Dubai, United Arab Emirates.

The night over the harbor was cleaved by a colossal luxury cruise ship.

The deafening music and waves of revelry crashed into the ears of the locals on the dock, even across the water.

They gazed at the exotic faces on deck—daringly dressed and gyrating wildly to the rhythm—with mixed emotions.

Deep inside the ship, a top-tier private dining cabin muffled the outside commotion, leaving only an oppressive silence.

Across from him, a Syrian arms dealer in a suit and tie but with the look of a rat, clasped his hands together in a near-pleading gesture: “Mr. Mansero, we’ve been working together for so long—can’t we at least negotiate the price?”

Vio let out a scornful laugh, smoke lazily drifting from his lips and blurring the expression in his eyes.

He stubbed out the cigarette in a crystal ashtray, moving with unhurried precision.

The man was dressed extremely casually.

He wore a loose black silk short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned at two or three buttons to reveal his sharply defined chest,

and matching baggy jogger pants, paired with a pair of Zellerfeld 3D-printed flip-flops.

His mixed heritage gave him delicate features. The ethereal beauty of the East and the profound depth of the West collided on his face, yet somehow harmonized surprisingly well.

Especially his eyes—their irises were a rare light gray, impenetrably deep, always carrying a faint, nonchalant coolness when he looked at people.

Rumor had it that he was the youngest son cast aside by the Mansello family.

The Mansello family was a German-American WASP, an old-school military-industrial dynasty. The Mansello Group was one of the veterans in the global arms market.

Their business spanned five continents, with clients ranging from the Pentagon to those whose names couldn’t be mentioned.

The family enterprise had been passed down through four generations. They’d married into Jewish financial clans several times and maintained their own people on Wall Street.

Vio leaned back, crossing his long legs and letting his ankles dangle lazily.

“Yide,” he finally spoke, his voice laced with a cold, languid tone, “Have you found my man yet?”

Yide shuddered, beads of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“B-But sir… I sent people to look—really, I did…,” his voice trembled, “But the war zone over there is too chaotic; my men can’t get in…”

“They can’t get in,” Vio’s lips curled slightly, yet there wasn’t the slightest hint of a smile in his eyes.

He slowly sat up straight and leaned forward.

“My man disappeared while delivering a shipment for you,” he said in a flat, indifferent tone. “You took the goods, you set the route, you arranged the contact. Now he’s gone, and you tell me he couldn’t get in?”

Cold sweat streamed down Yide’s face.

“Sir, the original price! Just the original price!” He dropped to his knees with a thud. “I won’t haggle anymore! I’ll give that batch of goods away for free! I’ll keep searching—no matter how many places in Syria I have to scour, I’ll find him for you!”

Vio stared at him, his gaze narrowing slightly.

“My man has been with me for eighteen years,” he said. “Seven years ago in Mogadishu, he took a bullet for me. That bullet is still lodged next to his spine, and it aches whenever it rains.”

He paused. “Is one life worth enough to make up for that?”

Yide’s pupils contracted sharply. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.

Vio leaned back against the sofa and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bali.”

No sooner had he spoken than a muffled “pfft” sounded behind him.

The sound of the silencer was very soft. Yide toppled straight forward, a tiny blood hole on his temple.

Vio didn’t even glance at the body.

He lowered his eyes, staring at a speck of ash on his finger, his voice weary and lazy: “Throw him to the fish. Then send a message to Damascus.”

“Just say Yide is dead because he broke the rules. From now on, anyone who dares treat my men like expendable resources can think twice.”

“Yes,” Bali had just slipped the gun back into his waistband when his phone rang.

As soon as he answered, excitement flooded his face. He hurried over to Vio: “Boss! Tuxi has been found!”

After a pause, he swallowed hard and continued: “My men said… he even brought a woman back with him.”

Vio had been pinching the bridge of his nose when he heard this, and his fingers froze mid-motion.

He slowly turned his head, his gaze icy cold, as if it could freeze solid.

“Let him die!” he snapped. “I thought he was dead—I scoured every corner of my territory to collect his corpse—but instead, he’s fooling around with women? And he actually dares bring one back?”

End of Chapter 1: Chapter 1