Chapter 3 Secrets in the Smoke

Chapter Three: Secrets in the Smoke

Zara woke before the sun rose, her body still tangled in Leo's sheets, her mind already two steps ahead in another world. A world where the man lying next to her wasn't warmth and danger wrapped in silk. Where she hadn't given herself to him with nothing held back. Where she could still lie without guilt.

But that world was slipping further away.

Leo stirred, murmuring something she couldn't hear, then reached for her in his sleep. She froze, letting his fingers rest on her hip. It was instinct, maybe. Muscle memory. Or something worse-need.

She slid out of bed before he could wake and ask her questions she didn't want to answer.

Downstairs, the house was quiet. Too quiet.

Zara moved with care, bare feet silent on the cold marble. She didn't know who she was more afraid of running into-one of Leo's soldiers or her own reflection.

She ended up in the study, drawn by the scent of tobacco and citrus. A fresh cigar sat half-burned in the tray. The room was still warm. Someone had been there, recently.

Zara's instincts screamed.

She scanned the shelves, the desk. Something was off. The lock on the second drawer wasn't engaged. The corner of a dossier poked out just barely, as if the person who replaced it hadn't bothered to check.

She pulled the drawer open slowly.

Inside were files-real ones. Not decoys. Not the carefully curated reports Leo shared to mislead outsiders. These were raw. Marked confidential. Detailed breakdowns of weapon shipments, bribes, militia contacts, shell companies.

And there, in the middle of the stack-

Her name.

She froze.

It wasn't a lot. Just a page. But it was her. SIRS alias. Known affiliations. Suspicion level: Elevated. No confirmation yet.

Zara's breath caught.

He suspected.

Not fully. Not enough to act. But enough to start digging.

Her pulse hammered in her throat. Her instincts screamed at her to run, burn everything, vanish.

Instead, she slid the folder back into place and relocked the drawer.

She didn't notice Leo until she turned.

He stood in the doorway, fully dressed, unreadable.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

Zara forced a breath. "I was looking for something to read."

His eyes didn't leave her. "Did you find it?"

"Not yet."

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "You move like someone raised in tight spaces. Like you're always calculating your exits."

Zara tried to smile. "Some habits are hard to unlearn."

"Some shouldn't be," he said softly.

There was a silence then-long and heavy.

And then, almost too casually, he asked: "Who do you work for, Zara?"

She didn't blink. "You."

Leo studied her.

She met his gaze and gave nothing back.

He didn't press.

Didn't threaten.

He just turned, walked to the cigar tray, picked up the half-burned one and relit it.

"Careful with that drawer," he said over his shoulder. "The lock sticks sometimes."

And then he left.

Zara didn't move for a long time.

Her cover hadn't broken. Not yet.

But the smoke was rising.

And fire was coming.

Zara's hand trembled as she poured herself a glass of water in the kitchen. She wasn't afraid of being caught.

She was afraid of how she'd stopped wanting to run.

Leo hadn't accused her. Hadn't pulled a gun or issued a warning. He'd done worse. He'd let her lie.

And that kind of permission came with weight.

She knew his silence wasn't mercy. It was a dare. A game of chess with blades instead of pawns.

She walked through the house that day like a woman trying to remember what side she was on. The other guards nodded at her now. The house staff addressed her with respect. Leo's right hand, Chika, even asked her opinion on a security layout.

She was no longer an outsider.

She was part of the circle.

And that made her even more dangerous.

The next evening, Leo took her to the docks.

Not the busy port full of legal shipments and federal oversight-the other one. The real dock, miles west, where traffickers moved everything from weapons to diamonds under cover of night.

It wasn't Zara's first time there. She'd been here months ago with a different identity, tracking a militia transfer with SIRS agents watching from afar. But that had been from behind binoculars and radio frequencies.

Tonight, she stood beside the king of the trade.

Leo walked slowly down the pier, silent men trailing behind him, all armed. His expression was calm, but Zara could read the tension in his posture.

A deal was going bad. She could feel it.

"You don't trust these people," she said under her breath.

Leo glanced sideways. "Trust is expensive. I prefer leverage."

They reached the end of the pier where two men waited-a Lebanese arms broker and his Nigerian middleman.

Zara played her part perfectly. Quiet. Observant. Calculating. Just another trusted advisor with no face in any official database.

The deal turned sour fast. Voices rose. A disagreement over weight discrepancies. The Lebanese broker reached into his coat.

Zara's instincts flared.

Leo didn't flinch. "Don't," he said.

One word. Soft. Final.

The man froze.

Zara reached subtly toward her weapon, just in case. Leo noticed-and gave her the smallest nod.

The moment passed. No one died. But Zara knew how close they'd come.

Back in the car, silence stretched between them like smoke in a tunnel.

"I would've pulled the trigger," she said.

"I know," Leo replied, staring out the window. "That's why I brought you."

