Chapter 7

Zena’s POV

I stared at Ceila, stunned, my mind struggling to catch up with what she had just said. Of all the people in this room, she was the last one I expected to suggest this. Ceila was by the book. Careful. Calculated. And yet here she was, telling me to bend the rules.

“Ceila,” I said slowly, “are you saying we should give in to the demands of a criminal?”

She met my gaze without flinching. “Chief, it is the only way. We have to give something to get something.”

The words settled heavily in my chest, stirring a familiar anger. “He is a criminal,” I snapped. “His demands should not even be considered.”

“He will not talk unless he is assured that his son is safe,” Ceila replied, her voice firm but controlled. “We have tried everything else.”

I paced the room, running a hand through my hair. “Yes, about that. Why did you not tell me about the trail you placed on his son?”

Ceila blinked. “I did not place a trail on his son.”

I stopped short and turned to her. “What are you saying? You said in there that you did.”

She sighed, then shook her head. “Come on, Zena. You are a cop, too. I am surprised you did not realise I was bluffing. I needed him to talk, and making him think his son could be arrested was the only leverage we had.”

The realisation hit me hard, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “What is wrong with me?” I muttered. “Why did I not see that? How did you even find out about his son?”

Ceila smirked slightly. “I ran a background check on him. His son came up, so I made up the rest. That is why we have to get him that document before he figures out it was all a bluff. We need him talking, and we need him talking now.”

I fell silent, weighing the risks. This case had already crossed too many lines. But every hour we wasted meant more victims, more bodies, more families torn apart.

“Fine,” I said finally. “I will call the mayor and ask for a favour.”

Ceila raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think he will sign it?”

“I am sure he will,” I replied. “We are on a first-name basis now.”

I pulled out my phone and walked away, already rehearsing what I would say. As expected, the mayor signed the document without asking a single question. No hesitation. No conditions. Just a signature that could either save lives or cost us everything.

---

A few hours later

The interrogation room smelled of stale coffee and tension. I walked in with Ceila close behind me and slammed the document onto the metal table in front of Manuel.

“There,” I said coldly. “Exactly what you asked for.”

Manuel’s eyes widened slightly as he grabbed the file and flipped through it, his fingers moving quickly, almost desperately.

“It is written,” I continued. “Your son will be granted immunity, but only if you tell us everything we need to know. So you had better start talking.”

He leaned back in his chair and smirked. “Relax, princess. I will tell you what you want.”

The word princess made my blood boil, but I clenched my jaw and said nothing.

“Start talking,” Ceila said sharply. “Or the agreement does not stand, and your son pays for your sins.”

Manuel sighed theatrically. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Ceila replied. “Especially where your boss is.”

“The El Fuego gang is back in the city,” Manuel muttered. “We are responsible for the kidnappings.”

I slammed my palm against the table. “We already know that. Do not insult us by repeating what is in our reports. We want to know where your boss is. You are El Fuego’s right hand, are you not?”

“I am,” he said calmly. “But I do not know who he is.”

The room went still. My vision blurred with rage, and for a moment I honestly considered reaching across the table and dragging the truth out of him myself.

Ceila shot me a warning look, silently telling me to stay put.

“What do you mean?” she asked carefully.

“El Fuego is a ghost,” Manuel said. “No one knows who he is. Not even me.”

I leaned forward. “If he is a ghost, then why do we have a picture of him?”

Manuel burst out laughing, loud and mocking. “You cops think you hold all the cards, but you are fools.”

“Explain yourself,” Ceila said, her patience wearing thin.

“The man you think is El Fuego is not him,” Manuel replied. “He is a body double. El Fuego has many of them.”

I shoved my chair back so hard it scraped against the floor and tipped over.

“He conducts his business through doubles,” Manuel continued. “Only a few people know who he really is, and I am not one of them, even though I am his right hand.”

A wave of frustration crashed over me. We had been chasing shadows. Lies wrapped in lies.

“We had a deal,” I shouted. “You tell us where he is, or the deal is off, and we go after your son.”

“I cannot tell you what I do not know,” Manuel yelled back.

“Fine,” I said, grabbing the document. “Then the deal is off, and I promise you, your son will suffer for this.”

I raised the paper, ready to tear it, when Manuel suddenly blurted out, “There is an auction.”

I froze.

“An auction?” Ceila asked.

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Our best girls will be sold to the highest bidder. Rumour has it El Fuego will be there.”

My heart skipped. “Are you sure about this?”

He nodded. “It was supposed to be my first time meeting him.”

“When and where?” I demanded.

“In a week,” he replied. “Get me a pen and paper, and I will write down the directions.”

Ceila slid them across the table. Manuel scribbled quickly, then pushed the paper toward me.

“Now tell me,” I said. “What does the real El Fuego look like?”

“I already told you,” he snapped. “I do not know.”

“Come on,” Ceila urged. “You must know something.”

Manuel exhaled slowly. “Gossip says the real El Fuego has a scar over his left eye. That is all I know.”

I allowed myself a small smirk. “See? That was not so hard.”

Manuel leaned back, a dark, knowing grin spreading across his face. “Oh, dear cops. If you think you can catch El Fuego that easily, you are already walking into your deaths.”

His words followed me as I turned toward the door, a chilling reminder that this case was far from over.