Seraphina opened the file, her eyes scanning over the contents, detailed reports, written records, and a folder tucked neatly inside.
She pulled it out and flipped it open.
The first thing that caught her attention—photographs.
Her gaze sharpened as she studied them. Victor Alaric. Adrian Alaric. Dante Vincetti. Each captured in unguarded moments, none of these looked like posed images. These were random shots, taken without their knowledge.
Then, something else stood out.
The scarf.
In one of the pictures, Victor wore it the exact same way as the assassin in the murder photos. Same wrapping style, same looseness around the collar.
Her mind clicked into analysis mode.
Coincidence? Maybe. Style isn't proof.
She reached for another picture—this time of Adrian.
Her focus shifted. The background.
It was the same.
Not just similar—identical.
A basement-like setting, dim lighting, the faint structure of concrete walls. The realization settled like a weight in her chest.
They were in the same place. At the same time.
This wasn't just a coincidence anymore.
Setting the photos aside, she moved to the biographies.
This time, it wasn't just the brothers and their cousin.
She scanned the profiles of the mother and sisters.
Mariana Alaric, Mother of the brothers, stepped back from the family's dealings after her husband's death. No record of involvement. Irrelevant.
Celeste Alaric, Elder Sister, a lawyer, working outside the family's business. No connections to underground dealings. Unlikely to be involved.
Isla Alaric, Younger Sister, no significant occupation, no influence in the family's affairs. No threat.
Seraphina exhaled, flipping the page.
They didn't know anything.
Her focus shifted back to the three men, Victor, Adrian, and Dante. They were the ones who mattered.
She set the documents aside, her fingers drumming lightly against the desk. The pieces were falling into place.
Now, it was just a matter of who would break first.
Her gaze landed on the contact details listed in the biography.
Perfect.
A plan formed instantly.
Without hesitation, she switched off her phone's location, inserted a new SIM card, and activated the voice changer. Untraceable.
She dialed the number.
The call connected after two rings.
"Adrian Alaric speaking."
Seraphina's fingers tightened slightly on the phone. No hesitation. No fluster. No confusion.
That, in itself, was useful.
She leaned into it, her voice steady, altered just enough to be unrecognizable.
"Who else was in the basement with you that night?"
There was a fraction of a second of hesitation—too short for a normal person to notice, but not for her.
Then Adrian answered.
"Just Dante and Victor. No one else knew about that place."
Seraphina caught it immediately, the slip.
He confirmed the basement's existence without questioning how she knew about it. He admitted Victor and Dante were there, meaning they were all involved in something secret. "No one else knew about that place", which meant it was important. A hidden meeting spot.
That single response had given her more than he realized.
She smirked slightly. This was getting interesting.
The moment Adrian realized what he had just admitted, his composure shattered.
Anger took its place.
"Who the hell are you?" he snarled, voice sharp with rage.
Seraphina smirked slightly, her voice cold and detached. "Your end."
And with that, she cut the call.
She didn't waste a second before dialing Victor Alaric.
The line connected, and she spoke first.
"Victor Alaric."
A pause. Then, a calm reply. "Yes."
His tone was unreadable, but she caught it—the calculated aura, the controlled presence.
Seraphina leaned in. "Who killed the victim?"
Victor didn't hesitate. "Maybe an assassin. How would I know?"
A slow smirk curled on her lips. That was all she needed.
She ended the call.
Victor thought he was in control.
But he had just confirmed her suspicions.
She leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly.
For the first time since opening the file, she allowed herself to relax.
Victor's response had confirmed everything.
In the news reports, it was stated that the victim had been killed by an unknown man—no mention of an assassin.
But Victor…
He had answered without hesitation. Without doubt.
Which meant he already knew.
And that was proof enough.
A smirk tugged at her lips.
This was getting easier than she expected.
Seraphina sat back, staring at the report in front of her.
The pieces had fallen into place.
The scarf, Victor's careless statement, the assassin's identity
It's confirmed.
Victor Alaric wasn't just involved. He was the assassin.
But there was one loose end—Adrian.
He was in the basement too. Why?
Seraphina frowned, flipping through her notes. Was he an accomplice? A witness? A pawn?
She needed more.
