Even after returning to their high-rise condo, the heavy burden of their conversation at the bar lingered in the air.
Kenzii possessed little to no formal understanding of high-level corporate mechanics—unlike Sota, whose entire existence revolved around complex balance sheets, market fluctuations, and institutional politics. Kenzii had naively assumed that the billions worth of raw gold bullion and diamonds he had seized in Mexico would be more than enough to shoulder Sota's financial burdens. But as Sota had patiently explained, that fortune was merely a temporary band-aid against the gargantuan scale of the Archipelago Logistics deal.
Kenzii had even entertained the thought of hunting down other cartel lords or syndicate bosses to strip them of far greater fortunes, believing that endless waves of stolen wealth could fund everything Sota needed. But Sota had firmly shut down the idea. A conglomerate—no matter how vast—had strict operational limits on how much illicit cash it could launder without triggering high-level regulatory alarms. Pumping hundreds of billions in unverified liquid assets into a public infrastructure concession would immediately invite federal scrutiny and Interpol audits.
Sota, ever the strategist, refused to make reckless moves that could compromise the legitimacy of the company.
Back in his master bedroom, Kenzii tossed and turned restlessly on his bed. He felt completely useless. Sota was one of the few tethering lights in his wretched existence—one of the primary reasons he continued to sell his soul to the dark commands of the Slaughter System. Kenzii's endless violence was meant to secure a future where his two cousins could survive safely; a world without them held no value to him whatsoever.
He wracked his brain, desperately searching for a way to ease the crushing weight resting on Sota's shoulders.
What can I possibly do? In a war fought with contracts and board seats, who do I even turn to?
The moment the realization struck him, Kenzii's eyes narrowed with sharp focus.
.
"Well, this is a surprise," Don Hidalgo remarked smoothly, leaning back in his grand executive chair inside his top-floor suite at the Monteriel Executive Tower. "Of all the people in this family, you are the absolute last one I expected to step through my door."
Kenzii sat down in the leather chair opposite the old man's massive desk. His eyes remained hollow and cold, projecting the same flat, unbothered stare he always reserved for his grandfather.
"I want to be useful to Sota," Kenzii stated plainly.
The Don's eyes flickered with brief astonishment. He knew full well how deeply Kenzii cared for Sota, but he hadn't anticipated the young assassin approaching him—the very man Kenzii detested most—to ask for aid on Sota's behalf.
"And what precisely do you mean by that?" Don Hidalgo pressed, a subtle, playing smirk forming on his lips. The old man was thoroughly enjoying the moment.
Kenzii clenched his jaw silently. He recognized the Don's power games, but he forced his irritation down. He would give the old man exactly what he wanted to hear to cut through the bureaucracy.
"You are widely acknowledged as the single most brilliant mind in the corporate world," Kenzii began, his voice devoid of praise, stating it purely as a mechanical fact. "While I... know nothing about business. But I refuse to sit idly by while Sota drowns. I can't help him if I remain ignorant. So, as the master of this game... tell me what I need to do to lift the burden off my cousin."
A low, internal chuckle hummed in the old man's chest. He was genuinely fascinated. His grandson—who despised him from the very depths of his soul, who would rather bleed out than bow—was sitting before him, asking for guidance for the sake of another? It was remarkable.
If every member of this bloodline possessed such a fierce bond just like my grandsons, I wouldn't be fighting off vultures, the old man thought.
"The answer to your question lies within yourself, Kenzii. Not with me," Don Hidalgo replied with a dry, dismissive smirk, intentionally probing him.
Kenzii's jaw tightened harder, his fists balling into tight knots atop his lap. Frustration spiked in his veins, but the mental image of Sota's exhausted face forced him to remain grounded.
"Grandfather," Kenzii said, his voice dropping into a dangerously low register. "I am asking you nicely. Give me the damn answer."
"I am being entirely serious," Don Hidalgo sneered sarcastically, leaning forward and resting his crossed hands on the polished mahogany desk. "The answer resides with you. Let me make it crystal clear for you, Kenzii: What are you capable of doing? What is the one thing you are truly exceptional at?"
Kenzii's eyes widened slightly as the realization hit him like a physical blow. He stared down at the dark grain of the desk.
What am I good at?
There was only one domain where his talent was absolute.
Kenzii snapped his gaze back up to Don Hidalgo. The dark understanding passing between them required no spoken words.
Don Hidalgo's smirk widened. He pressed a silver button on his intercom. Moments later, the heavy wooden door opened, and Secretary Gin walked in, bowing respectfully.
"You called, Sir?"
