Kade Lennox.
The name kept echoing in Aslan's head as he drove towards the location, his hands tight around the steering wheel, his car slicing through the night.
He had no backups, no convoy, just him and the city streets stretching beneath him like viens, and his thoughts.
Kade Lennox was a phantom. A ghost that left no traces, no witnesses, no loose ends. And yet… Aslan's men had found his name.
That meant two things.
Either Lennox wants to be found. Or he was slacking off. Aslan's guts kept telling him it was the former. Someone like Lennox would never slack off.
He might be walking into a trap, driving to his death, but that didn't make him turn his car around. It didn't matter if this was a trap to lure him out, he was going to walk head-on into it. He might come out alive, or he might not.
He pressed down on the gas.
***
The location was deliberate.
An old industrial lot, long forgotten by the city. Rusted metal, shattered windows, the skeletal remains of a place that once mattered. Now, it was just another corpse in Istanbul's underbelly.
Aslan had packed his car about three blocks away from the location, and made the rest of the journey on foot, making sure he was unseen. He didn't come across a single soul, not one.
No guards. No lookouts. Not even the stray dogs that used to roam this place. The silence wasn't just empty—it was engineered.
He was soaked from head to toe from the rain by the time he got to the warehouse, but the cold didn't affect him. He had gone cold internally long ago.
The silence was defeating, the only sound coming from the rain hitting the roof. The air felt too heavy, suffocating. What was Lennox doing in a place like this? If Aslan had doubted that this was a trap before, it was now solid. But he kept walking into the warehouse, broken glass crunching under his footsteps.
Gun drawn, he stepped inside. The place smelled stale, like no living thing had stepped foot inside for a really long time. The air was too still.
The door made a squeaking sound as he opened it and stepped inside, his eyes taking time to adjust to the dark. As soon as he was in, he knew nobody was there.
He stood still, his gun at his side, his jaw clenched. He knew his men had the location right so he knew this wasn't their mistake. Lennox must have known they were coming for him.
"Goddamn it," he growled, running his hand through his wet hair. "Damn it!" He wanted to hit something or someone. Someone like Kade Lennox.
A ghost. Again. That bastard had managed to slip away again. Was he even human? How the hell has no one ever caught him before? Every time someone thought they had him, Lennox slipped away, leaving nothing but bodies behind. Nobody even knew what he looked like. The only ones who knew were the dead, and the dead couldn't speak.
Aslan didn't believe in legends, but Lennox was damn close to one.
Even though Aslan wanted to kill the man, he was impressed by him, by his skill. In their world, power was everything, and Lennox was one hell of a man with power. Invisible, silent power. The deadliest yet.
Aslan was really in awe of him. But Aslan needed to solidify his rule, so Lennox needed to be caught.
Just as he was about to leave—
A distant rumble. Low. Approaching. His body went still.
It was a car engine.
Not a passing vehicle, this one was deliberate, its tires crunching against the wet gravel as it slowed. Headlights flared through the broken windows, slicing through the warehouse.
Aslan moved.
Silent. Swift. He pressed himself against the shadows where the lights didn't reach, gun raised, breath uneven, his pulse racing.
The car rolled to a stop, the wheels cut off, but the headlights remained on. Aslan didn't move as the car door opened and closed, and footsteps approached the warehouse. He kept his gun raised and waited.
Was this the trap? Give his men a fake lead, draw Aslan out, and try to kill him too? Because Aslan knew deep in his guts that Lonnex wasn't a man to leave traces.
A single set of footsteps—unhurried, controlled—walked deeper into the warehouse and then stopped. Then a voice, low and measured.
"Aslan Russo."
Cold fingers of adrenaline curled around Aslan's spine.
He finally had his ghost. Or the ghost had him.
Kade knew it would be easy to draw Russo out, to have him alone. He knew the man would be trying to earn his cartel's respect—his own men, allies, and enemies.
These men were all the same. Kade used the same techniques for all of them, and each and every one of them fell for it.
It was so easy, and so goddamn boring.
Russo stepped out of his hiding place, his gun—guns, actually—pointing at Kade, soaked to the bones like a cat, his sandy-blonde hair dripping water into his dark blue eyes. He had a nice, straight nose, and bowed-shaped lips.
Interesting.
Kade hasn't expected the son of Kemal Russo to look like this. He had been expecting the man to have horns and a tail. But not every child takes after his father, right?
"Kade Lennox," Russo snarled, his voice hard, looking at Kade like he wanted to skin him alive. That wouldn't be the first time. But usually, people who looked at him like that were either about to die or were dying.
That would be neither the case for Russo.
"That's me, pretty boy," Kade said, doing a dramatic bow with his hands still in his pockets. "Kade Lonnex, in the flesh. Do you want an autograph?" He gave Russo a once-over, shaking his head as if disappointed, though he was anything but. "I expected… more from Istanbul's new prince."
Russo seemed taken aback, but he quickly recovered, and his scowl was back on his face. Harder this time. It made him prettier.
"You killed my father," he growled, taking a step towards Kade and clicking his guns off safely.
Kade remained unmoving, his hands still in his pockets, his expression pleasant as he watched the pretty boy tremble—from cold or rage, he didn't know. But he enjoyed it.
"No, I didn't," Kade answered with a smile. "But I appreciate you giving me the credits."