Chapter 104: Few weeks later.
After Beauty and Gad's wedding, the Scott Gang wasted no time in launching a strict investigation into Andrea Hart. Scott had come across his name earlier while digging into the mystery behind Flora's parents' death, and the pieces were finally starting to align.
That morning, a call had gone out to the allied gangs, summoning them for an urgent meeting in the underground camp. By the time Scott arrived, every one of them was already present, the room thick with tension and expectation. He was the last to step in, his presence commanding silence as all eyes turned toward him.
The underground floor was no ordinary hideout-it was a war room. Sleek, cold, and heavily fortified, the walls were lined with advanced equipment. Massive screens glowed against the dim light, displaying streams of codes, digital maps, and live surveillance feeds tracking their enemies' movements. Every flicker of data told a story of betrayal, threat, and looming war.
Everyone rose as he entered, voices folding into a low murmur of respect-everyone except for Scott's oldest friends, who remained where they were and gave only a single, measured nod. Scott nodded back, then took the seat at the head of the long table. The surface shimmered under the weak overhead lights, reflecting the hard lines of men and women whose faces were carved with resolve but softened, briefly, by the fatigue of long nights.
"So," Scott began, voice flat and steady, "we're starting the primary investigation on Andrea Hart."
Heads turned. Hack leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Boss, the location data's been messy. We haven't pinned down his original campground," he said. "But we traced financials-he's tied to Crea de' La Technologies."
Scott's jaw tightened. "I see." His tone was clipped. "Venom and Prum, any updates from you?"
Prum and Venom exchanged a glance; the two lounged side by side as if habit had made them inseparable. Prum spoke first: "Yes, boss. We're on it. We're also pulling some illegal backings connected to Andrea Hart-money trails, shell companies. Venom's got the contacts to get the paperwork moved."
"Good." Scott pivoted his gaze to Mikey. "Mikey, where do we stand on assets? Warehouse locations? Arms?"
Mikey's tone sank lower, deliberate. "He's hoarding-heavy stuff. Assault rifles, crates of ammo, even a few anti-vehicle launchers you don't want to see outside a war zone. His main storage's spread across multiple sites, hidden under front companies. Whoever set it up knew how to vanish. He's been invisible from day one-no chatter, no loose ends. That's the worrying part."
A slow, wicked grin curved Scott's mouth. It wasn't a smile of pleasure; it was the smile of someone seeing the outline of a plan. "So he thinks he's invisible. Fine. We'll make him visible."
Murmurs circled the table-approval, agreement, the creak of chairs shifting. Scott folded his hands on the table and scanned the room, one leader to another. "We split into three teams. Hack, Mikey and the others take the asset sites-silent entry only. Prum and Venom handle the financials; trace, freeze, expose. Gad, you and I will go to Crea de' La. I want their server maps and any personnel lists-especially anyone who's met with Andrea."
He paused, letting the weight of the command sink in. "Anything else?"
Silence.
"No sleeping on this," Scott added, his voice cutting through the tension like steel. "We go at dawn. No public trails. No heroes. If Andrea Hart has eyes, we blind them first."
A taut stillness followed. Then, as if on cue, an electronic chirp-soft, urgent-cut through the air. Every head snapped toward the bank of screens where a new notification had just flashed: an unmarked camera feed had come online, showing a dim alley outside Crea de' La Technologies. A lone figure crossed the frame, brief, hooded-and for half a breath the room watched as the figure stopped, looked up directly at the camera, and the feed went black.
Scott's hand closed into a fist on the table. He looked up, voice low and hard as gravel.
"That was no mistake."
"Dismiss, let's get to our assigned tasks," Scott said, his chair scraping back as he rose. Just as he was about to leave the room, his sharp eyes landed on Royce.
"Royce," Scott's voice cut through the silence, "do not forget to continue monitoring Black Eye, and get back to me with immediate reports."
Royce nodded once. "Yes, sir." He bowed his head with the same respect the others gave, though his silence carried a heavier weight.
One by one, everyone left the room, the echo of their boots fading into the underground corridors. But Royce remained. He sat alone, shoulders rigid, the glow of the monitors reflecting against his face. Silent. Still. Lost in thought.
Since pledging allegiance to Scott's gang, he had never once considered walking away. His loyalty was not born from fear but from debt. He knew he owed Scott-owed him far more than he could ever repay. What his mother had done to Flora, and what his sister had done...those scars could never truly fade. He had never brought himself to apologize to Flora, but in his own way, he felt this was his atonement-working under her husband, serving him, making the right choices where once he had faltered.
But guilt was a restless companion.
Arthur's name burned in his mind like a brand. Arthur was the man he had sworn to kill with his own hands. Yet now, with Black Eye as Scott's second, as his shadow and his tool, Arthur stood guarded, shielded, untouchable. Black Eye's protection made Arthur harder to reach, and it gnawed at him. To get to Arthur, he would first have to remove Black Eye.
And then there was the shadow man-the one who had taken his mother. The man who had ripped her away, denying her the privilege of ever seeing him or his sister again. That mystery haunted him most of all. Who was he? Why did he move unseen, pulling strings from the dark?
He clenched his fists, his breath steady but burning inside his chest.
