The Avenida sign of the lounge was a splash of neon coral against the deepening twilight, casted onto the corner of the street. Below it, the lounge's wide, glass-fronted entrance offered a glimpse into a world of subdued lighting and muted conversation. Inside, the space was rough with exposed brick walls. The building’s industrial past was softened by plush, red velvet seating arranged in intimate groupings. A mezzanine level, accessible by a sweeping staircase, overlooked the main floor. Its railing was a dark, wrought iron silhouette against the vibrant murals that adorned the walls.

  Ganjo sat at the long, polished bar. The cool surface was a well-deserved welcome after the lingering heat of the day. The bar itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. It was a dark, heavy wood, inlaid with a strip of turquoise tiles that echoed the colors of the sea. Behind it, a wall of bottles gleamed under strategically placed spotlights. The air hummed with a low, rhythmic throb of blended Latin music and hushed conversations.

  A middle-aged man stood behind the bar, his movements practiced and efficient. He had a distinguished demeanor, his silver hair contrasting sharply with his youthful appearance. He drew a beer from one of the gleaming taps. The golden liquid frothed invitingly as it filled the tall, slender glass. He slid the beer across the polished surface to Ganjo with a subtle smile playing on his lips.

  "Try this, Ganjo," he said. "My own concoction. Unique, I’d say. I'm thinking of releasing it to market soon."

  Ganjo took the glass, the condensation cold against his palm. He swirled the beer gently, observing the way the light caught the bubbles rising to the surface. He took a long sip, as his eyes closed momentarily in appreciation.

  "Not bad, Ves," he said, setting the glass down with a soft thud. "It’s sweet for a pilsner, but not bad."

  Ves beamed, his smile widening.

  "See? Perfect for the season. Another legitimate business in the portfolio."

  Ves gestured expansively, encompassing the lounge with a sweep of his hand.

  "Expanding the empire, one brew at a time."

  Ganjo smirked, but his gaze drifted back to the beer. His expression turned solemn. He swirled the remaining liquid, the amber light catching the reflections of the bar's interior.

  Ves, noticing the shift in Ganjo's demeanor, leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the bar.

  "Something on your mind, Ganjo?"

  Ganjo hesitated, then met Ves's face.

  "I’d take you for more of a wine man."

  Ves threw his head back and laughed, a hearty, booming sound that momentarily drowned out the ambient music. He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense.

  "Wow, I thought we were friends! That hurt! I may appreciate the finer things in life, but I am, at heart, a true Synoran. A beer drinker, through and through. Especially with these long, hot summers we have."

  Ves paused, his expression turning serious once more.

  "Now, spill it. Small talk isn’t your style. It's unusual to see you at the Avenida. Usually, I'm the one visiting you."

  Ganjo nodded, his vision sweeping across the lounge. The lounge was relatively empty. There were a few patrons scattered among the plush seating areas. The bar itself was deserted, save for him and Ves.

  "I wanted to talk to you,” Ganjo replied. “I have a request."

  Ves gestured around the empty bar.

  "I’m assuming it’s business. Well, shoot. This is my domain, after all.”

  He leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly.

  "Are we having a money problem?"

  Ganjo waved a dismissive hand.

  "No, no. Nothing like that. You know business is better than ever."

  Ves smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes.

  "Then spill it. What's troubling you?"

  Ganjo hesitated, then gestured towards the tap.

  "First, get me another one."

  Ves chuckled, already reaching for a clean glass.

  "Whoa, must be serious."

  As Ves expertly poured the beer, the foam rising to a perfect head, Ganjo spoke.

  "Do you know a man named Frederick Barnes?"

  The glass, full to the brim, was placed before Ganjo.

  Ves's eyebrows rose slightly. There was curiosity – or perhaps warning – in his eyes. He picked up a clean bar towel and began polishing the already gleaming countertop. His movements were slow and deliberate.

  "Frederick Barnes," he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like a foreign object. "I've heard the name. Not someone I deal with directly."

  Ganjo took a slow sip of his beer. The cold liquid helped ease the tension building in his gut.

  "He goes by Freddy," Ganjo added, watching Ves's reaction closely.

  Ves didn't respond to the nickname. His expression remained neutral. He continued polishing the bar. "What do you know about him?" Ganjo pressed, trying to keep the conversation contained within the bubble of their shared space at the bar.

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  Ves stopped polishing, his eyes meeting Ganjo's. The friendly bartender facade had vanished, replaced by a calculating, almost predatory stare.

  "He's not one of my men," he said, his voice firm, almost possessive. "But I know he works for my brother."

  The statement was like a loaded piece of information dropped into the quiet of the lounge. The distant murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses seemed to fade into the background.

  "Why are you asking me this, Ganjo?"

  Ves's voice was sharper now.

  "These topics should be above your pay grade."

  Ganjo sighed, running a hand through his hair. He leaned forward slightly, as his elbows rested on the bar.

  "I know, Ves. I’m not one to pry. But things have become very complicated. And not just for me," he added, with urgency in his tone. "For you, too."

  The transformation in Ves was complete. The affable bartender, the purveyor of fine brews, was gone. In his place stood a man of power. His posture subtly shifted, as his eyes hardened. Authority seemed to radiate through the space around him. He leaned in, with a dangerous rumble.

  "Elaborate."

  Ganjo took a deep breath, steeling himself.

  "Freddy… he directly threatened my life. He sent a hunter after me to make a statement."

  Ves remained silent, his expression unchanged. His eyes remained fixed on Ganjo, waiting. The lack of immediate reaction was more unnerving than any outburst.

  Ganjo continued, the words tumbling out in a rush.

  "I ran into an altercation with Freddy. One of his tenants, she won a case at the Dark Court. Freddy wasn't honoring the contract. The enforcer never showed, so… I took it upon myself to do the job."

