The city lights dwindled behind Leo as he drove toward the port. The air grew colder, tinged with salt and engine fumes. Somewhere beyond the road, waves broke, their rhythm drowned by the low growl of his car.
He hadn't told Elara where he was going. She thought he was heading home. Maybe it was better that way.
He drove in silence. His reflection in the windshield looked worn and tired. The faint glare of the dashboard painted half his face in pale green, the other half fading into shadow.
"I'm not asking for protection."
His thoughts drifted to the night before. To when he had stood in his father's study.
"They targeted me," he had said. "Elara was almost killed—"
"Of course she was," his father cut in. "They're not after her, Leo. They're after you. And you, Leo, are mine. That makes her collateral."
The words had stung more than he expected. His father had looked at him the way a man appraises a chess piece—useful, but replaceable.
The memory faded as the road opened ahead, dark and slick under the port lights.
The seaport came into view. Cargo cranes towered over the dark water. Rows of containers stacked five-high loomed in dull colors, stamped with faded codes. Sodium lamps spilled white light across the wet asphalt, casting long, sharp-edged shadows.
Leo slowed as he neared the checkpoint. Two security officers glanced up, recognized the car, and waved him through. His father still had influence here.
Past the gates, the air smelled of salt, oil, and diesel. Ships lined the berths like steel giants. Some idle, some being loaded or unloaded. The distant groan of cranes echoed over the water, punctuated by the rhythmic clang of metal chains.
He eased the car farther into the freight yard. Beyond the glow of the lamps, shadows seemed thicker, heavier. He checked the time. Four minutes past ten. Right on schedule.
Two black SUVs were already waiting near an unlit corner of the yard. His father's bodyguards moved the moment his car pulled in. Four men in dark suits, armed and alert, closed in around him.
Leo stepped out, the cold air biting at his face. His breath came out in short white clouds. He glanced once toward the water where the ships loomed like ghosts, their lights blinking faintly through the mist.
"Stay alert," he told the nearest man.
"Yes, sir."
He nodded once.
The wind coming off the water pushed against his coat, snapping the lapels against his chest. He looked at the clock on his phone. The sight pulled him back to his father's final words that night.
"You want answers? Then find them. You have seventy-two hours before whoever's pulling these strings finishes the job. After that—" His father had given a small shrug. "I won't intervene."
The old man's words echoed louder than the sound of the waves. No much time was left. Hope this one would help him.
A low hum filled the air. It was the sound of an approaching vehicle.
The vehicle turned off the main dock road and rolled toward them. It was matte black and sleek. Its windows tinted so dark they reflected nothing. It stopped several meters away.
Leo's men stiffened. Their hands hovered near their weapons, waiting for his cue.
"Easy," Leo ordered under his breath.
The back door opened.
Three men stepped out. Two were unmistakably bodyguards—broad, heavy-built, moving with the quiet precision of men who had seen too much. Between them walked a tall man with broad shoulders and brown hair. A cigarette burned lazily between his fingers, the tip glowing orange in the dark.
He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, studying Leo from across the space that separated them. When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth—too calm to be harmless.
"Well. When your father said he was sending someone, I assumed he meant himself."
Leo's reply was steady. "He's done enough talking for one lifetime."
The man's mouth curved into something between amusement and warning. He flicked the cigarette away; the ember died against the wet ground.
From the back seat of his car, one of his men emerged carrying rectangular, matte silver metal case. From where Leo stood, he could see that it was sealed with two latches aa biometric lock on the side.
The man with the cigarette gestured lightly, and the bodyguard crossed the distance between them, placing the case on the hood of Leo's car.
Leo didn't reach for it. He studied it first, then the men, "What's inside?"
"Insurance," the man said simply. "Your father asked for it years ago. I imagine he didn't tell you that."