A Bride for the Desert King | Crocodile

Chapter 15: Plans in Motion

The study of Crocodile's villa was steeped in half-light, the air thick with the scent of cigar smoke and old paper. Golden lamplight traced shadows across the mahogany walls, highlighting shelves of leather-bound ledgers and glass cabinets filled with artifacts from distant lands. Maps lay unfurled across the polished desk, marked with red lines slashing through trade routes and contested territories.

The hum of Serapha's desert winds barely reached through the heavy stone walls, leaving the room steeped in stillness—stillness that was neither calm nor empty.

Crocodile sat behind the desk, one arm draped casually over the chair's carved armrest, the other holding a half-burned cigar between gloved fingers. Smoke curled lazily from its tip as he leaned back, his golden hook catching the lamplight with a muted gleam. His posture was relaxed, but the sharp weight of his gaze betrayed the tension that simmered beneath the surface.

Across from him stood Daz Bones, clad in his usual dark attire, arms crossed, expression as impassive as ever. The former assassin's presence was like a blade hidden in the folds of a cloak—silent but lethal. Though their empire in Alabasta had fallen, the bond between them had not broken. Loyalty forged in failure was often stronger than that born of success.

And then there was Sineka.

Seated off to the side on a velvet chaise of deep crimson, she was not quite part of the conversation, yet her presence lingered at its edges—like a shadow poised to slip into the heart of things at the right moment. Her gown, obsidian silk threaded with gold, clung to her form in fluid lines, the sheer sleeves shimmering with thousands of tiny glass beads that caught the lamplight like starlight. A slit at her thigh revealed golden sand-kissed skin marked with henna patterns—delicate yet dangerous, like hidden blades wrapped in silk.

She swirled the wine glass between her fingers, watching the blood-red liquid catch the light as she listened in silence. She did not interrupt. Not yet.

"Let's hear it," Crocodile said at last, his voice low and measured. The words cut through the air with the weight of expectation.

Daz stepped forward, pulling a folded map from inside his coat. He spread it across the desk, his fingers tracing key locations with practiced precision.

"The underworld's shifting since Marineford," he reported, voice clipped and efficient. "Old players still hold power, but gaps are opening. Weapons, trade, territory—nothing stays stagnant. Serapha's already reacting to your presence. The brokers and warlords are watching, waiting to see if you're a threat or an opportunity. Doflamingo's visit stirred the waters further. People are talking."

Crocodile's smirk was slight, sharp. "Let them talk."

Sineka tilted her head slightly, the faintest hum of amusement in her throat.

Daz tapped a finger against the map. "The East Market belongs to the Zhao Syndicate. They're unstable—leadership's weak after their last internal dispute. The Westerlies control the port routes. Reliable, but short-sighted. Then there are the mercenary guilds—loyal to coin, but dangerous if bought by the wrong hands."

Crocodile leaned forward, studying the map through a veil of smoke. His mind moved swiftly, assembling pieces of a puzzle others could not yet see. "The Zhao Syndicate will fold within the year," he said flatly. "The Westerlies can be bought. As for the mercenaries—" His hook tapped the map once, a soft metallic sound against parchment. "We pay them more than anyone else. Or we break them."

Sineka took a slow sip of her wine, the faintest curve of a smile brushing her lips. She lowered the glass, fingers resting against the stem as she finally spoke.

"And when the other players test you?" Her voice was smooth as dark wine, sliding into the conversation without force but with undeniable presence. "Because they will, Crocodile. They'll want to know if you're still the man who nearly took a kingdom—or just a relic clinging to past glory."