Medicine and Poison

Chapter One: The Blood Rose

The first time Zara Onyeka saw Leo Madu in person, he stood ankle-deep in blood.

Not his own.

The man bleeding at his feet had once been one of his lieutenants-trusted, confident, ruthless. Now he was just another broken body crumpled on the marble rooftop of Madu Holdings, blood soaking into the grout between cream tiles like spilled wine. Beyond the body, lining the balcony, were roses-deep crimson, almost black in the night. They looked like they had grown from the veins of the dead.

Zara stood in the doorway, half-hidden by shadows. Her breath slowed deliberately, but her pulse thrummed like a war drum.

This was her mark. This was the man she had studied from files, listened to over crackling audio surveillance, stalked through the chaos of Lagos's underworld. The ghost of West Africa's black market. The smiling tyrant in tailored suits.

Leo Madu.

And in this moment, he looked like a painting born of sin-flawless, sharp-jawed, and still as a predator before the kill.

He flicked a cigarette to his lips, his fingers steady, deliberate. The tip glowed briefly as he inhaled, then he turned toward her, finally acknowledging her presence.

"You're late," he said.

His voice was smoother than she expected. Velvet wrapped in steel. A tone that held power without trying.

"I was followed," Zara replied, her voice calm though her hand hovered near the pistol strapped beneath her jacket. "But I lost them."

He exhaled a thin stream of smoke into the humid night. "That shouldn't have happened. Sloppiness gets people killed."

Zara stepped onto the balcony, her heels clicking against the tile like gunfire. "And I'm not dead."

Leo's eyes, dark and unreadable, drifted across her face, then dropped to her hands. She kept them visible. He was the kind of man who read your stance before he read your words.

"Not yet," he said. "But let's not make it a habit."

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was charged. Thick with the unspoken rules of the game they were both pretending not to play.

Then he said the name that made her flinch: "Anya."

Zara's spine straightened. That word again.

He had started calling her anya-"eye"-weeks ago, back when they first exchanged encrypted texts through burner phones and anonymous drop points. As if he'd sensed something in her even then. As if he knew she saw too much.

She hated it. Because it meant he trusted her.

And she was the very thing sent to blind him.

The body was gone by the time she returned to the balcony. The blood had been cleaned-efficiency disguised as loyalty. The roses, untouched, swayed gently in the breeze, their petals kissed by the city's pollution.

Leo poured whiskey into two crystal glasses and handed her one without asking. He didn't offer a toast. Just sipped.

"You've done business with Akinwunmi," he said finally. "I want to know what you saw."

Zara took a slow sip. "He's planning to move shipments through the Apapa dock without notifying you."

Leo's jaw ticked. He didn't curse or throw the glass-he simply nodded.

"You'll be with him tomorrow," he said. "You'll confirm it."

It wasn't a request. It never was.

Zara nodded. "And if he's clean?"

Leo smiled-but it didn't reach his eyes. "No one's clean."

They fell into silence again, this time easier. Familiar. The kind that only came between people used to danger and deception.

Zara looked at him, really looked. Up close, he was more human than she wanted him to be. There were faint lines around his mouth. A scar beneath his collarbone, mostly hidden by his shirt. His hands-strong, scarred, capable-clutched the glass with deliberate grace.

She wanted to hate him.

She needed to.

But something in her resisted.

Maybe it was the way he hadn't looked at the body on the floor like a trophy. Maybe it was the quiet grief that flickered-just for a second-in his expression before it vanished under ice.

Or maybe it was that part of her that had always been drawn to broken things that pretended they were whole.

That night, she lay in the guest suite of Leo's estate-though "guest suite" was a laughable term for a wing larger than most hotels. She listened to the sounds of the house settling. The clicking of distant heels, the buzz of radio chatter, the soft whisper of armed men pacing outside her door.

She turned onto her back, staring at the ornate ceiling.

SIRS would want her report by morning.

She slid out of bed, moved to the desk, and opened the secure tablet she'd hidden inside a hollowed-out book. Her fingers danced over the screen, typing in the coded message.

