𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄

𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐌𝐀

The soft glow of dimmed lights filled the living room as I quietly entered the house. The clock on the wall displayed the time — midnight.

I had been tied up with paperwork at the office for much longer than I had anticipated, and with every step I took, the cool, tiled floor felt comforting beneath my feet.

As I reached the living room, my gaze fell upon Teagan, who was peacefully resting on the plush couch. Her eyes were fully closed, and the gentle rise and fall on her chest indicated that she was in a deep slumber. She looked like an angel bathed in the soft, ambient light.

I smiled at the sight of her, my heart warming at the mere presence of this woman who had captured my soul.

My wife.

I approached her quietly, not wanting to disturb her sleep. Leaning down, I planted a tender kiss on her forehead.

Teagan stirred, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal the sparkle of her gaze. She blinked, momentarily disoriented before recognition lit up her eyes. A soft smile graced her lips as she stretched and yawned.

“Dacre,” She murmured, her voice drowsy and sweet. “Where have you been? It’s so late.”

I settled down beside her on the couch, my arm encircling her shoulders as I pulled her close. “I got caught up with paperwork, meu amor,” I explained. “I lost track of time.”

She nestled into my embrace, her head resting on my chest. She sighed contently, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on my shirt. “I missed you,” She whispered.

My heart swelled with warmth as I held her close, my lips brushing the top of her head. “I missed you, too,” I murmured. “I’m all yours, meu amor.”

—

The air was thick with tension as Demetrio and I sat across from each other, our expressions grave. The mahogany desk that separated us seemed to absorb the weight of our conversation.

Demetrio leaned forward, his fingers steepled together in a contemplative manner. “Salvadore, we need to discuss the Brazil shipment,” He began, his voice low and composed, belying the gravity of our topic.

My gaze met Demetrio as he clasped his hands on the desk. “What’s there to discuss, Rossi? It’s business as usual.”

Demetrio raised an eyebrow, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s not that simple this time. My planes are still out of commission, and the substance needs to reach Brazil by the end of the week.”

I sighed, my fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on the polished wood. “I can’t just lend you my private jet. You understand the risks.”

His lips curled into a sly smile, and he leaned even closer, his tone dropping to a conspirational hush. “I can make it worth your while, Salvadore. You know I can.”

My jaw clenched. “Don’t even suggest it, Rossi.”

The room seemed to grow colder as our conversation veered into treacherous territory. I had always been cautious about the slippery slope of the illicit trade we were engaged in, and I had my own reasons for abstaining from his tempting offer.

Demetrio chuckled, the sound carrying an edge of amusement. “You’re always the stubborn one, Dacre, but remember, I hold the key to the cure.”

“I don’t need your cure, Demetrio.”

Demetrio broke into laughter, a deep and sinister sound that seemed to echo in the room. His mirth was chilling, sending shivers down my spine.

“Dacre,” Demetrio said between bouts of laughter, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. “You always were a tough nut to crack.”

My patience was wearing thin, I massaged my temple with a sigh. “Cut the theatrics,” I muttered under my breath. The constant power plays and manipulations were wearing me down.

Demetrio, regaining his composure, leaned back in his chair, with a knowing smirk on his face. “Very well. I’ll check out your private hangars later.” He conceded.

I acknowledged our agreement with a curt nod. The conversation had taken a toll on both of us, and we knew that our paths would inevitably cross again, each one playing his dangerous game in the shadows of our illicit world.

—

The night was draped in an impenetrable darkness, broken only by the pale, feeble glow of the moon. The abandoned mansion stood as a decrepit sentinel, its formidable facade now a crumbling testament to a bygone era of opulence.

It had once been the residence of a corrupt politician, a man who had ruled over the city with an iron fist until the weight of his transgressions had forced him into exile.

I moved silently through the overgrown garden, my steps muffled by the thick carpet of dead leaves and weeds.

My senses were heightened, every rustle of the wind through the skeletal trees, every creak of the decaying structure, magnified in the stillness of the night.

As I approached the mansion, the enormity of its decay became more apparent. Gaping holes adorned the once-grand edifice, and ivy had claimed the walls, entwining itself around the remains of forgotten grandeur.

I couldn’t help but think of the parallels between this forsaken mansion and the clandestine world I navigated.

Stepping into the mansion’s shadowy interior, my senses were bombarded by a cacophony of eerie sounds — the scuttling of unseen creatures, the soft whisper of my own breath, and the occasional groan of the dilapidated structure.

My eyes adjusted to the dimness, and I saw the figure waiting for me, concealed in the gloom.

In the eerie silence of the abandoned mansion, the man in the shadows finally spoke, his voice a low, raspy murmur that seemed to seep from the very walls themselves.

“How have you been, Dacre?”

My response was to click the safety off my gun, the metallic sound echoing through the derelict corridors.

The man chuckled, an unsettling, hollow sound that reverberated around us. “No need for that, Dacre. I come in peace.”

My grip on the weapon remained unyielding as I demanded, “What do you want?”

The man took a step closer, the moonlight filtering through a shattered window revealing glimpses of his face, etched with years of shadowy dealings and secrets. “I’ve heard you’ve been quite the player in the city’s underworld, Salvadore. Impressive.”

My jaw clenched, my silence more menacing than any words could be.

The man continued, unruffled by the tension. “I have a proposition for you, something that could be mutually beneficial. You see, we both have interests in the same... commodities.”

My eyes narrowed, my suspicion growing with each word he uttered. I had learned long ago that trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford in my line of work.

TO BE CONTINUED.