What he did not know-was that this man, this faceless shadow, was Andrea Hart.
~~~~~
It was a bright, sunny afternoon when Flora left the hospital with Beauty by her side. Both women carried the quiet glow of pregnancy, their journeys intertwined, having gotten pregnant at almost the same time.
As they made their way home, Flora's phone buzzed with an update from Joan regarding Andrea's case. Her brows furrowed as she read the message, unease stirring in her chest. Outwardly, she wore indifference, but inside, questions struck her one after another.
What connection does this man have with my husband's family?
She remembered seeing his name once on a dusty file in her parents' house. The memory unsettled her more now than ever. Was Andrea tied to my parents' death? Is he trying to harm me-or is his true target my husband? What have we done to this man?
Her lips moved unconsciously, murmuring fragments of thought.
"Flora, what happened?" Beauty's voice cut gently through her spiral, soft but curious.
Flora blinked, forcing a small smile. "Oh, nothing, dear. Nothing. It's just... work related." The lie slipped out smoothly, but it weighed heavy in her chest.
Beauty studied her for a moment before nodding with a gentle smile. "Alright then. So... what about the spa? We're still going soon, right? You know we need to take care of our bodies well, especially for our babies." Her tone was playful, her smile bright.
Flora chuckled faintly, nodding in reassurance.
In the backseat, the hum of the car filled the silence as the driver steered them home. But Flora's mind was not at rest-the questions about Andrea remained sharp, gnawing at her heart with each passing mile.
"We are definitely going there, don't worry," Flora said at last, her voice soft but steady.
Beauty's eyes lit up, relief showing in the curve of her lips. The two women leaned into conversation, their words flowing easily-about cravings, baby names, and the little changes pregnancy brought into their lives. The car filled with laughter, light chatter, and the comfort of shared secrets.
Then, as if remembering something, Flora's face brightened. "Oh! We should call Fiona. She'll be glad to join us for lunch."
"Yes, yes!" Beauty exclaimed, reaching quickly into her purse. She pulled out her phone and dialed Fiona's number.
The line clicked, and almost instantly Fiona's cheerful voice spilled into the car. "Hello, baby," she said, her tone playful.
Beauty chuckled, pressing the phone closer to her ear. "Hi, darling. Flora and I are on our way home, and we're planning lunch. You'd better come join us."
"Oh, really? Lunch at your place? Say less-I'll be there before you even finish chopping onions," Fiona teased, her laughter ringing through the speaker.
Flora couldn't help but smile, warmth rising in her chest at the thought of her friends gathering together. For a brief moment, the earlier shadows in her heart seemed to scatter.
But as the call went on, her gaze drifted out the window. The road stretched endlessly ahead, and though her lips carried a smile, her thoughts returned to the name that haunted her. Andrea. The unanswered questions lingered like a whisper she couldn't silence.
~~~~~
Evening came quickly, sweeping the noon away with its shadows. After the underground meeting, a few remained behind, still working in the camp.
Jann had just finished her tasks for the day. Exhaustion pressed down on her shoulders as she pushed back from her desk, stretching her stiff body. She grabbed her bag, slipped the car keys into her hand, and began walking out, her heels clicking against the tiled floor of the corridor.
The air in the garage was cool and faintly metallic, filled with the quiet hum of parked cars. She made her way to hers, reaching for the door handle. But as she pulled it open, her eyes locked unexpectedly with another pair-Michael's.
For a heartbeat, they stood frozen, staring. Old memories surged between them unspoken, the weight of what he had once done to her pressing into the silence. Her breath caught.
Quickly, she tore her gaze away, sliding into the driver's seat, fumbling as if the very sight of him had unsettled her balance. She pulled the door to close-
But it didn't shut.
A firm hand pressed against the edge, stopping it cold.
"Will you really pretend you never saw me?"
The voice was low, cheeky, edged with something dangerous.
Jann's heart skipped. Shock washed through her veins as she turned, finding Michael standing there, his eyes sharp, his presence unshakable.
She first dropped her bag inside the car, then stepped back out, folding her arms across her chest.
"And yes," she said sharply, "what if I saw you and properly ignored you? Oh, you could come and ask me that-when you already know what you did earlier."
Michael's lips curved into a smile.
Jann froze for a second. She had rarely, if ever, seen him smile. It unsettled her.
"What's so funny, gentleman?" she asked, her tone dry.
"All right," Michael said, his voice quieter now, "I apologize for that day. I just don't like the way you behave whenever you see me. You act as if you've just seen a ghost."
Jann scoffed. "Oh, is that it? Fine. No problem. I've got to go." She shifted, turning back toward her car.
"Won't you just..." Michael hesitated, then blurted, "Can I know where you stay?"
The words seemed clumsy even to him. He remembered his friend's teasing advice-that if he didn't learn to reach out, he might remain single forever. Maybe, he thought, being a friend to Jann was a start. There were no feelings yet, but still, he asked.
Jann turned back, eyes narrowing. "You want to know where I stay? Mikey, please. I need to leave."
Without waiting for a reply, she slid into her car, shut the door, and drove off, leaving Michael standing in the garage, the echo of her departure trailing behind.