Martin sped through the streets, his car gliding effortlessly towards D-Moon. The moment he stepped inside, the waiter greeted him with courtesy and led him towards a private room where two figures were already waiting.
As soon as he entered, Martin felt Waldo's sharp gaze pierce through him. He smirked inwardly, masking his reaction, and with a calm voice, addressed the man sitting opposite him, "Apologies for the delay. Something came up."
Without hesitation, Martin took a seat, his body relaxed, yet his eyes remained alert.
"No worries," came the cool response. The man's voice was level, but his eyes betrayed no emotions. He stared at Martin for a long moment before speaking again, "I've heard that your pack has an interest in the East District development of Black Rock Pack?"
The cold, condescending tone made Martin furrow his brows, but he didn't let his expression falter. His lips curled into an unchanging smile as he replied, "Whether we're interested or not depends on what your Black Rock Pack can offer."
The words carried an undeniable pressure, weight beyond his age, and his mischievous smirk didn't falter. He met the man's icy gaze and raised an eyebrow, adding slowly, "And just so you know, I'm here because Waldo wants me here."
The arrogance in his voice was unmistakable. Martin stood up, his movements smooth, as he glanced at both men before saying, "Apologies, but I have to leave now."
The man's lips twitched into a subtle smile, but it didn't reach his cold eyes. His expression was lethal, and as Martin turned to leave, the man's companion swiftly drew a gun, pointing it at Martin's head.
Martin let out a soft, derisive chuckle. His eyes darkened, but he kept his gaze lowered, a smirk still curling his lips. He tilted his head slightly, looking at the man with the gun and said, his tone chilling, "If it weren't for Waldo's sake, you'd already be dead."
The gunman froze, the weight of the words hitting him like a ton of bricks. An invisible pressure seemed to encircle him, coming from every direction, suffocating him.
"Since you've come this far… why not stay and listen? Perhaps… it could be an interesting game," Waldo's voice broke through the tension, his tone smooth and magnetic. He hadn't even looked up from his coffee, but his presence filled the room. His chiseled features were unmoved, his gaze resting casually on Martin's back.
Martin glanced over his shoulder, his eyes searching for any sign of emotion on Waldo's face. But like Gustave, Waldo's thoughts were always buried deep, hidden from sight. There was no reading him, no cracking his mask.
"I'll play when I'm in the mood," Martin said, his smirk never fading. He turned, his footsteps echoing as he walked out, vanishing into the shadows, leaving a room full of tension behind him.
In the dim light of the room, the air felt thick with danger, a feeling that only heightened the primal hunger of the wolves within them, instincts sharp and lethal, each playing their own game of power.
Waldo's eyes, gleaming with the depth of a wolf's instincts, carried a trace of resigned amusement. As he shifted his gaze back to the man sitting across from him, his expression became once again unreadable, the faint smile fading into a neutral calm. His voice, smooth and composed, cut through the silence. "He is definitely not what he appears to be... Take my advice—don't underestimate him."
The words hung in the air, and while the man across from him gave a fleeting, dismissive smile, it was the one who had held the gun moments ago who now wore a shadow of discontent. No one dared speak to an Alpha like that, let alone be so audacious in their actions.
"You say that…" the man responded, his tone still impassive but laced with an acknowledgment of the weight in Waldo's words.
The tension in the room seemed to thicken. Waldo's lips curled slightly, as if to press an unspoken challenge. "Have you made a decision yet?"
The cold expression of the other man remained, but his lips quirked into a subtle smile, signaling that the decision had already been made. No words were necessary.
"I'll wait for your good news," Waldo said, his voice devoid of warmth. He rose from his seat, motioning for Greg to follow him. With that, he turned and began to leave, his every movement an expression of quiet authority.
Just as he reached the door, a thought seemed to cross the man's mind. "Do you have S.G.'s contact information?"
Waldo paused mid-step, his sharp gaze turning back to the man. "Information from there is not easy to obtain," he replied cryptically.
The man's reply was calm, but the underlying urgency was clear. "But if you want the fastest and most accurate information, that's the only place worth considering."
For a moment, Waldo remained silent, his expression unreadable as he absorbed the implication. Without another word, he turned once again and walked out the door, his demeanor unchanging.
As Waldo's form disappeared behind the barrier, the man finally allowed his focus to shift back to his coffee. He took a sip, but the taste seemed to sour on his tongue, and he furrowed his brows in distaste.
