Chapter 5
Riku Tanaka sat at his desk in the dimly lit back office of a quiet Vegas restaurant, the faint hum of refrigeration units bleeding in from the kitchen beyond.
His fingers scrolled lazily over the messages on his phone, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he read update after update.
Word had spread quickly. Ava Santos was now under Luca Bernardi’s protection.
Perfect.
The rush of satisfaction that surged through him was sharp, electric.
He leaned back in his chair, savoring it like a man savoring a fine whiskey.
His plan was working flawlessly—every careful calculation, every move on the board driving Luca exactly where he wanted him.
Luca Bernardi, the arrogant bastard, had stepped into the trap with both feet, blinded by his pride and that inconvenient fascination with the little seamstress.
Luca’s protection of Ava wasn’t just predictable—it was pathetic.
A strategic blunder, a glowing confirmation of her value in the game.
Tanaka had wanted to force Luca into a position where he would be shackled by his ego, bound by his own sense of power and possession.
Now he was. The more Luca thought he was protecting Ava, the deeper he was burying himself.
Ava—the key pawn in this little powerplay—was already tangled in Tanaka’s web.
She might think herself stubborn, clever, untouchable, but in truth she was leverage, a string to be pulled at the right time.
And when that string snapped, the chaos that followed would tear at Luca’s empire from within.
Tanaka pictured the moment vividly: Luca watching helplessly as his grip on the city slipped, his empire corroded from the inside out.
He chuckled softly to himself, though the sound was more predatory than amused.
The sharp ring of his phone shattered the silence, pulling him from his pleasant visions.
He glanced at the screen—a call from Japan.
His boss. Immediately, Tanaka straightened in his chair, erasing the smirk from his features, pulling respect like a mask over his face.
He cleared his throat, dropped his tone to something low and controlled, and answered.
“Tanaka.”
“Progress report.” The voice on the other end was cold, demanding, laced with steel. “Is everything under control?”
Tanaka’s lips curved again, the smirk slipping back into place despite himself. “Everything is on schedule, sir,” he said smoothly. “Ava Santos is now under Luca Bernardi’s protection. Exactly as intended. It’s only a matter of time before he’s forced to act. He’s already reacting to our pressure.”
A long silence followed. Tanaka could hear it—the faint tap-tap-tap of fingers drumming impatiently on a desk. His boss’s trademark warning.
“I trust,” the man said at last, his voice slicing through the pause, “you have everything handled.” The unspoken threat of failure hung in the air, thick as smoke.
Tanaka’s grin widened, his voice steady, unyielding. “Absolutely. Luca’s involvement is precisely what we wanted. Every move he makes will drag him further into the hole I’ve dug. The situation will unfold according to plan.”
Another pause. Then, curt and final: “Good. You know what needs to happen next. Proceed.”
“Understood.”
The line went dead. Tanaka lowered the phone slowly, staring at it as though it were a trophy.
The tension in his shoulders bled away, replaced by a dark thrill.
He leaned back in his chair, savoring the moment.
The pieces were moving exactly as he had set them.
Luca might strut about, thinking himself the lion of Las Vegas, but Tanaka was the hunter in the shadows—the one pulling the strings, waiting for the kill.
And when the time came, Luca wouldn’t just lose. He’d kneel.