Ethan sat at the cluttered desk in his hotel room, the glow from multiple monitors casting sharp, angular shadows across his face. Night had fallen hours ago, leaving the room bathed only in artificial blue and white light.
He stretched briefly, rubbing his neck as he stared at the screen. It had taken two weeks of careful digital crafting, but Luc Moreau's identity was finally robust enough for his needs.
Luc Moreau. Former French public contractor. Urban planner. Turned illicit weapons supplier and logistical mastermind—just enough legitimacy blended with shadows to be convincing. The groundwork had been meticulous: obituaries seeded into obscure European databases, small public projects attached to Luc's name, forum interactions planted on criminal message boards—all designed to build a credible, obscure legend.
Ethan picked up the burner phone, his pulse steady but quickening slightly. The number had cost him a day and five-thousand dollars through Felicia's contacts—a carefully guarded burner that belonged solely to Delilah herself.
He activated the voice modulation software, instantly deepening and aging his voice by nearly two decades. A careful breath. Then he dialed.
The line rang three times before clicking open. Delilah's voice came through cold and wary.
"Who is this?"
Ethan—now Luc—smiled slightly, the expression bleeding easily into his altered voice, polished with a subtle French accent.
"Bonjour, Miss Delilah. Forgive the abruptness of this call, but discretion is vital in our line of work. I'm Luc Moreau. You may not know my name yet, but I've admired your work for some time."
Delilah's tone turned sharper, more guarded. "Admired my work?"
"Indeed. Your precision on El Uno was impressive. Brutal, yes, but also strategically perfect. Few could've handled such a dangerous opponent with that level of... professionalism."
There was a slight pause. Ethan heard the faint sound of shifting fabric, as if Delilah were rising from a chair.
"Get to the point, Luc," Delilah said evenly. "If this is another job offer, send your details through the usual channels. I don't do cold calls."
Luc chuckled softly, the sound richly amused but carrying subtle menace. "Ah, but this is not just another job offer. Hiring a woman of your caliber as mere muscle would be a tragic waste. I see far greater potential in you—potential that Rose will never let you fully realize."
Delilah didn't answer immediately. Ethan allowed the silence to stretch, letting curiosity do his work.
"Potential?" she finally echoed, her voice skeptical yet intrigued.
"Precisely. Why continue playing Rose's enforcer when you could build something far greater? Why stand in the shadows of weaker men, waiting for scraps from their table, when you're more than capable of running the entire table yourself?"
"Why me? Rose has a dozen killers on payroll. You don't know me," Delilah replied coldly. "And you're walking a very fine line."
"I know enough," Luc said calmly. "I know Rose keeps you on a short leash. I know he limits your resources, your autonomy. He trusts you, yes, but still fears your ambition, and rightly so—because you're better than him, smarter, deadlier, more capable. Why else would he keep you confined to such petty jobs?"
There was another pause, longer this time, the silence filled only by the faint static of the connection.
"What exactly are you offering?" Delilah asked finally, her voice softer now, dangerous curiosity replacing wariness.
Ethan leaned forward slightly, voice controlled but magnetic. "I'm offering you independence, Miss Delilah. Your own syndicate. Your own power structure, completely outside Rose's influence. Weapons, logistics, secure locations—I'll supply whatever you need to establish yourself firmly. A criminal empire of your own making."
Delilah gave a short laugh. "And what exactly do you get out of this?"
"Very little," Ethan answered smoothly. "An occasional favor, perhaps once or twice a year. Nothing taxing, nothing that disrupts your operations. Think of me as a silent partner: investing in your future in exchange for a few rare favors."
"That sounds suspiciously generous," Delilah replied dryly.
"Not generosity," Luc corrected mildly. "I do not do charity. It is an investment. I'm selective about the people I partner with. Talent like yours comes along once in a generation. With the right backing, you could control this city's criminal underworld entirely."
Delilah's voice sharpened again, cautious and probing. "Let's say I'm interested. What guarantees do I have?"
"Freedom," Ethan answered decisively. "I'll provide you with a clean identity—bulletproof passports, secure documents, enough for international mobility without suspicion. You'll never have to look over your shoulder again. And, of course, money. Enough wealth and resources to bury Rose a dozen times over."
Delilah remained silent, processing this.
Luc's voice hardened slightly, the soft menace returning. "Understand, this isn't charity. It's an opportunity. I'll make this offer once. If you refuse, I'll never contact you again—and I promise, you won't find a better one."
Delilah gave another slow laugh, but Ethan could hear the faint tremor beneath her bravado. "You talk a good game, Luc. But how do I know you're as capable as you claim?"
Ethan had anticipated the question. "You require proof? Check Rose's shipping records tomorrow. The shipments coming in tonight at the docks—I've rerouted two crates of guns to the location I will text to you after this call is over. A small demonstration of capability, and a clear message."
Delilah hesitated, a barely noticeable catch in her voice. "You did what?"
Luc smiled again, colder this time. "Consider it a gesture of goodwill. Once you verify the crates, you'll know exactly who you're dealing with."
Another long silence stretched. Ethan imagined her pacing, calculating risks, weighing options.
"I'll verify," she said at last, grudgingly. "Then we'll talk again."
Luc leaned back in his chair, triumphant but careful. "Excellent. Until then, Miss Delilah. Do have a wonderful evening."
He ended the call smoothly, immediately powering down the phone and removing its battery and sim card. He sat still, listening to the silence in the room, broken only by the quiet hum of computers.
Phase one complete. Delilah was intrigued—hooked by ambition, curiosity, and just enough fear and marvel.
But Ethan knew the real challenge was yet to come. Rerouting part of Rose's shipment had been a gamble, calculated but dangerous. He'd need Felicia nearby tonight in case Rose's reaction was more aggressive than expected. But if it worked, if Delilah saw tangible proof of Luc Moreau's power…
She'd be his, willingly, without a single bullet fired.
Ethan exhaled slowly, leaning back as tension melted from his shoulders. Another piece placed. Another thread woven into the tapestry he'd begun months ago.
Now he just had to ensure no one saw the hand behind the curtain—especially not Delilah.