"Alpha... do you trust him?" the man asked, his voice low and filled with a touch of doubt.
The Alpha's gaze flickered to the man's face, his expression still composed but tinged with a flicker of something deeper. He leaned back slightly, a faint smile gracing his lips as he answered, his tone steady and unwavering. "He's the only one I consider a true friend."
The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, the unspoken complexities of their world settling over the conversation.
Waldo exited D-Moon and got into the car, his tone flat as he gave a simple command, "To the casino."
"Understood," Greg replied quietly.
The journey unfolded in its usual silence, the hum of the car's engine the only sound breaking the stillness. Every so often, Greg would glance at Waldo through the rearview mirror. He could see the man's gaze fixed on the window, the world passing by unnoticed. There was a shift in Waldo since Cecilia's departure—a weight, a silent melancholy that seemed to cling to him, a contrast to the man who had always been surrounded by bloodshed, power, and the cold laws of survival. This was the first time, Greg mused, that Waldo was tasting something foreign—loneliness.
Greg couldn't help but sigh under his breath, his face growing somber as he maneuvered the car into the underground parking lot of the Flank Casino.
Waldo exited the vehicle with his usual detached demeanor, walking toward the private elevator that would take him directly to the top floor. The moment the elevator doors slid shut, his phone rang, and without breaking his stride, he answered.
As he listened to the report from the other side, his expression darkened, his eyes becoming colder with each passing moment. "Dispose of it and feed it to the rouge," he ordered, his voice as icy as his gaze.
Without another word, he hung up, his hand slipping the phone back into his pocket. His eyes barely flickered toward Greg, who had followed him inside. "Inform Douglas to keep an eye on the U.S. stock market. I want Chancellor's stock to drop by 10% by tomorrow," he said coldly before walking away.
"Understood," Greg responded, leaving the room immediately to carry out the command.
Waldo settled into the expansive chair in his office, stretching out one long leg and casually crossing it over the other. His gaze drifted to the array of screens before him, each one showing different angles of the casino floor, tracking every movement with cold precision.
The soft ring of his phone broke the silence. Waldo's eyes never left the screens as he answered.
"Waldo, the information you requested is ready. We'll be faxing it over shortly."
"Mmm." Waldo's response was clipped, and he hung up, his eyes returning to the screens.
Moments later, the fax machine whirred to life. Waldo reached for the stack of papers that had come through, flipping through them with a detached air. His eyes froze as they landed on a familiar face. Regina. The photograph caught his attention, and for a fleeting second, his gaze softened ever so slightly. But that emotion, if it even existed, was gone in an instant. His fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the desk as he studied the image, his mind already calculating his next move.
As Waldo gazed at the photo, the innocent smile on Regina's face caused a brief, unexpected flicker of something within him. It was a strange, almost nostalgic warmth, a feeling of familiarity that brushed against his heart. Yet, it was fleeting—so brief that even he barely registered its existence before it was gone, like smoke dissipating in the air.
He turned his attention back to the file with his usual detachment. His long fingers flipped through the pages methodically, scanning the information. Nothing in the report stirred any real reaction from him. To Waldo, her life was unremarkable, typical for someone living in a city like Red Moon, surrounded by the chaos of the Flank, where the streets were lined with gamblers and degenerates. The fact that she worked as a server in the casino was interesting, but hardly significant in the grand scheme of things.
What truly caught his attention, however, was the detail that she had been drugged and then ended up in his bed.
The papers scattered across the desk with a soft "thud" as he let them fall carelessly from his hand. Waldo leaned back in his chair, drawing a slow, deliberate breath from his cigarette. The tendrils of smoke curled around his sharp features, veiling the depth of the darkness in his wolf-like eyes, hiding the brooding thoughts that churned beneath the surface.
He narrowed his eyes slightly as the truth settled in. No matter the circumstances—whether by chance or design—one thing was certain. In his world, things didn't happen outside of his control. Life was meant to unfold according to his will. Anything that threatened that control, anything that strayed too far from the path he had laid out for himself, was simply an obstacle to be removed.
Waldo tapped the ash from his cigarette and stared at the remnants of the scattered file. The pieces of Regina's life were nothing more than data to him, but her presence, however briefly it had touched his life, was another matter entirely.
His gaze hardened. The first instinct to throw her away, to dismiss her as just another fleeting moment, was strong. Yet, there was something about her, something beneath the surface, that made him pause. For now, he would keep his eye on her, but he would not let the situation slip from his control.
In his world, nothing ever did.