  Ganjo paused, as he shifted his attention towards the mezzanine level, checking for eavesdroppers.

  "The last thing I thought was that I was going to run into someone with direct ties to Lupito."

  He waited, expecting a reaction. But Ves remained a statue. Ganjo's gut twisted. He'd said too much, revealed too much. He considered stopping, trying to backtrack, but it was too late. He was committed. Ganjo pressed on, as his voice dropped to a near whisper.

  "And to make matters worse, it turns out Freddy is pressuring someone I know closely into working for him. I wouldn't get involved, normally, but… this man… he's made it evident that he's not making empty threats."

  Finally, Ves spoke with a controlled growl that cut through the ambient noise of the lounge.

  "What is it you want, Ganjo?"

  Ganjo hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He'd been afraid to voice this, afraid of the implications, of the potential repercussions. But he looked around the lounge, at the plush seating, the gleaming bar, the symbols of Ves's power and influence. And then he thought of Veronica, of the offer she'd made, of the potential for a different kind of power, and perhaps a different kind of future. He straightened his shoulders, as his fear receded. It was now replaced by a surge of defiant confidence.

  "I want permission," Ganjo said, his voice clear and steady, "to take Freddy out."

  Ves's lips curled into a smile, but it was a smile devoid of warmth. It was predatory.

  "Ganjo, my friend," he began, "you are not part of my world. Therefore, I couldn't grant you that permission even if I wanted to."

  Ves paused, letting the words sink in, his eyes, dark and unreadable. He continued, his tone shifting. It became almost professorial.

  "And aside from that, my brother holds a higher title than I do. He’s a Duke. And I’m simply a Count."

  Ves gestured around the opulent lounge, a subtle display of his own wealth and influence.

  "I am much wealthier, if not the wealthiest, in the Hanover Dasa Vech. But, that doesn’t overrule title."

  Ves leaned forward slightly.

  "My brother could walk into the Avenida right now, demand it from me, and, unless the King himself overruled it, I’d be obligated to give it to him. It’s how our world works."

  The 'our' was pointed, a reminder of the worlds that separated Ganjo from Ves.

  Ganjo shifted, the leather of his jacket creaking softly. He met Ves's gaze, refusing to be intimidated.

  "I also know," Ganjo said, his voice steady, "that the Dasa Vech monarchs maintain their power by granting permits to their nobles, in exchange for a specific resource."

  He paused, letting the implication sink in.

  "And unlike the other nobles, Ves, you provide the Hanovers with straight-up money. Losing you would throw the Hanovers back into being the weakest branch of all the Dasa Vech monarchies."

  Ves smiled again, genuinely this time, a flash of amusement in his eyes. He straightened up, resuming his casual posture behind the bar.

  "You’re a perceptive man, Ganjo," he said with admiration in his tone. "But you forget, you are only an employee. You get paid a salary. You remain in my protection because of your… valuable information. But even though you’re valuable to me, I can’t grant these permissions to someone who wasn’t raised in the cult."

  Ves paused, as he assessed Ganjo.

  "From what I know, Freddy has a similar background to me. Sold into the cult at six – old, by Dasa Vech standards. He’s become one of the most powerful, and lucrative, lords for the monarchy. And considering the Hanovers are… small… in relation to the other monarchies, that’s saying a lot."

  Ganjo's jaw tightened, a muscle flickering in his cheek.

  "That's not something that's ever stopped you, Ves," he countered. "You've gotten where you are because you've broken all the rules."

  Ves's smile returned with that same, unsettling, predatory curve of his lips.

  "And that," he said, "is precisely why I’m still just a Count, despite my power spanning city-states."

  Ganjo sighed, the fight draining out of him. He felt the weight of the unspoken rules, and the invisible barriers that separated him from Ves's world. It was a cult that lived in the underbelly with ancient traditions and ruthless power struggles.

  Ves leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

  "You need to understand, Ganjo, when one of our own is killed… we all feel it. Especially the noble they directly serve. I don’t know that type of sensation. Since, as you know very well, I don’t use cult members in my operations."

  Ganjo frowned, as a knot of unease tightening in his gut.

  "What will you do when Freddy comes after everything you have? Because it’s your assets at stake. I am, like you said,” sarcasm dripped from Ganjo’s tone, “simply an employee."

  A slow, confident spread of Ves’ lips formed that didn't reach his eyes.

  "I’m confident that won’t happen, Ganjo."

  Ganjo stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception, or weakness. But Ves's expression was unreadable. It was a mask of serene confidence that was both reassuring and deeply unsettling. It was then, in that moment of intense scrutiny, that Ganjo understood. Ves wasn't refusing him; he was allowing him. He was giving Ganjo tacit approval. But, it needed to be a silent blessing to act, while maintaining a veneer of plausible deniability.

  Just like regular society, the Dasa Vech hold their own trials among them. And the monarchy's main asset is their monopoly on interrogators.

  The thought surfaced unbidden in Ganjo's mind.

  If there were to be a conflict within the monarchy, Ves would potentially need to undergo an interrogation.

  "I understand," Ganjo said, firmly. He pushed his empty glass across the bar, as a subtle sign that the conversation was over. He stood up.

  "Thank you for the drink, Ves."

  As Ganjo turned to leave, Ves spoke again. The tone was casual, almost an afterthought.

  "You know, Ganjo… Freddy provides my brother with a significant income between the drugs and those… juice bars… springing up all across Bonao and Pachekho."

  Distaste crossed Ves’ face.

  "I severely disapprove of those night clubs for teens, but what do I know?"

  Ganjo smirked. A flash of understanding had crossed his eyes. Ves hadn't just given him permission; he'd given him a target.