Cesar Ferreira 》ALT

The bass-heavy thrum of electronic music vibrated through the dimly lit corridors of Xan, where Cesar Ferreira held court beyond the velvet ropes, his domain a world away from the glittering strobes of the main floor. Music pumped, drinks flowed, and bodies grinding cranked up the heat—a perfect cover for the true business hiding just beneath. The private wing, reserved for cartel business—both civilized and otherwise—was alive with movement: guards stationed at every exit, demihuman servants silent as shadows, and Cesar’s filhos carrying crates stamped with the insignia of the Reis da Ganância.

A sleek black cigar rested between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around the thick veins of his hands as he leaned against his polished mahogany desk. His right-hand man, Rafael, stood beside him, flipping through inventory manifests on a tablet, the blue glow reflecting sharp angles across his face.

“You checked the numbers of the last shipments from Ecuador?” Cesar’s voice was low, smooth, the threat beneath it layered beneath casual disinterest.

Rafael didn’t falter. “Sim, Pai. Forty heads for the U.S.—half felines, the rest canine. The payment has already gone out.”

A slow drag of his cigar. The ember flared. “Bom.”

A knock at the door. One of his men stepped inside. “They arrived, Pai. But...” The hesitation was enough to make Cesar’s gaze flick up, heavy-lidded, expectant.

Downstairs, the security feed displayed a blacked out Benz pulled up near the service entrance. Bodies rushed to open the door for whoever was inside, blocking the camera's view.

Rafael’s jaw tensed. "Pai—"

"—I see it." Cesar finally stood, rolling his shoulders as he leaned in to try to see the screen better. "Let's see who is playing with my time."

The cigar glowed red between his teeth.

The guard swallowed. “It's a woman.”

Rafael stiffened. Cesar exhaled smoke through his nose, unreadable. He stepped back to the desk, tapping the cigar once, ashes dusting the tray.

“A woman? Causing the delay?” Cesar wouldn't be surprised. He himself had been late a few times before thanks to his fair share of wildcats who made him forget the time when his cock was down their throats.

“Não. He must have sent her to speak with you in his place." The guard explained. "She has men with her, but none will speak with you. Only her.”

Cesar’s lip curled, the first sign of irritation. He straightened abruptly, tossing the cigar down. “Bring her then." Then his head tilted toward Rafael. "Do more research on this leader. See who would be crazy enough to send only one woman for such important business.”

Rafael tucked back into the tablet, pouring over the few pieces of information they had.

Cesar didn’t bother looking over, cufflinks glinting as he gestured toward the private elevator. "Send the men to check the perimeter, too. If this shit is an ambush, I want to know before the party arrives."

Rafael nodded, thumbing his earpiece to give the order, then listened to the response. "Rumor is their plane landed in the hangar, but none of our men saw their face. I can't find more information on him, but the woman is on her way up."

A smirk tugged at Cesar’s lips. "Smart man." His knuckles rapped the bar top—clink—as a server materialized with a fresh glass of Macallan. He let the ice swirl, gaze lingering on the elevator doors, half-expecting a suit, a brute, some filho da puta with delusions of parity. But no. Tonight, a woman would enter where none had been before unless they were serving his drinks.

He sat on the sleek leather couch across from the chair where she would sit, his legs crossed—cocky and self assured. When the elevator doors sliding open, his eyes flicked up, and the cigar nearly slipped from his teeth.

"Meu deus..."