“What the hell are you doing here?” Derrick demanded, though his voice wavered slightly. He prayed it wasn’t because of yesterday’s events.

  Kingsley let out a soft, knowing laugh. “What am I doing here?” he repeated, his tone calm but cutting. “We’ve noticed the missing shipments, the missing money, the late payments—and ahhh, the failed robbery. You think we wouldn’t notice that, Derrick? Tut-tut.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Not smart, Derrick. Not smart at all.”

  “Look, you can’t blame me for that,” Derrick said quickly. “Dragonblade... he was an unforeseen problem that’s hit every gang in New York. That’s out of my control—no one could’ve predicted he’d show up when he did. But I’m working on fixing everything. Afra will get his money, I just need more time.”

  “Ah... time.” Kingsley tilted his head thoughtfully. “It’s always time with you Americans.” He stood slowly, brushing off his sleeves. “Fortunately for you, the boss would like to hear this good news in person. So, you’ll come and share it with him. Now.”

  Derrick swallowed hard and holstered his gun. There was no fighting his way out of this one. His feet felt heavy as he walked out of the office, Kingsley and his associate close behind.

  As they passed the reception desk, Sarah was still trembling, her hands clenched at her sides. Kingsley paused briefly, glancing at her with a smirk.

  “Goodbye, Sarah. And thank you for your cooperation,” he said in a smooth, mock-polite tone. “It was... how do you Americans say it? Ah, yes—of great help.”

  Sarah kept her gaze down, unable to speak. Kingsley chuckled softly and continued walking.

  Outside, a sleek black car idled by the curb. The driver stepped out immediately, opening the door with a respectful nod.

  “After you, my American friend,” Kingsley said with a small bow, his voice dripping with courtesy, his face smug as ever.

  Derrick hesitated, then climbed inside. Kingsley and his associate followed, the door slamming shut behind them. As the vehicle pulled away, Sarah stood at the window, frozen in place. Her eyes widened as Kingsley leaned out of the window, giving her a slow, taunting wave goodbye before disappearing into the distance.

  The ride to Afra’s estate was silent. Kingsley and his associate looked calm—almost relaxed—while Derrick sat stiff and drenched in sweat, his mind racing for any possible way out. His nerves were consuming him. Afra wasn’t the kind of man you wanted to get on the wrong side of, let alone one who requested an audience with you.

  “Cheer up, my American friend. We’re here,” Kingsley said with a grin as the car rolled up to the estate gates. He pressed his thumb to a scanner.

  “Welcome back, Kingsley,” a robotic voice announced as the gates slowly opened.

  Derrick stared out the window at the vast estate—a sprawling expanse of land with rivers cutting across acres of greenery. His stomach sank. If they kill me out here, no one will ever find me, he thought, frantically analyzing every detail of the landscape for a possible escape route.

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  The car came to a stop. The door opened, and Kingsley stepped out, his associate following close behind. Derrick hesitated for a second before stepping onto the gravel road.

  As they entered the mansion’s grand hallway, Derrick’s heart pounded. The marble floors gleamed under the lights, but what caught his attention were the armed men stationed everywhere. His panic deepened. There’s no way out of this. If I try anything, I’m a dead man.

  They reached Afra’s office. Kingsley pushed the doors open and gestured toward Derrick.

  “After you, my American friend.”

  Derrick froze for a moment before stepping inside. The doors shut behind him. Afra sat with his back to them, staring into a large mirror that reflected Derrick’s anxious face. The man was massive—easily 6'7" and built like a wrecking ball.

  “Derrick, Derrick, Derrick,” Afra said slowly, his voice deep and deliberate. “What are we going to do with you, my friend?”

  “Afra, I can explain—” Derrick began, but Afra cut him off with a glare.

  “Did I tell you to speak?” Afra asked coldly.

  “No,” Derrick muttered.

  “Then don’t speak until I tell you to,” Afra said. His tone was low but full of aggression. Derrick didn't know where to look, he simply swallowed hard and took a step back.

  “When you approached me, Derrick, asking to work with my organization, you made bold promises. Many of them you kept. But many... you did not.” Afra’s gaze remained steady. “Now, explain to me why my shipments are missing, my money gone, and deals throughout your city disrupted. But be warned—interrupt me again, and your next breath will be through a ventilator.”

  “Sorry, Afra,” Derrick said quickly, his voice shaking.

  “One thing I do not play with,” Afra continued, as he got to his feet slowly, “is my money. Your job is to control this city and I do not see control. You convinced me you could handle it. But what I see is a man who is out if his depth.”

  Derrick took another gulp, his mind rattling as he didn't want to poke the bear. “Afra, this boy... Dragonblade... he came out of nowhere. Before him, we had the perfect arrangement. Your money was on time, clean, and everthing ran smoothly.”

  Afra paused, thinking, before speaking again. “I do not disagree. But you’ve allowed some kid to make a mockery of your territory. You’ve drawn attention to my business. And eventually, they’ll put two and two together... and find me, and that Derrick is simply not acceptable.”

  With a snap of Afra’s fingers, two of his men seized Derrick.

  “Get off me!” Derrick shouted, thrashing in their grip. One of the men drove a fist into his stomach, knocking the air out of him. Gasping, Derrick crumpled as another man drew his firearm and pointed it at him.

  “Get on the floor,” Kingsley ordered calmly.

  “Okay, okay!” Derrick wheezed, lowering himself to the ground.

  Afra walked toward him, his footsteps echoing ominously. His size loomed over Derrick like a shadow.

  “Open your mouth and hold this,” Afra said, pulling out a golf tee.

  “Please, Afra... have mercy. I’ll do whatever you want, I—”

  “If I have to repeat myself...” Afra’s eyes flashed dangerously.

  Derrick quickly opened his mouth wide enough for the tee to rest on his tongue. Afra nodded to one of his men, who handed him a golf ball. Gently, Afra placed the ball on the tee, taking his time to position it perfectly. He tapped it lightly, testing the balance.

  “It seems, my friend, that you have a bug problem—but no exterminator,” Afra said with a smirk. “Consider this my warning. If this 'bug boy' messes with my business again... well, let’s just say your children will grow up without a father.”

  With a powerful swing, Afra drove the ball forward, hitting Derrick square in the face.

  “Argh!” Derrick cried out in pain as blood trickled from his mouth.

  “Get him up and get him out of here,” Afra ordered, turning his back once more.

  Afra’s men yanked Derrick to his feet and dragged him out of the office. His vision blurred as the throbbing pain in his face pulsed like a drum. The last thing he saw before being hauled out was Afra, calmly returning to his seat—cigar in hand, unfazed by the violence he had just inflicted.