85

85
The bar was quiet in the way dangerous places often were—dim lights, too-clean floors, and patrons who refused to meet each other’s eyes. It was the kind of establishment used for meetings that were never meant to be spoken of again.

And Poco had chosen it for exactly that reason.

He slid into the far booth where no light reached the corners, spine straight, fingers tapping once against the scarred table. His expression was carefully bored, but his pulse carried the faint drum of anticipation. Tonight mattered. Tonight he would determine whether Aielle —traitor, manipulator, liar—was a threat, a tool, or a stepping stone.

She arrived without fanfare, which was the first red flag.

Aielle moved through the bar like she owned the place, like every shadow parted for her. A black coat cinched tight around her waist, hair loose, eyes sharp. She spotted him instantly and—without hesitation—walked straight to him.

Poco lifted one brow as she slid into the opposite seat.

She smelled like danger and expensive perfume.

“You’re punctual,” she said softly, her voice laced with the polite amusement of someone who already believed she controlled the situation.

“And you’re confident,” Poco returned. “Walking in here alone.”

“Who said I’m alone?”

It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a warning. It was a statement of fact.

Poco didn’t respond—just filed the information away. She wanted him off balance, wanted to establish dominance early. He’d dealt with women like her before. They smiled with their lips and lied with their eyes.

“Why did you call me?” he asked, voice flat.

Aielle studied him. Not the way most people did—assessing his youth, or dismissing his skinny frame—but with a calculating precision that scraped something primal in him. She was trying to see the cracks in him.

If only she knew how broken he truly was.

“You’ve been… active,” she began. “You’re ambitious. Reckless, but smart. And you hate the Valachis enough to do something about it.”

“Everyone hates the Valachis,” Poco said. “But not everyone is stupid enough to say it out loud.”

“Good thing you aren’t everyone.”

There was a pause—heavy, thick, stretching like a wire between them.

Poco broke it first.

“What do you want from me?”

Aielle leaned back, crossing her legs, posture elegant yet predatory.

“I want to offer you an alliance.”

Poco snorted quietly.

“With you?”

“Yes,” she said. “With me.”

He didn’t speak, and Aielle took the silence as permission to continue.

“You want the Valachis ruined. Destroyed. Buried. I can give you that. Their empire. Their territory. Their assets. Their heads.”

Her eyes flickered with a dark glint—something unhinged, something grieving, something dangerously resolved.

Poco kept his face still, emotionless, but inside— something twisted. Because he remembered Conan’s face as they beat him… the way the boy had writhed, helpless, gagged, begging behind swollen eyes.

He remembered striking him. Hard. With satisfaction. He remembered his father rotting in a ditch because of Valachi men. And he remembered the mysterious man’s voice: “An eye for an eye. A child for a child.”

Poco didn’t pity Conan. He didn’t pity any of them.

But he did pity Aielle—just a little—as she spoke so boldly without knowing she was sitting in front of someone who had already destroyed the thing she once loved.

“What makes you think I want your help?” he asked.

Aielle’s smile was cold as winter steel. “Because you’re young, but you’re not stupid. And because you can’t take them down alone. I’ve watched you. You’re clever. You’re vicious. But you’re not enough.”

That stung—but only because it was true. “And you are enough?” Poco asked.

“I’m better than enough,” she murmured. “I’m necessary.”

There was the manipulation. Soft. Subtle. Deadly. Poco tilted his head. “So this is about revenge?”

Aielle hesitated—just a flicker, barely a breath—but Poco caught it.

“This is about balance,” she murmured. “They took something from me. I want everything from them.”

They took Conan, Poco thought. And you don’t even know how close you were when it happened. The satisfaction tasted bitter on his tongue.
Poco leaned back. “Let’s say I play along. What do I get?”

Aielle’s lips curled. “Power. Wealth. Respect. A crown carved out of Valachi bones.”

He almost laughed. Not at the offer. But at the irony. He already had a crown being forged for him—by a man far more dangerous than Aielle could fathom. A man who had promised him dominion over Valachi territory. A man who had used him to kill Conan. A man who held every thread of this bloody tapestry in his hands.

But Aielle didn’t know that. And that gave him the advantage. Poco let silence linger before nodding once. “Fine. Show me why I should trust you.”

“I don’t want your trust,” she said. “Just your obedience.”

And there it was. The real Aielle. The one who believed everyone else was a pawn on her board. Poco smiled—small, thin, venom sweet. “I listen. I don’t obey.”

“We’ll see,” she whispered.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved. Neither blinked. The tension in the booth grew so sharp it felt like a wire ready to slice skin. Finally, Aielle looked away first. Only for a moment. But enough. Poco had won the first round.

Aielle took her leave shortly after, blending into the night. She wasn't going to stand around to watch him or tail him, of that Poco was certain. She didn't think him much of a threat - another costly mistake

Poco stepped into the alley behind the bar, pulling out his cheap burner phone. He dialed the encrypted number he’d memorized months ago. The mysterious man answered before the first ring completed.

“Report.”

“She approached me,” Poco muttered, lighting a cigarette. “Offered me territory. Wealth. Leadership over the Valachis.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said yes.”

A pause. Not silence—calculation.

“Good,” the unseen man said finally. “Stay close to her. Let her believe she is clever. She will lead you exactly where we want her to go.”

Poco exhaled smoke into the cold night air. “She wants the brothers’ heads.”

“So do you,” the man replied. “That is why we are aligned.”

“And when do I get my part?” Poco asked quietly. “The power you promised?”

“When Leon and Ivon fall,” the man murmured, “you will rise. I will see to it.”

Poco believed him. He hated that he did. But he believed him. “And Aielle?” Poco asked.

The mysterious man’s voice dropped into something colder than ice. “She is useful. Nothing more.”

“Do you want her dead?”

“Not yet,” he said. “She is still a chess piece that moves well. When she ceases to be useful… remove her.”

Poco flicked ash into a puddle. “Understood.”

“And Poco,” the man added, voice quiet but lethal, “remember what I told you. The Valachis took something from the both of us. We took their child.”

Poco swallowed hard. “Eye for an eye,” he whispered.

“Yes,” the man breathed. “And soon… a kingdom for a kingdom.”

The call ended. Poco stared at the dark screen, cigarette burning down between his fingers. Aielle thought she was recruiting him. She thought she was pulling strings. She didn’t know she was dancing in a web already spun around her. One she’d never escape. Poco crushed the cigarette under his boot.

No pity. No remorse. No hesitation. He would play along. He would smile when she smiled. He would obey when she commanded. And the moment she outlived her usefulness— He would put a bullet between her eyes. Just like Conan.

And this time, he wouldn’t feel a thing.