"Retrieve the classified file I instructed you to set aside," Don Hidalgo ordered.
Secretary Gin bowed and left immediately to fetch the document. During the silence, grandfather and grandson maintained locked eyes. Deep down, the old patriarch felt a dark thrill at the realization of what was about to be unleashed.
When the secretary returned, he handed a not so thick, unmarked Manila folder to the old man before Don Hidalgo subtly gestured for him to leave the room once more.
Once the double doors clicked shut, leaving them alone in the quiet office, Don Hidalgo slid the stack of documents across the desk, dropping it right in front of Kenzii.
Kenzii picked up the folder and opened it. As he skimmed through the confidential pages, his eyes dilated in shock, and he shot a sharp look back at the old man.
"Do what you are best at," Don Hidalgo purred softly. "That is the only way you can dismantle the threats facing your cousin—by doing that absolute task."
Back in his own executive office, Kenzii sat behind his desk, his eyes locked onto the classified documents spread before him. The information contained within those pages held the power to shatter the political gridlock suffocating Sota, but executing the solution was not something Kenzii could handle entirely on his own.
He picked up his smartphone and dialed a direct extension.
"Alas," Kenzii said the second the call connected. "If you aren't busy, get to my office right now."
Without waiting for a reply, Kenzii ended the call and placed the phone back on the desk. He didn't need a verbal confirmation; he knew Alas would appear in a flash.
True enough, within minutes, the office door swung open. Alas stepped inside, looking terribly disheveled, with deep, dark circles carved beneath his eyes. Kenzii stared at him, bewildered by his cousin's rough appearance.
"What the hell happened to you?" Kenzii asked, raising an eyebrow.
Alas groaned, running both hands over his weary face before dropping heavily into the guest chair across from Kenzii. He shot him an exhausted look.
"What do you think?" Alas grumbled. "I couldn't sleep a single wink last night worrying about Sota. That idiot is going to stress himself into an early grave over this company. At this rate, I'm never going to become an uncle because his corporate anxiety is going to make him impotent!"
Alas winced, looking up at Kenzii. "Anyway, why did you summon me? I actually have a life, you know."
"Tsk. I didn't particularly want to see your face either," Kenzii deadpanned. "It just so happens we share the exact same concern—and I happen to be holding the solution."
Kenzii picked up the dossier and tossed it across the desk. It landed with a heavy thud in front of Alas, who picked it up immediately.
"What's this?" Alas asked, his brows furrows as he flipped open the first page. His eyes expanded in sheer shock as he read the classified headers.
"Those are the names, operational networks, and offshore bank accounts tied to the black-market cartel syndicate Garza belonged to," Kenzii explained calmly. "That's the classified ledger I seized from Garza's private office in Mexico."
Alas snapped his head up, staring at Kenzii in disbelief. "Wait... why do you have this?! Didn't you turn this over to grandpa? Don't tell me you stole it back?!"
Kenzii shot his cousin an annoyed glare, rolling his eyes. Talking to Sota is definitely easier than dealing with this idiot, he thought.
"The old man handed it back to me," Kenzii clarified.
Alas gasped loudly, slapping a hand over his mouth in theatrical shock.
"Tsk. Yes, I actually asked Don Hidalgo for assistance," Kenzii continued, ignoring the childish reaction. "He didn't say much when he handed me these files, but his message was loud and clear."
Kenzii leaned back into his leather swivel chair, turning his head to gaze out the floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the bustling, sunlit skyline of Manila.
"W-Why are you showing this to me?" Alas asked softly, his playfulness evaporating as he stared at the criminal dossiers. "What do you want me to do with these?"
Kenzii kept his eyes fixed on the distant skyscrapers outside before slowly turning his gaze back to his cousin.
"I need your help to cross-reference and extract every piece of intelligence on those individuals," Kenzii said, his voice dropping into a lethal, steady tone. "Investigative intelligence is your expertise—that's why I called you here."
Kenzii's dark eyes locked onto Alas's trembling gaze.
"The second you dig up their physical locations, secure their routines, and track their connections and where fucking country they are... I will make my move."
The two cousins stared at each other across the desk. In Alas's eyes, a faint flicker of hesitation and fear surfaced at the sheer lethality of what Kenzii was planning. But inside Kenzii's eyes, there was only unyielding, absolute determination—a burning resolve to burn down any entity that dared threaten their brother.
Slowly, the fear in Alas's eyes receded, replaced by the exact same cold, uncompromising resolve.
In that quiet office, their purposes aligned into a single, lethal goal: protect their family at all costs.