Poison Rose of Avalon

15 days before Liora's departure to California.

The spacious dark room was like a battlefield in its own right. Three people occupied the room— Dane, Amara, and Miracle.

"How much longer, Miracle?" Dane leaning against the edge of the desk asked, his sharp eyes flicking to Amara, who stood rigid behind Miracle.

The harsh glow from the monitors was the only light, carving sharp angles across Dane's and Amara's jawline. His fingers flexed and curled as he stood next to Amara, both of them looming like shadows over Miracle, who sat in a hunched posture in her chair, focusing on the Computer.

Miracle featured a short, dark hair, with the front strands on the right side longer than the rest, falling down the right side of her face. Both of her hands were adorned with tattoos of skulls and dragons. At 21 years old, she had a slender physique, standing at the same height as Liora, and was dressed in a black jogger and hoodie.

Without pausing, Miracle's fingers danced across the keyboard.

"Chill, big guy," she said, her focus unwavering. "Unless you've figured out how to hack the matrix yourself, keep patience. The system is compiling all the data into a single file and mapping out the each locations connected to Gambino's cybercrime network. It shouldn't take more than five minutes."

She briefly glanced back at Amara and Dane, her usual cocky grin absent. "You'll have everything you need soon."

Amara had her arms folded and was staring at the screens as if she could make the process complete more quickly by sheer will.

"Miracle, what's the update on Tony Gambino eighth son?" Her tone was quiet but tinged with annoyance.

Amara and Dane have been searching for any information about Tony's eighth son, but they have hit a wall. There are no birth certificates, school records, or anything at all—just a complete absence of information.

"Amara," Miracle turned her chair to face Amara with a broad grin, "I ought to increase my rates for the work I do for you guys."

"Is that it, huh?" Amara elevated one eyebrow, maintained a serious expression while gazing at Miracle. Miracle chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of her head, she pouted and turned her attention back to the system.

A frown appeared on Miracle's face as she sighed loudly, "Nothing solid yet. Whoever he is, he's good at staying off the grid. No photos or digital footprint are linked to him directly. It feels like pursuing a phantom."

The 'eighth son' stood as their greatest known-unknown enemy, a threat that could emerge at any moment as they prepared to act against Tony, potentially ruining everything before they accomplished their goals. Dane, Amara and Miracle were entering the dark alley without knowing all the cards on the table.

Amara's jaw clenched, and the line between her eyebrows grew more pronounced.

"The visible enemy is always less threatening than the unseen one," Dane stated, his tone steady but filled with significance.

Miracle grinned, a smile that only someone fully immersed in the hacker realm could manage—a blend of assurance and playfulness. "No need to fret. Spirits also leave behind evidence. It's simply a question of time before I expose this one to the open."

"The data is ready. What would you like to do with the information, Miracle?" The system asked.

Miracle leaned back in her chair, unwrapping her favourite lollipop with a deliberate flick of her wrist. She popped it into her mouth, the sugary taste rolling over her tongue before she bit down lightly. Her fingers rested on the keyboard, steady as steel, poised to deliver the final blow.

"Thank you, Voxi," she replied, her voice carrying a quiet satisfaction that brimmed with danger. "Send the file to every contact on the cybercrime list—the victims, their local police stations, and…"

A wicked grin curled across her face. "…the biggest damn news channels out there. Let's make this a headline no one can ignore."

"Your wish is for me to fulfil," Voxi responded, its synthetic voice unsettlingly lifelike, polite yet disarmingly human.

The room fell silent again, save for the hum of machinery working overtime. On the screen, Voxi's faceless emblem—a shifting prism of vivid colours—flickered as the files transmitted.

"All done," the AI Voxi announced, its smooth male voice carrying a disquieting friendliness.

A smirk tugged at Amara's lips, her sharp eyes blazing with restrained fury. Standing beside her with his arms crossed, Dane exchanged a knowing glance with her.

"Thank you, Voxi. You're the best," Miracle praised, leaning forward as though addressing an old friend.

"Let me know if you need anything else, my friend," Voxi replied before its prism vanished from the screen, awaiting its following command.

"Welcome to the spotlight, Tony Gambino," Amara murmured, her tone low and venomous.

"Spotlight?" Miracle chuckled, spinning her chair to face her. "This isn't a spotlight. This is a goddamn solar flare. They'll feel it all the way down to their bones." And it did.

Within an hour, social media erupted with posts flooding every platform with photos of the scammers, their hideouts, and incriminating records.

By the third hour, victims and their families stormed their local police stations, demanding arrest warrants and the return of their stolen money.

The media couldn't resist the scandal—it was too big, too incendiary.

News anchors analyzed it during live transmissions, influencers shared their thoughts, and hashtags gained widespread popularity.

Miracle smiled, feeling proud of her work. Her steady and grim voice broke through the chaos. "Good luck finding us, Tony Gambino."

Miracle stood, stretching before heading to the small refrigerator in the corner. She retrieved a chilled bottle of champagne, the ultimate symbol of their first victory.

She set three glasses on the coffee table, popped the cork with a sharp pop, and filled each glass. Dane and Amara sank into the brown leather couch, their exhaustion momentarily replaced by satisfaction as they clinked their glasses together.

"To our first gift for Tony Gambino," Amara toasted, feeling satisfied with the result.

They downed the champagne in one go, the bubbles sharp on their tongues, but victory was even more sweeter.

Watching the news, still, one loose thread refused to unravel. Gambino's name, as always, remained conspicuously absent. The activities had been pinned on one of his countless proxies—a nameless cog in his sprawling empire.

Dane exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands over his face. "His name's clean. Again."

Amara's eyes didn't waver, their fire undiminished. "For now. This is just the beginning. The second gift will blow the foundation of his empire."

Back on Gambler Street, in one of the most prominent high-rises, the air inside a spacious, dimly lit office was heavy with tension.A massive screen displayed a news broadcast where a female anchor was detailing all the locations affected by cybercrime.

Sitting on the black leather chair with a grave expression, Tony Gambino was observing one of his businesses failing not far from the screen.

His phone buzzed which was placed on the sleek glass desk, the sound sharp and grating against the silence. Tony Gambino snatched it up, his dark eyes narrowing as he read the message:

"Is this how you manage business?"

His jaw tightened, those words stinged like a slap. Without a moment of pause, he typed:

"I will handle it. Give me some time."

The phone crashed back onto the desk as he stood from his chair, his movements intentional, nearly predatory. His face displayed a volatile blend of anger and curiosity like a hurt creature getting ready to retaliate against an invisible foe.

His men stood in a tense line before him, their postures rigid, eyes fixed forward, not daring to meet his gaze. Tony's voice, low and dangerous, cut through the room like a blade.

"Find out who's behind this," he orderedhis tone deadly calm."And leave no stone unturned. I want names, faces, addresses, whole family tree—I want them ALL."

It was a big blow to his ego. Who dared touch his business? Who dared step in the Lion's den? Tony thought. He greeted his teeth, his fist clenched. If that person was right before him, he would skim that person alive.

Though fury burned in his chest, there was something else—a flicker of exhilaration. A slow, wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, sharp and cold.

"A new enemy," he murmured to himself, the words carrying a strange sense of anticipation.

This wasn't just another problem to swat away. Whoever was targeting him wasn't clumsy or ordinary. This was someone precise, someone calculated—someone intelligent.

Tony leaned back against his desk, the glow of the city skyline casting jagged shadows across his face. His fingers drummed against the glass surface as he let the thought sink in.

"Not bad," he muttered, his smirk deepening. "It's been a while since I've had a worthy opponent."

The challenge was on.