A Bride for the Desert King | Crocodile

Chapter 19: Unpredictable Consequences

The soft glow of lamplight flickered over polished mahogany, shadows curling against the walls like silent witnesses. The air hung thick with the rich scent of cigar smoke, whiskey, and ink—the unmistakable aroma of power and consequence.

Crocodile sat behind his desk, shoulders squared, golden eyes steady as they tracked the man standing before him. His fingers tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm against the wood, the faint metallic scrape of his hook punctuating the quiet. Smoke coiled lazily from the cigar balanced between his fingers, dissipating into the still air.

Daz Bones stood with his usual rigid composure, posture straight, expression unreadable as ever. Efficient. Calculated. Unshakable. The perfect enforcer. His dark eyes reflected no hesitation as he delivered his report.

"Tezren moves carefully. Keeps his hands clean, never leaves a trail. Doesn't stay in one place for long."

Crocodile exhaled a slow stream of smoke, unimpressed. "None of that is new."

"No. But I have names."

That got his attention.

Crocodile leaned forward slightly, the faint creak of leather breaking the silence as the cigar smoldered between his fingers. His gaze sharpened. "Go on."

Daz withdrew a folded document from his coat and placed it on the desk. The faint rustle of paper seemed louder in the heavy stillness. Crocodile flicked a glance at the pages but waited for Daz to continue.

"Tezren doesn't operate alone. He has three key operators handling business across different territories. Each one specialized, loyal—and dangerous."

He tapped the first name with a gloved finger.

"Ramon Devaro. South Blue. Arms dealing, black-market auctions, and illegal shipbuilding. Keeps his work discreet, but we intercepted word of a recent shipment—five ships, unregistered, sold to an unknown buyer."

Crocodile's eyes narrowed. "A fleet?"

Daz inclined his head. "A small one. High-speed vessels, reinforced hulls. Built for maneuverability over firepower."

Seated beside Crocodile, Sineka stirred, her fingers idly tracing the embroidered edge of his coat. She'd remained silent until now, her golden gaze fixed thoughtfully on the papers.

"Sounds like he's moving something important," she mused, her voice soft but certain. "If he needed strength, he'd commission warships. But if he's sacrificing power for speed—"

"Smuggling," Crocodile finished, taking another drag from his cigar. Smoke curled from his lips as he considered the implications. "Five ships built for speed and stealth... Not a coincidence."

Daz shifted his hand to the next name.

"Sorena Vex. West Blue. Handles Tezren's financial network—money laundering, offshore accounts, and high-profile clientele. Keeps his assets liquid and untouchable."

Crocodile's lips curved in a faint smirk. "A banker with dirty hands. I'm sure she sleeps well at night."

Daz didn't acknowledge the sarcasm. "She moves large sums regularly, but not to the usual strongholds. There's a pattern—funds are routed through third parties, then vanish into unregistered accounts. No paper trail, no ties to Tezren, but the amounts are significant—and consistent."

Sineka tilted her head slightly, tapping a finger against the edge of the document. "Someone's funding something expensive. And they're being careful enough to hide it from both the World Government and rival brokers."

Crocodile flicked ash into the tray beside him, his gaze never leaving the papers. The faint scent of charred tobacco lingered between them. Tezren was moving money, resources, and ships—pieces on a board that hadn't fully revealed itself yet. But Crocodile could see the shape of the game.