Still, she compiled everything she had and finalized the report.
Inside Ezrin's office, Kieran Aldric Crowe leaned against the desk, arms crossed. His sharp gaze was fixed on Ezrin, who remained impassive, focused on his own thoughts.
"Why didn't you look at the report?" Kieran asked, his voice edged with curiosity.
Ezrin didn't react.
Kieran exhaled. "And why did you hand it to Seraphina? She's an intern—how can she solve the case alone?"
Ezrin's lips curled slightly, though it wasn't quite a smile.
"Because she already has."
Ezrin's words had barely settled in the air when a knock echoed through the office.
The door opened, revealing Seraphina.
She stepped inside with her usual calm precision, making her way to the chair across from Ezrin's desk. Without hesitation, she placed the report in front of him.
"Victor is the assassin."
Kieran's gaze flickered to Ezrin.
Ezrin didn't react—except for the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. Confident. Confirmed. Satisfactory.
Seraphina continued. "But Adrian was also there. And the reason is still unknown."
The room fell into a brief silence.
Ezrin leaned back in his chair, piecing together the full pattern.
10 years ago, The mafia leader killed a man.
6 years later, Victor Alaric killed someone in the exact same style as his father.
Now, 4 years after that Victor killed his own brother, once again mirroring the past.
His gaze flickered toward Seraphina and Kieran before he finally spoke.
"A mafia leader killed a man 10 years ago. Six years after that, Victor killed in the same style as his father. And now—four years later—he's done it again. But this time, he killed his own brother."
Kieran frowned. "What's the reason for him to mirror his father's killing style? Isn't he dead? What's the point now?"
Before anyone could respond, his phone rang.
He answered, his face turning unreadable as he listened.
Not a single word left his mouth.
The conversation ended with a single response "Okay."
Without hesitation, Kieran grabbed the TV remote, turned on the screen, and switched to the news channel.
A headline flashed across the screen, bold and inescapable:
"Dante Vincetti Arrested for the Murder of His Cousin, Emilian Alaric."
Seraphina's eyes snapped up to Ezrin.
She spoke with certainty. "This is the reason why Victor killed Emilian."
Ezrin's gaze met hers, unreadable.
"In reality, Victor wants the power. He framed Dante for it."
Ezrin's voice was calm but final. "We'll be going to the mansion tomorrow."
Kieran exhaled, switching off the TV. "I'm leaving."
Without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving only Ezrin and Seraphina in the dimly lit office.
Seraphina crossed her arms. "So, we're investigating tomorrow?"
Ezrin smirked but didn't answer.
Mentally, he acknowledged it—smart.
Outside, a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of them. Without hesitation, they slid into the back seat.
Ezrin spoke, his voice low. "To the penthouse."
The drive was silent. Thirty minutes of nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional flicker of streetlights casting shadows against the tinted windows.
As they pulled up, Seraphina took in the exterior—extravagant, elegant, everything about it exuding quiet power.
Inside, the penthouse was dark, sleek, bathed in dim lighting that stretched shadows across the polished floors.
Ezrin barely spared a glance. "Your room is upstairs. Left one."
With that, he walked away, disappearing into the darkness.
Seraphina made her way up, pushing open the door to her room.
A large king-size bed sat in the center, the walls a deep gray—cold, controlled, calculated.
She didn't linger.
Her bags were already in the closet.
Without another thought, she grabbed a set of clothes, stepped into the shower, and let the warmth wash away the past 24 hours.
By the time she hit the bed, exhaustion had already claimed her.
Tomorrow, they would close this case.
The black Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of the Alaric mansion once again.
This time, the atmosphere was different. Heavier. Everyone inside already knew why they were here.
Victor and Adrian were waiting in the main hall when Ezrin and Seraphina stepped in.
The questioning began immediately.
Ezrin, seated comfortably, leaned back in his chair. His tone was smooth, unreadable. "Dante Vincetti has been arrested for Emilian's murder. Any thoughts on that?"
Victor's expression remained calm, but Seraphina noticed the slight twitch in his fingers. A restrained reaction.
Adrian, on the other hand, scoffed. "He was always too ambitious. Maybe he got what he deserved."
Seraphina's gaze flicked between them. Lies. Everything about them was calculated.
