Morning light spilled across the bed as Vega rose. The door creaked open to reveal twin maids—mirror images with waist-length ebony hair and curves accentuated by classic French maid uniforms. Their stockings whispered against the Persian carpets as they approached.
"Master," they chimed in unison, fingers already reaching for his dressing robe.
Vega caught their wrists mid-air. "Who authorized this?"
"Lord Kevin, Master," said the left twin, bowing until her nose nearly touched her knees. "He insisted nobility requires proper—"
"Breakfast." Vega stepped back, the scars across his bare torso telling stories the maids weren't privileged to hear. "Not a bath. Not dressing. Eggs. Coffee. Go."
Their pout could've melted glaciers. But when Vega's eyes darkened, they scurried out like startled rabbits.
Alone, he summoned the system interface—and scowled. No XP from last night's purge. Distance-locked mechanics? His plan to farm kills through shadow proxies was ash now. He'd need to get his hands dirty.
War Room Debrief
Kevin arrived reeking of gunpowder and exhaustion. "The alliance is broken, Young Lord. We took twelve casinos, twenty-three bars—"
"Spare the details." Vega's coffee cup clinked against saucer. "Jack's movements?"
A hesitation. "His group celebrated at the Black Orchid Club for hours. My men couldn't penetrate—"
"Celebrated?" Vega's laugh sent shivers down Kevin's spine. "After I humiliated them? They've found a patron." His finger traced the rim of his cup. "The Ten Elders."
Kevin's teacup rattled. "But their enforcers—"
"Will come like thunder." Vega stood, his shadow stretching monstrously across the wall. "Plant spies in Jack's circle. Identify which Elder we offended. And draft a list... of replacements for the city council."
Outside, a church bell tolled. Somewhere in Nacro, knives were being sharpened.