Sparrow to Nest.

Target eliminated associate. Show of power. Increasing paranoia. Emotional control intact.

Establishing deeper trust. Positioning for internal access.

Will update post-Akinwunmi surveillance.

She paused. Then typed one more line.

Assessment: Target is dangerous. Intelligent. Not predictable. Advise caution.

She stared at the screen before sending it. Something about that last sentence felt like more than protocol.

It felt like a warning.

To herself.

The next morning, Leo was already in the courtyard by the time she came downstairs. He was dressed in a white shirt rolled to the elbows, slacks, no shoes. He stood barefoot in the grass, sipping coffee, reading a newspaper like he wasn't the most wanted man in half the country.

"Sleep well?" he asked without looking up.

"Well enough."

"You carry tension in your shoulders."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You hold your breath when you walk. As if you're bracing for an explosion."

She shrugged. "Occupational hazard."

He looked at her then-slowly, intentionally. "You weren't born in this world. But you learned how to live in it. That makes you dangerous."

"And you?" she asked.

"I was born in it," he said. "I don't pretend otherwise."

For the first time, Zara didn't know how to answer. So she didn't. She turned away, sipping the coffee one of the house staff had handed her in silence.

That day she rode with Akinwunmi.

She smiled. She flirted. She dug.

And by nightfall, she had confirmation: Leo was right. Akinwunmi was moving weapons through an unaudited port, bypassing Leo's controls. Planning something.

She returned to the estate just after sunset. Leo was waiting for her in the study.

"Well?" he asked.

Zara tossed a flash drive onto the table. "Your instincts were right."

He studied her a long time. "They usually are."

Then he reached across the table and gently placed his hand on hers.

Zara froze.

His touch was warm. Grounded. No seduction. No pressure. Just... presence.

"You're different," he said quietly.

"You don't know me."

"I don't need to."

She pulled her hand back before the moment became something she couldn't take back.

Because she wasn't here to feel. She was here to finish a mission.

Still, as she walked away, she felt that same heat in her chest-the same treacherous flutter she'd felt on the balcony.

And it terrified her.

Zara didn't sleep that night.

The estate was too quiet. Too still. Too full of ghosts.

She sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through data feeds from her contact at SIRS. The agency was pushing. Hard.

"Confirm timeline. We want Madu destabilized within three weeks. No delays."

Three weeks. That wasn't enough. Not for someone like Leo. He wasn't a reckless warlord or a greedy smuggler.

He was precise. Strategic. And if he even suspected she was feeding information out of his house, he'd end her before she could blink.

She didn't doubt that.

And yet... she wasn't afraid. Not of him.

She was afraid of what she was becoming.

The next day, Leo took her with him.

No warning. No explanation. Just a knock at her door and one of his men telling her, "Boss wants your eyes on something."

They drove in silence for most of the way. The streets of Lagos passed in a blur of heat and noise-markets buzzing, street vendors shouting, the city alive and raw.

He finally spoke as they entered an industrial zone near the mainland.

"You've been useful," he said.

Zara raised an eyebrow. "You always compliment people like that?"

Leo cracked the faintest smile. "Don't get sentimental. I don't need friends. I need eyes."

There it was again. Anya. The watcher. The one he believed in.

He brought her into a warehouse-massive, steel, unmarked. Inside were crates upon crates of military-grade weapons. Turkish. American. Chinese.

"Two of these shipments were redirected last month," Leo said. "I want to know who touched them."

"You think it was Akinwunmi?"

He looked at her. "I think if it wasn't, I'll be burying the wrong man."

Zara moved through the crates, scanning serial numbers, noting the patterns. She recognized the technique-it wasn't just an internal theft. Someone was leaking intel to an outside buyer.

And it wasn't Leo.

She kept her face blank, but inside, something cracked. Because this confirmed it.

SIRS didn't want to take Leo down for the crimes he had committed.

They wanted the empire he built.