Zara turned to him. "Why are you trusting me more?"

Leo looked at her then, eyes dark. "Because you're the only person I know who hasn't asked me for anything."

She didn't say it out loud-but maybe she had already taken everything that mattered.

Back at the estate, Zara sat in the library long after midnight. Rain began again, like it had the night they first crossed the line.

She picked up one of the books Leo had given her-a copy of Things Fall Apart with underlined passages and handwritten notes in the margins.

One was circled twice, in red:

"The white man is very clever. He came quietly and peaceably with his religion. We were amused at his foolishness and allowed him to stay. Now he has won our brothers..."

Zara stared at the line.

She wasn't the white man, and Leo wasn't some foolish villager. But the message was clear.

Let someone inside, and they will bury the knife where it hurts the most.

She closed the book.

Because that was what she was doing.

Even if she didn't want to anymore.

She sent her SIRS report that night. Short. Clipped. Half the details omitted.

Subject is aware of potential infiltration. He is consolidating power.

All outward operations appear stable. Recommend tactical restraint.

Suggest delaying takedown. Hostile blowback will be severe.

She paused. Then typed the final line carefully.

Agent recommends further observation. Target remains volatile. And... deeply human.

She stared at those last words a long time before she hit send.

Because for the first time since the mission began, she wasn't sure she was writing about him.

She might have been writing about herself.

Two days later, the fire started.

Not a metaphor this time. A real fire.

A warehouse on the outskirts of Ikorodu-one of Leo's major storage hubs-went up in flames at 3:12 a.m. By 3:14, Zara was awake. By 3:20, she was on the road with Leo in a convoy of five SUVs, tires slicing through wet asphalt as the city slept.

Leo didn't speak. His jaw was locked tight, his fists resting on his knees. In the flicker of passing streetlights, his expression looked carved from stone.

When they arrived, the warehouse was a wall of red and black. The flames roared into the sky like some vengeful god, smoke choking out the stars. Men ran with buckets, hoses, shouting over the roar of destruction. Sirens wailed in the distance-but Leo's men would keep the police away. For now.

Zara stood beside him as he watched the building collapse inward, a slow, burning bow. Millions in weapons lost. Months of logistics. Power erased in seconds.

"It wasn't an accident," he said.

She nodded. "No."

"Inside job. Had to be."

Zara said nothing.

Leo turned to her. His voice was low, steady, but his eyes burned hotter than the fire behind him.

"Find out who did this. I want names. I want families. I want their ancestors crying in their graves."

Zara nodded again, but her stomach twisted. Because she already had a name.

One of SIRS's embedded agents-"Oba"-had been assigned to sabotage one of Leo's major depots. Zara had seen the directive a week ago and flagged it for delay. But someone had pushed forward without telling her.

And now the empire was bleeding.

When they returned to the estate just before dawn, Leo disappeared into his study. No words. No orders. Just slammed doors.

Zara headed straight for her room-but she couldn't sleep. Her skin itched. Her brain spun.

She called in to SIRS. No encryption this time. She wanted them to hear the anger in her voice.

"You went behind me," she said.

The voice on the other end was cold, male. "You were losing focus."

"I'm in," she hissed. "I'm deeper than you know. And you just burned everything."

"We made the call. You're not the only asset we have."

"No," she said, "but I'm the one he trusts. And you just made him look over his shoulder."

There was silence.

Then: "Adjust course. Regain control. And remember who you work for."

The line went dead.

Zara spent the rest of the morning sitting at the edge of her bed, staring at the rose on her windowsill. The same one Leo had left her days ago.

It had begun to wilt.

By noon, Leo still hadn't come out of the study. Not for food. Not for briefings. Not even to shout at anyone.

Zara couldn't stay away any longer.

She knocked once.

No answer.

She opened the door anyway.

Leo sat on the floor beside the fireplace, sleeves rolled up, whiskey in hand. Papers scattered around him like dead leaves-blueprints, manifests, security reports.

He didn't look at her when she entered.

"I built this empire from ash," he said quietly. "And now it's slipping through my hands."

"You'll rebuild it."

"Not if I keep letting ghosts in the front door."

She stilled.

Leo finally looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. Hollowed out.

"Tell me one thing," he said.

She nodded.

"Are you here to kill me?"

Her breath hitched. She had been waiting for this moment since the mission began. She'd practiced every answer. Every deflection.

But she didn't use any of them.

She stepped forward, knelt beside him.

"No," she whispered. "But I was."

Leo stared at her. Not angry. Not shocked. Just... sad.

"Why didn't you?"

Zara swallowed hard. "Because I saw you."

And in the silence that followed, she knew it was over.

There was no going back.

Not for her.

Not for him.

Not for either of them.

Later, when she left the study, Leo didn't follow.

He stayed by the fire, fingers curled around his glass.

And as the first cracks of thunder rolled across the sky again, he whispered to the empty room:

"Then don't lie to me again."