The sun barely pierced the steel‑reinforced windows of Hell's Watch, its light thin and anaemic as if even it understood that resistance here was futile. Dust motes drifted lazily through the narrow beam, illuminated for a heartbeat before sinking back into irrelevance.
The environment meant nothing to me, and the concrete, steel bars. Illusion as Hell's Watch did not cage me; it had refined me.
I sat on the edge of my cot, elbows resting on my knees, posture loose, listening to the prison breathe. Metal doors slamming down the block. A shouted insult. Laughter that never quite reached joy and a guard coughing like his lungs were staging a rebellion.
Chaos, filtered, order, imposed, and then patience, observation, and Influence are items that I wielded better than any weapon. Heavy footsteps approached, measured, confident, unhurried. Only one man walked like that in this place. Marco Bellini announced himself long before he appeared, his presence pressing into the corridor like a shift in air pressure before a storm.
He stopped just outside my cell, dark eyes sharp, expression neutral, and two thick folders rested in his hands.
"Well," he said dryly, "you've been busy."
I smiled without looking up. "I always am."
A guard lingered near the bars, pretending to adjust his radio. He lingered too long. Marco flicked his gaze toward him slowly, deliberately. The guard stiffened, swallowed, and suddenly remembered an urgent appointment somewhere far away. Keys jingled. Boots retreated, and Marco stepped inside and placed the folders on the small steel table with care, like they were something delicate.
"Good morning, Boss," he said. "As requested," He tapped the first folder. "Captain Nathan Cole." Then the second. "And the second file is for Derrick.Blackwood."
I didn't reach for either, and silence was a tool, and I enjoyed letting it work. Marco waited and then sighed.
"You want the summary," he said, "or do you want me to insult Derrick creatively?"
"Surprise me."
"Cole first." Marco opened the file. "Nathaniel Cole. CSI Captain. Decorated. Clean record. Painfully clean. No addictions. Barely drinks. Doesn't gamble and surprisingly doesn't sleep around." He glanced up. "If temptation had a face, he'd walk right past it and apologize for the inconvenience."
I chuckled. "Fucking irritating."
"Extremely," Marco agreed. "Disciplined. Structured. Predictable until pressure hits. That's where he gets dangerous, and his team respects him, follows him, and they'd take a bullet for him without hesitation."
I looked up at last. "Would he take one for them?"
"Yes," Marco said instantly.
"And how does he carry himself?"
Marco smirked. "Like a man who's never been allowed to fall apart."
I reached for the file, letting its weight settle into my hands. Thick. Detailed. Intimate in the way only surveillance could be. Photos and behavioural analysis. Notes scribbled by people who thought they understood him. Nathan Cole at crime scenes, jaw tight, eyes sharp. Nathan Cole in tailored suits, shoulders squared like the world was something he could hold together by sheer discipline.
Perfect posture.
Perfect restraint.
A beautiful lie.
"He walked into my gym as if he owned it," I murmured, flipping a page. "Badge first. Spine straight and he did not fucking flinch."
Marco snorted. "Oh, he flinched, itwas just not where you could see it."
I looked up slowly. "Explain."
"Manual breathing," Marco said. "Jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth. Every muscle locked like he was bracing for impact, and he was running every self‑control technique he's ever learned just to stand there." He paused. "I reviewed the footage more times than I care to admit."
A low chuckle slipped from me. "Good."
Marco raised a brow. "That's good?"
"Very."
"He wasn't scared," Marco continued. "Annoyed and focused. Like he was one bad comment away from arresting the air itself."
I smiled. "Men who deny reaction are the most reactive, and he fucking thinks control makes him immune."
"It doesn't," Marco said. "It makes him brittle."
"Exactly." I nodded.
I skimmed another page, and Cole's adherence to protocol was legendary. He bent rules only when necessary, and even then, guilt clung to him like a second skin.
"Protocol," I murmured. "Such a comforting illusion."
Marco crossed his arms. "You want him watched."
"Obsessively."
"Boss," Marco said carefully, "he's law enforcement."
"So what?" I replied dryly. "Just criminals with better suits and fewer press conferences."
That earned a laugh. "Fair."
I set Cole's file aside and picked up the second folder. Derrick Blackwood and I did not bother masking my disgust.
Marco didn't either. "Your cousin is an idiot."
"He always was," I growled.
"He's running your streets like you're dead."
"I admire his optimism." I nodded.
Marco flipped the folder open. "Sloppy. Loud. Burning bridges. Moving product without permission and mostly drawing attention."
My gaze hardened. "Girls are dying."
Marco nodded grimly. "College‑aged, and he has introduced a new drug. No clear signature yet."
"That ends," I said calmly. "Immediately."
"Already in motion," he replied. "But Derrick thinks your absence created a vacuum."
I laughed softly. "A common misunderstanding."
I leaned forward. "Reclaim the streets quietly and let him feel me before he sees me. I want paranoia before punishment."
"And Cole?" Marco asked.
I smiled. "Cole is my leverage."
Marco studied me. "You're not going to hurt him."
"No," I agreed.
"You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
"You usually crush problems." Marco pointed out.
"Cole isn't a problem." I tapped the file. "He's a puzzle."
"And you hate unfinished puzzles." He nodded.
"I hate boring ones." I deflected. "This man believes discipline is armor," I continued. "That law is absolute, and if he follows the rules, he's safe."
"And you're going to show him otherwise."
"Slowly." I grinned.
Marco smirked. "Men like him don't fall easily."
"That's what makes the fall worth watching." I retaliated.
Silence stretched comfortably, dangerously, and Marco cleared his throat.
"When I observe him," he asked, "do you want intimidation or confusion?"
I blinked. "What?"
"When I cross paths with him. Do I scare him, or make him question reality?" Marco teased.
I laughed outright. "Do nothing."
Marco grinned. "You're terrible."
"I'm efficient."
Hours passed as Marco briefed me on shifting alliances, betrayals already blooming under Derrick's fragile leadership, and yet my attention kept drifting back to Cole's file. The way he stood too straight and the way he corrected others without humiliating them, and responsibility sat on him like a penance he never questioned, and a man who denied himself everything always snapped.
Marco watched me quietly. "You're smiling."
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"You don't smile like that at enemies." Marco chuckled.
"No," I agreed. "I smile like this at challenges."
"What happens when he pushes back?"
I closed the file slowly. "Then I push harder."
"And if he doesn't bend?"
I stood, stretching as the cell suddenly felt too small. "Everyone bends."
Marco nodded. "And Derrick?"
My smile turned cold. "Show no mercy."
Marco turned to leave. "Marco."
He paused. "Boss?"
"Nothing happens to Captain Cole without my permission."
Marco smirked. "Understood. He is all yours."
The door shut, and I lay back on the cot, hands folded behind my head, staring at the ceiling. "Welcome to the game, Captain," I murmured. "Let's see how long your control lasts."