Chapter 9
11:47 PM. Industrial Docks. Warehouse District.
The city was quiet.
Too quiet.
I sat in the backseat of a matte black SUV, windows tinted to illegal levels, the soft hum of encrypted comms whispering in my ears.
Dashboard screen glowed in front of me—
Live drone footage.
Three mic channels.
Button feed active.
I adjusted the signal.
She was already inside Warehouse 7.
Marco's men surrounded her.
Laughing. Talking.
One of them called her "princess."
She laughed.
Right on script.
I zoomed in on the overhead cam. She was wearing a tight black dress, the button clipped behind one ear disguised as an earring.
I tapped into the recording.
Marco (audio):
"Client's arriving in 20. Make sure the merchandise is presentable. I don't want complaints like the Singapore deal."
Valentina (audio):
"Of course, Daddy."
My jaw clenched.
I watched her smile, head tilted, eyes soft.
She was flawless.
And I knew exactly how hard that act was.
She wasn't faking it for them.
She was faking it for me.
And she was nailing it.
Valentina (audio):
"I'll walk them in personally. I want them to feel important."
Marco chuckled.
"That's my girl."
Fucking bastard.
Inside the SUV. 11:52 PM.
I adjusted the frequency again.
Channel 3 picked up comms from a separate dock.
One of Marco's captains was talking about backup transport for a "special package."
I recorded it. Flagged it.
"So they're moving the girls from Container 12," I muttered.
"Valentina, confirm visual."
She didn't say anything out loud.
But the live footage showed her pivoting smoothly toward the container stack.
I watched the subtle nod of her head.
Confirmation.
God, she's good.
She walked past Marco's men, giggling, waving like she wasn't secretly recording every single word being said around her.
I tapped the mic again.
"You're killing it, princess. Keep smiling."
She didn't respond.
But I saw it—
The slightest blush crawl up her cheeks.
The comm in my ear popped again.
Valentina (quietly):
"You know... you calling me princess is kinda dangerous."
I smirked to myself in the dark.
"Focus, Vercetti."
She giggled on the line.
And just like that, she turned back to her role—
Flawless. Dangerous. Beautiful. Deadly.
And I stayed in the car.
Watching.
Listening.
Controlling everything.
Because the deeper she went...
The closer we got to ending this entire fucking empire.
The auction started at exactly 12:00 AM.
Warehouse 7's top floor was draped in red velvet curtains and smoke. Fake chandeliers. Cigar ash and champagne in the air. Cheap luxury masking the filth underneath.
On the ground floor?
Cages.
No windows.
No names.
Just girls.
Some looked no older than fifteen. One was crying in a language I couldn't place.
There were also trans women—painted like dolls, chained at the ankles, silenced with duct tape and fear.
And above them?
Screens showing silent slideshows of weapons—ARs, experimental rounds, military blueprints for sale to the highest bidder.
All of it hidden behind the Vercetti empire's false legitimacy.
And right in the center of it all?
Valentina.
Flashing her million-dollar smile.
Wearing black silk and danger like perfume.
Pretending this was just another night.
But in her left ear, the comm was still active.
I heard everything.
I was parked a block away, laptop open, tethered to a private 5G signal I spliced off the local tower. A mobile hotspot bouncing off a military-grade VPN. External drives backed up to a cold storage server in Argentina.
I had three tabs open:
Real-time auction client feed.
Encrypted names database.
Facial recognition matching potential buyers against INTERPOL, FBI, and MI6 watchlists.
I cracked the warehouse's internal Wi-Fi with a custom brute-force tool I wrote at fifteen. The second it connected, I hijacked three of the security cams and looped old footage.
They wouldn't even know I was watching.
I tapped into the bidding software.
Currency was being transferred in crypto.
Multiple wallets.
No IDs.
But that didn't matter.
I followed the transaction chain upstream until I found the node they forgot to mask.
A stupid little wallet that pinged an IP.
There it was.
Real name.
French politician. Sitting senator.
I marked it. Logged it. Backed it up three times.
Below the screen, my hand hovered over the send key. Just in case.
Back in the warehouse, Valentina walked up to Marco. Kissed him on the cheek. Whispered something.
The audio picked it up crystal clear.
"Daddy, they're getting bored. Let me show them the collection up close."
He laughed.
"Still my best weapon."
She smiled.
He didn't notice the slight tremble in her hand.
I did.
She walked down the platform stairs, heels sharp. Like a queen greeting subjects.
Stopped in front of one of the cages.
Beneath her smile, her eyes were glassy.
She crouched. Spoke softly to one of the girls, just loud enough for the mic to pick up.
"You'll be okay."
My screen flashed red.
Another client joined the bid queue.
Russian handle. Affiliated with a known mercenary group.
I moved faster.
Spoofed the node. Fed false values into their bid feed. If they clicked anything, they were getting sent malware straight into their home servers.
Another screen popped.
Someone in the auction tapped Valentina's shoulder.
She stood.
Laughed again.
In character.
I whispered into the mic.
"You're doing perfect."
She didn't reply.
Just nodded once, subtle.
She knew I was watching.
I checked the feeds again.
Three more names added to the list. All foreign buyers. All dangerous.
I was recording it all.
Faces. Voices. Transaction logs.
And every bit of it was getting compiled into something I was going to call:
The Fire File.
Because when this drops?
No one survives it.
Not Marco.
Not his clients.
Not this entire diseased machine.
And all I had to do now...
Was wait for the right moment to burn the world down.
My fingers flew over the keyboard.
Encrypted file compiled.