She played her part, listening carefully. Then, at the perfect moment, she stood up.
A polite smile. "I need to use the bathroom."
Neither of them questioned it.
Ezrin didn't even glance at her—but she knew he understood exactly what she was about to do.
With quiet steps, she slipped away.
Victor's Room
The door clicked shut behind her as she entered Victor's space.
It was meticulously arranged—cold, controlled. Just like him.
Her eyes swept over the room. She needed to be quick.
At first glance, there was nothing unusual. Too perfect. That was the first clue.
She moved to the closet, running her hands along the fabric of his jackets. A slight difference in stitching.
She reached inside one of the coat linings and pulled out a small, concealed blade.
A smirk played at her lips. Of course.
Then, the locked nightstand drawer.
She worked fast, picking the lock. It clicked open, revealing a second phone.
Password-protected.
She powered it off and pocketed it.
She had what she needed. Now, Adrian.
Adrian's Room
Seraphina slipped inside, immediately noting the contrast.
Unlike Victor's, Adrian's room wasn't as disciplined.
It wasn't messy—but it wasn't calculated either.
She moved to the desk, flipping through paperwork.
Then, she found it.
A folder tucked beneath the others—financial records, messages, lists of names.
And a plan.
Adrian had been positioning himself for power.
With Emilian gone, he was ready to take control.
Seraphina exhaled, sliding the folder into her coat.
She had all the proof she needed.
Now, it was time to use it.
Seraphina emerged from the hallway, her expression composed.
The timing was perfect.
Ezrin had just finished questioning Victor and Adrian, his posture still relaxed, but the air around him carried the weight of unspoken conclusions.
Victor's expression remained unreadable. Adrian's, however, showed subtle frustration, as if he wanted the conversation to end.
Ezrin stood first, adjusting his cuffs with deliberate ease. "That will be all for now."
A polite yet distant goodbye followed.
As Seraphina and Ezrin stepped out of the Alaric mansion, the cold air met them once again.
They didn't speak—not yet.
The black Rolls-Royce was already waiting.
As soon as they were inside, the car pulled away, heading straight for Oblivion Division.
Only then did Ezrin glance at her, his voice low and smooth. "What did you find?"
Seraphina smirked slightly.
"Everything."
Back at Oblivion Division, Seraphina placed all the gathered evidence on Ezrin's desk.
Without a word, she handed him Victor's phone.
Ezrin barely glanced at it before picking up his own phone. A single call.
Within minutes, Kieran Aldric Crowe walked in, his usual composed but sharp presence filling the room.
Ezrin tossed him the phone. "Unlock it."
Kieran caught it effortlessly, nodding before settling in at one of the workstations. Seraphina and Ezrin waited.
Exactly twenty minutes later, Kieran leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Done."
The screen lit up. Messages, call logs, transaction records—all tying back to Adrian.
Kieran scanned through the files before letting out a low chuckle. "So Adrian wants to be the mafia leader and he hired Victor. Cool plan—" he glanced at Seraphina, then Ezrin, "but they failed."
Ezrin's gaze flicked toward the screen, his expression unreadable. "Not yet."
Seraphina's smirk was cold. "Now we make them realize it."
Ezrin leaned back in his chair, his decision made. "Kieran, call the police."
Kieran didn't hesitate.
Ezrin continued, his voice calm but firm. "Tell them Victor committed the murder under Adrian's supervision. And we have the proof."
Kieran gave a sharp nod, dialing immediately.
Within thirty minutes, the news bulletin flashed across every major channel:
"BREAKING NEWS: Sons of Former Mafia Leader Arrested for Murder."
Ezrin stood, gathering the evidence. "Let's finish this."
Seraphina and Kieran followed as they made their way to the police station.
Upon arrival, Ezrin handed over the documents, phone records, and physical evidence. Everything they had meticulously gathered—undeniable proof of Victor and Adrian's guilt.
Their job was done. The rest would unfold in court.
As they turned to leave, Seraphina caught the brothers' expressions—pure, unfiltered rage.
Like they wanted to tear them apart.
She simply smirked.
Ezrin did the same.
Without a word, they walked out of the police station, leaving the Alaric brothers behind.
This game was over.