Daniel Cho sat alone at a small table outside a bustling café, sipping coffee from a sleek white porcelain cup. The afternoon sun was gentle, filtering through the branches of ornamental trees, dappling the tables with shifting patterns of light and shadow.

  Across from him, a familiar voice carried easily above the chatter of diners. Angie Tseng, unmistakable with her sleek hair cascading down her back, was seated casually at a table surrounded by clients. Her perfectly tailored suit accentuated her shrewd features, and she wore an expression that hovered between amused disdain and bored tolerance, as though gracing her companions with her presence alone was a favor. Her slender fingers waved lazily at a passing waiter, signaling for another coffee without bothering to pause her animated conversation.

  Daniel hated her. It was visceral, a burning fury simmering beneath his calm exterior, his jaw tightening imperceptibly every time her laughter rang out. Watching her flaunt herself in public, protected by the veneer of respectability, sickened him.

  Would Becca have frequented a café like this? he wondered bitterly, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on Angie’s casual movements. Would she have worn sharp corporate attire, laughed politely at trivial office jokes, ordered cappuccinos over lunch with smiling coworkers? He would never know. That future was ripped away before it had even begun, and the pain of that loss twisted inside him, sharp and fresh.

  His fists tightened involuntarily, a brief fantasy of lunging forward and crushing Angie’s slender neck flashing vividly in his mind. But he restrained himself. Patience, he reminded himself. Her turn would come soon enough.

  For weeks, he had shadowed Angie’s every move, tracked every predictable step. She remained blissfully unaware that one of the smiling businessmen seated at her table—polished shoes, designer suit, carefully cultivated charisma—was now working for him. It had been remarkably easy; everyone had a pressure point, a weakness. Daniel had made it his specialty to find them.

  Everyone had a vulnerability. Everyone except him.

  They had taken his one vulnerability away, his one reason for restraint. Angie and her vile associates had stripped him of the only person he ever truly loved. And every single one of them would pay dearly for it.

  His phone vibrated abruptly, pulling him out of his dark reverie. Daniel glanced down, frowning slightly at the familiar fake name “Porter” flashing across the screen. That bumbling idiot.

  [Porter: we need to meet. Bastards from Black Lotus grabbed me and I barely escaped. U got me in this fucking mess -if I go down u do too]

  Daniel’s lips twisted in a sneer. Sammy Kwan. That stupid, pathetic slob had outlived his usefulness. Daniel’s fingers hovered over the screen, the urge to smash the phone briefly flaring within him. It was incredible that a man so relentlessly idiotic had survived this long.

  Calmly, he tapped out a brief reply.

  [Meet me in the usual place, tonight 2am]

  He pocketed the phone smoothly, glancing up just in time to catch the subtle movement from his inside man at Angie’s table. The man’s fingers briefly grazed his nose—the agreed-upon signal. Everything was moving perfectly according to plan.

  Daniel waved a waiter over, forcing himself back into a practiced composure.

  “Can I get the bill, please?”

  “Certainly, sir,” the waiter said with practiced politeness. “Was everything to your liking today?”

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  Daniel smiled—a cold, practiced curve of lips that never touched his eyes.

  “It was. Absolutely perfect.”

  *****

  Daniel Cho stepped out of his car, feeling the reassuring weight of his gun clipped securely into his belt. The carpark around him lay shrouded in shadows, dimly illuminated by flickering, aged streetlights. It was desolate, perfectly discreet—no cameras, no witnesses. Exactly as he preferred. The smell of damp concrete mixed with faint traces of gasoline lingered in the cool night air, punctuated by the distant hum of city traffic, a reminder that life continued obliviously elsewhere.

  He took a moment to scan his surroundings, cautious as always, his eyes adjusting quickly to the dimness. Quiet rustlings, distant echoes, occasional car horns—familiar sounds of a city indifferent to its own darkness.

  Daniel moved toward the far corner of the carpark, his footsteps deliberate and controlled. The usual meeting spot with Sammy Kwan. His eyes flickered left and right, vigilance tightening his muscles. Sammy was treacherous, cowardly, never above betrayal.

  Yet there Sammy stood, shoulders slumped beneath his rumpled, sweat-stained clothes. The older man looked drained, exhausted, beaten down by his own cowardice. Even from a distance, Daniel saw hatred glittering fiercely in Sammy’s eyes, thinly veiled behind fear.

  “Sammy,” Daniel smirked, his voice dripping with contempt. “You look like shit.”

  Sammy opened his mouth, but Daniel froze instantly. A sudden flicker of movement in the shadows to his right drew his attention sharply.

  Men emerged silently from the darkness, their numbers multiplying rapidly—twenty, maybe more. Daniel’s heartbeat surged, adrenaline flooding his veins. They spread out, forming a semi-circle, cutting off any easy route of escape. All wore expressions of cold intent, eyes hard and focused. Black Lotus.

  Daniel’s mind raced. Sammy’s message had been a setup, the fat bastard’s pathetic attempt at revenge. But Daniel had always known this day would come. He’d prepared for it—lived for it, even.

  The group moved in closer, and Daniel instantly recognized their strategy. Their hands were empty, no knives, no guns. They intended to take him alive.

  Alive meant torture. Alive meant answers. Alive meant he’d break.

  His jaw clenched. He wouldn’t be taken.

  Before they could tighten the circle further, Daniel whipped out his gun, firing rapidly at the nearest two men. They stumbled, screaming as bullets tore through limbs, blood splattering onto the concrete. The men hesitated briefly, giving Daniel the crucial seconds he needed.

  He surged forward, gun blazing, each shot precise, calculated, aimed to cripple, kill, incapacitate. A heavy blow caught him from the side, but he pivoted sharply, elbow striking his attacker’s jaw with a brutal crack. His gun roared again, more bodies collapsing.

  Fists pummeled his back and shoulders, hands grabbing at his limbs. Daniel fought with desperate fury, biting deeply into an arm that tried to wrap around his throat, tasting blood as the man screamed and recoiled. Someone struck his leg sharply, causing him to stumble, but he pushed forward, slamming his knee viciously into a man’s abdomen.

  Pain surged through Daniel’s ribs as a boot landed solidly against his side, but he spun low, knife flashing from his pocket, plunging into an attacker’s thigh. The man collapsed, howling. Every muscle burned as Daniel fought, knowing any falter would be the end.

  He made it back to his car, but instead of entering, he vaulted onto its hood, then the roof, using the vehicle as leverage. Without hesitation, he scaled the short wall beside it, propelled by adrenaline and sheer determination. There was a reason he always chose the first level—

  Daniel leapt into the darkness beyond, the air rushing past as he dropped onto the pavement below. He rolled, absorbing the impact with a harsh grunt as pain radiated sharply from his ankle.

  Behind him, Black Lotus men leaped down, relentless, their footsteps pounding against the asphalt. Daniel forced himself to his feet, ignoring the screaming protest of his ankle, and sprinted forward into the empty street.

  His breath burned, his heart thundered violently in his chest, but a feral, ruthless determination drove him onward. He wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not until every single one of those bastards paid the ultimate price.

  As he rounded the corner, finally gaining distance, Daniel yanked the radio from his belt, switching it to an official frequency. Breathless, he pressed the button.

  “This is Detective Daniel Cho, badge number 4379,” he barked urgently, authoritative despite the raggedness of his breath. “I’m under attack at the northeast carpark off Orchard Avenue. Multiple assailants, possible armed gang members. Requesting immediate backup.”

  Static crackled briefly before a voice responded firmly, “Copy that, Detective Cho. Units en route.”

  They couldn’t stop him. No one could.