20GB of raw evidence: trafficking, smuggling, live voices, unblurred faces.
Labeled it FIRE_FILE_A1.
Attached it to a secure bounce drive.
Sent it to three private U.S. intel inboxes—
One specifically labeled: "FBI_Head_Intercept, WDC."
Within 30 seconds, my burner phone lit up.
"Unknown Caller."
I answered.
Voice clipped, cold, female.
"This is Director Hallen, Federal Bureau. Did you just dump a weapons trafficking dossier on my desk?"
I stared out at the warehouse.
"Yeah."
"Is it real?"
"Check the signatures."
A pause.
"Warehouse 7. Dockyard C, East Sector. Send everyone."
"What's ETA?"
"Two minutes or don't bother."
Another pause.
"...SWAT team en route. We move when you signal."
"Copy."
She hung up.
No names.
No follow-ups.
Just results.
Inside the warehouse.
At that moment, Marco's phone buzzed.
Valentina casually stepped to the side, pretending to not listen.
His voice was low. Annoyed.
"You better not be stalling. I told you the deal goes through tonight."
Another pause.
His face tightened.
"...Fine. I'm heading there now. Make sure they're ready. If I have to come back here to clean up, someone dies."
He turned. Told his guards to continue the auction.
Valentina stepped in.
"I'll keep the crowd warm."
Marco didn't question her.
He kissed her cheek and walked off.
After some time...
The bid was still going on.
Valentina shifted. "Gonna go get some cold water lads. Y'know. Hydration."
Everyone laughed.
She didn't.
She left the warehouse.
High heels tapping toward the exit like a seduction drumroll.
Outside – 12:40 AM.
Valentina stormed toward the SUV, yanked the back door open, climbed in, and immediately slammed it shut behind her.
Her voice came out in a whisper-scream.
"What. The FUCK. Was that breathing."
I blinked.
"...What?"
She leaned forward like a demon.
"You were breathing into the mic. Like a villain. A sexy villain."
"Valentina, I was talking to the FBI."
She clutched her own throat.
"You moaned on an exhale. I almost came in front of actual criminals."
I stared at her.
"You are so unserious."
"I am so wet."
I turned back to the screen.
"ETA one minute."
She adjusted herself on the seat, fanning her face like it helped.
"You don't get it. That exhale was porn."
"I was whispering code to a federal agent."
"Well now I have trauma. And arousal. It's a mess."
I tapped a few keys, zooming in on the warehouse door.
"You ready to go back in?"
She stared at me, red-faced, breathing heavy.
Then nodded like she was about to walk into war.
"...Don't you dare breathe again like that."
"I'll try."
"You're doing it again."
"I haven't even inhaled yet."
"STOP IT."
I smirked.
Outside, sirens began to build in the distance.
And the real show was about to begin.
SUV, 500 meters from Warehouse 7. 12:44 AM.
My earpiece buzzed with incoming comms from the field team.
"Unit 1 in transit. ETA—"
I grabbed the radio, voice ice.
"Kill the sirens."
Silence.
Then I snapped.
"I SAID KILL THE FUCKING SIRENS UNLESS YOU WANT THEM TO START SHOOTING AND BURNING DOCUMENTS—DO NOT BLOW THIS."
Click.
Sirens died.
Only the hum of quiet tires over gravel.
The caravan of black SWAT vehicles veered off the road silently and pulled into the shadows near Warehouse 1.
Inside Warehouse 7.
The bidding was heating up.
All eyes were on the girl in the middle cage—
Long black hair. Tear-stained cheeks. Barely holding herself upright.
The screen behind her flashed her new identity:
"Lot 37 – Imported. Untrained. Rare."
But I knew her face.
My AI scanner matched it hours ago.
Nguyen L? Minh.
Twenty-three.
A massive pop sensation from Vietnam.
Disappeared six months ago during a tour stop in Tokyo.
Listed missing in three countries.
Rumors were cartel. But no one had proof.
Until now.
Bidding climbed.
Thirty million. Fifty. Eighty.
One buyer from Dubai tried to close at ninety-two.
But a Russian bidder pushed it higher.
Ninety-nine million.
My hands clenched.
I switched channels.
"Unit 1, hold at Warehouse 1. Unit 2, sweep behind 5 and approach 7 from the blind side. Infrared confirms seven guards on the main floor, two on the roof, five in the loading bay."
The response was instant.
"Copy that, commander. You're our eyes."
I leaned forward, eyes locked on the screens.
Valentina sat beside me.
Silent.
Dangerous.
Then I noticed her.
Staring.
No.
Hungry.
Her legs were crossed, but barely.
Cheeks red.
Hands gripping the edge of the seat like she was seconds away from turning into vapor.
I looked at her.
She blinked.
Whispered.
"...You're so hot when you end criminal empires."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Focus."
"I can't. Your voice is like sapphic heroin. You're feeding tactical directions like you're dirty talking a bank vault and I'm about to cum just watching you blink."
"Valentina."
She bit her lip. Hard.
"I am your passenger princess and I am going to combust from the way your fingers touch that tablet. Please say 'sweep left flank' again slowly."
I turned back to the screen.
"Unit 2. Sweep left flank. Take them from the blind."
Valentina gasped.
"...You did that on purpose."
"Focus, Vercetti."
"I am trying. But you keep destroying the human trafficking industry like a dommy genius and I want to kiss your entire bloodline."
I ignored her.
Mostly.
Inside the warehouse.
The final bid hit $100 million.
The buyer stood to seal the deal.
That's when I said it.
"Unit 3. Breach now."
And the building?
Was about to burn.