"Rafael…" she called softly, her voice laced with confusion and plea.
Francisco tightened his grip on her arm.
"I'll drive you home," Rafael said firmly, stepping closer. "Come with me, Hazel."
Still a little hazy from the wine, Hazel nodded, her eyes flicking between them.
"Mr. Francisco, I need to go with him. So please..."
Francisco cut her off sharply.
"She's my PA. I'll take her home," he barked, refusing to let go.
Hazel gasped. "Hey, where are you taking me?"
Francisco didn't answer. Without another word, he pulled her away from the crowd, ignoring her protest.
The onlookers stood frozen... surprised, curious, and hungry for drama. Francisco, usually known for his flings and charm, had just made a public scene over Hazel. And people noticed.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"Did he finally choose someone?"
"What about Emily?"
"Did he dump her already?"
The gossip buzzed through the crowd, eyes tracking Francisco as he stormed away with Hazel in his arms. His jaw was clenched, his steps fast and purposeful, trying to escape the judgmental stares and murmurs.
"Francisco!" Rafael shouted, refusing to back down.
Francisco stopped. His body tensed. Then, in one swift motion, he set Hazel down, grabbed her wrist with one hand... and Rafael's collar with the other.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The music had stopped long ago, but now even the silence was thick with tension. People stepped back, forming a loose circle around the two men, anticipating a fight.
Rafael didn't flinch. He grabbed Francisco's wrist, returning the challenge with steady eyes.
In seconds, Francisco's guards rushed in, guns drawn, all aimed at Rafael.
A chill passed over the crowd. No one moved. No one spoke.
Francisco leaned in, his voice low but sharp enough to cut.
"Don't even think about it."
Rafael didn't back down. His eyes locked on Francisco's as he said coldly, "You know I can have you locked up for this."
His voice echoed, loaded with tension—and something deeper.
Francisco's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. Calm on the outside, but boiling underneath.
"You can't," he said quietly. "And you know exactly why."
Then, without another word, he shoved Rafael aside and lifted Hazel into his arms. She squirmed in protest, slurring her objections, but she was too drunk to fight back.
Some of the crowd watched with sympathy. Others exchanged glances, gossip already brewing.
Rafael stood frozen, fists clenched, as Francisco carried Hazel out. He watched him shove her into the car and slam the door shut, locking it with a click that echoed louder than it should have.
Francisco didn't look back.
Rafael pulled out his phone, his fingers shaking with frustration as he dialed a number.
Outside, Francisco's guard held the car door open. Francisco slid in beside Hazel without a word, his face cold and tight.
Hazel, far from quiet, reached for the handle again and again, grumbling through the haze of wine and rage.
"I want to go back," she muttered. "I want to dance. Let me out."
She pushed at the door, frowning, her voice rising with every word.
Francisco leaned back, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead as the car pulled away into the night.