That night, Leo called her into the library. The room smelled of leather, old paper, and something herbal-perhaps incense, perhaps memory.

He handed her a glass of wine. "I had a dream," he said.

Zara leaned against the wall, skeptical. "I didn't take you for a dreamer."

"I used to be," he said. "Before I learned what dreams cost."

She sipped the wine. It was dry. Deep. Like everything else he gave.

"In the dream," Leo continued, "I was drowning. But I wasn't fighting it. I just... watched. Calm. Silent. The water was full of red roses. They floated around me like they were waiting."

Zara said nothing.

"I woke up," he said. "And you were on my mind."

A beat.

"Maybe it's a warning," she said.

Leo met her eyes. "Maybe it's an omen."

He stepped closer. The air thickened between them.

"I know you're not who you say you are," he whispered.

Zara's breath caught-but her face didn't flinch.

"Then why let me stay?" she asked.

"Because even if you're lying... I'd rather be betrayed by you than protected by anyone else."

The wine glass slipped slightly in her hand. She didn't drop it. But she wanted to.

Because no mark had ever said anything like that to her before.

Because part of her wanted to say it back.

Zara stood in the dark garden just past midnight, unable to sleep.

The estate was bathed in moonlight, shadows clinging to the marble walls like silent witnesses. Somewhere inside, Leo slept-or pretended to. She didn't know which disturbed her more.

She stepped closer to the rose bushes lining the courtyard. They were real. That surprised her. No artificial dye, no genetic engineering. Just soil, water, blood-red blooms.

She touched one gently, then pulled her hand away. A thorn had nicked her thumb.

She stared at the drop of blood. How poetic, she thought bitterly. A spy bleeding in a garden full of secrets.

"Careful," came a voice behind her.

She didn't turn. "They bite."

Leo's voice was low, rough with sleep or memory. "I like that about them. The best things in life are sharp."

Zara finally turned. He wasn't dressed for power tonight-just black slacks, a plain T-shirt. He looked almost ordinary. Almost human.

"You were watching me?" she asked.

"I always watch the people I don't trust."

She arched a brow. "And do you trust me now?"

He stepped closer, slowly, until there was barely a breath between them. "I trust you to do what you think is right. Even if it destroys me."

Zara's heart pounded like a warning drum. "You don't know me."

"I know pain," he said softly. "And you carry it like a second skin."

Her throat tightened. "Is this how you seduce your enemies?"

Leo's smile was ghost-thin. "Only the ones I wish weren't enemies."

He reached up and brushed the thorn-scratch on her thumb with his thumb. It was a small touch. But it undid her.

She had trained for years to resist pain, seduction, loyalty. But no one had prepared her for this-for a man who saw all her fractures and didn't flinch.

She stepped back. "I should go."

"Zara," he said.

She paused.

"If you ever betray me..." His voice didn't rise. It was soft. Cold. Final. "Don't lie about it. Just tell me you did it because you had to."

Zara met his eyes, and for the first time since she walked into his world, she didn't know which side she was on.

"I won't lie," she said.

He nodded. "Good."

Back in her suite, she sat on the floor beneath the window, knees pulled to her chest.

She typed her report to SIRS slowly that night.

Sparrow to Nest.

Subject shows signs of growing instability, emotional entanglement suspected.

Increased psychological complexity. Mission viability remains high.

Recommend tighter oversight. Request extended timeline.

She hesitated again-just like the night before.

Then typed:

Assessment: Target is no longer just a threat. He's a man. A dangerous one. But not without soul. Handle with care.

She hit send.

And as the data transmitted into the hands of those who would use it to destroy him, Zara closed her eyes.

Because she had just made a fatal mistake.

Not in strategy.

Not in loyalty.

But in something far more dangerous.

She had let herself care.

In the morning, a rose sat outside her door.

No note. No threat. Just a single, perfect bloom, deep red like truth-and blood.

She held it in her hand for a long time.

Then she whispered to herself, almost too quietly to hear:

"He'll never survive this."

"Neither will I."