Chapter 6
1114words
I became Cedric's perfect companion—a beautiful, compliant, and valuable trophy.
"That property in the east district—instead of confronting the Italians directly, why not leak intel and let them clash with the Triad?" In the bubbling jacuzzi, I kneaded his shoulders while whispering sweetly, "Once they've bled each other dry, we swoop in and collect the pieces. Much cleaner, don't you think?"
Cedric hummed with pleasure, seized my hand and kissed it, his eyes gleaming with lust and appreciation: "Baby, you're absolutely perfect for me. That dinosaur Victor had such a gem and didn't know what to do with you. What a waste."
I smiled, accepting his advances while the ice in my eyes remained fathomless.
The more he trusted me, the tighter my grip on his leash became. I used my newfound freedom like a patient spider, silently spinning a web throughout his bloated, corrupt empire—a web that would become his shroud.
Mario became my eyes, Luca my hands. They leveraged Victor's old network, quietly documenting every filthy deal, every bloodbath, every instance of Cedric's casual cruelty. Ledgers, photographs, recordings—the evidence mounted like a funeral pyre, awaiting only a spark.
Meanwhile, I cultivated a relationship with a hungry investigative reporter from the Los Angeles Times—smart enough to recognize a story of a lifetime, brave enough to waltz with the devil.
Everything was in place. We just needed the perfect moment—a moment I would create myself.
I "warned" Cedric that a Deputy Chief Hanks from West Division had been building a case against him and had gathered damning evidence. What's more, this deputy chief was in direct contact with our handler, the Watchmaker.
"That son of a bitch!" Cedric exploded. Power had made him paranoid and unstable—he couldn't tolerate any threat to his throne.
"Easy," I soothed, stroking his arm. "Word is he's corrupt to the core, and the Watchmaker's looking for an excuse to dump him. Perhaps... we can turn this situation to our advantage."
I crafted the perfect plan: Cedric would meet Hanks personally at an abandoned dockside warehouse, offering a case of cash and fabricated evidence suggesting the Watchmaker planned to eliminate him, tempting Hanks to switch sides.
"You need to be there personally to show good faith. We'll record him taking the money—instant blackmail material that will keep him obedient forever," I explained.
Cedric swallowed my plan whole. He relished manipulating people like chess pieces, and the chance to corrupt a high-ranking cop thrilled him. He never suspected that Hanks—a name and corrupt reputation I'd carefully selected through old contacts—was merely bait. And the real prize—the Watchmaker himself—would be lured there by another fabrication: the promise of watching his corrupt subordinate being exposed. Hanks trusted only the Watchmaker, the Watchmaker trusted only Cedric, and Cedric trusted only me. All three men walked willingly into my web.
The night of the operation was dark and blustery.
In warehouse #17 at the docks, a single bulb swung in the draft. Cedric instructed me to wait in the car while he and two bodyguards carried the money case inside. Minutes later, Hanks's unmarked police car pulled up. In the passenger seat sat the Watchmaker—a man I'd never seen face-to-face.
I sat in the car, calmly watching my watch. The second hand ticked methodically, like death's approaching footsteps.
"Three, two, one."
As I finished my whispered countdown, the warehouse erupted with gunfire!
The sudden barrage caught everyone inside by surprise. Seconds later, another group joined the firefight from the opposite end—Luca leading Victor's old guard, disguised as a rival faction, unleashing hell on everyone inside.
Gunfire, screams, and the metallic whine of ricocheting bullets transformed the quiet night into a slaughterhouse.
I stepped out of the car and walked calmly toward the mayhem.
Inside, Cedric—riddled with bullets—stared at me in disbelief as I materialized from the shadows. His bodyguards lay in spreading pools of blood. The greedy Deputy Chief Hanks clutched the money case even in death, a neat hole punched through his forehead. The Watchmaker had been reduced to bloody pulp.
"W-why?" Cedric coughed blood, the question barely audible. Even dying, he couldn't comprehend how the woman he trusted most had engineered his destruction.
I approached him, looking down from above—exactly as he had once looked at Vieri.
"You, Alan, and them," I said coldly, gesturing toward the Watchmaker's remains with my gun. "You're all the same garbage."
His pupils dilated with sudden understanding, his face contorting with terror and regret.
I didn't give him another word. I aimed at the center of his forehead and squeezed the trigger.
When the gunfire ceased, Luca's men swiftly sanitized the scene. We planted some evidence in Hanks' car and arranged the rest in Cedric's lifeless hands—creating the perfect narrative of a "gang shootout where a corrupt cop died while destroying evidence."
By the time genuine police sirens wailed in the distance, I was back in my car. The next day's Los Angeles Times headline sent shockwaves through the city.
The Watchmaker's death was the final key locking away my past life. Everyone who knew my true identity—Victor, Vieri, Cedric, and my handler—had all been reduced to ashes. From this moment forward, Officer Ada Brown existed only as a ghost.
In the power vacuum following the leadership massacre, Luca and Mario carefully spread a narrative throughout the organization: "Cedric murdered his boss for power, colluded with corrupt cops to betray the family, and was ultimately brought down by Victor's loyal old guard."
I, Victor McMillan's grieving widow, emerged as the undisputed moral authority and supreme judge of this "purification" campaign. Riding the wave of vengeful loyalty to Victor's memory, I ruthlessly exiled or buried anyone who had supported Cedric or posed a threat to me—all under the banner of "eliminating traitors."
One week later, not a single dissenting voice remained in the Los Angeles underworld.
I stood in Victor's study, gazing at the city lights spread out like fallen stars. Everything had been restored to how it was during his life—the imposing desk, the walls of books, even the lingering scent of his favorite cigars.
Only the person standing here had changed.
I had avenged him at last, and with my own hands claimed this throne built on blood and deception. I knew that Ada—that idealistic cop who believed in justice—was gone forever.
But I felt no regret.
Victor, my beloved. You wanted to show me a different world, but you failed.
So from now on, I will build and defend this world myself—for you, for me.
In my own way.
