The soft glow of lamplight flickered over the polished mahogany desk, the scent ofcigar smoke, whiskey, and inklingering in the air. Crocodile sat in his high-backed chair, fingers tapping lightly against the wood as he listened, his golden gaze locked onto the man standing before him.
Daz Bones.
Efficient. Calculated. Unshakable.
His second-in-command stood rigid as ever, his expression unreadable, his voice clipped as he laid out the intel he had gathered.
"Tezren is moving carefully. He keeps his hands clean, never leaves a trail, and never stays in one place for long."
Crocodile exhaled a slow stream of smoke, unimpressed."None of that is new."
Daz nodded."No. But I have names."
That got Crocodile's attention.
He leaned forward slightly, cigar resting between his fingers.
"Go on."
Daz pulled a folded document from his coat, laying it across the desk."Tezren isn't working alone. He has three key operators handling business in different territories."
He tapped the first name.
"Ramon Devaro—operating out of the South Blue. Arms dealing, black-market auctions, and illegal shipbuilding. He's discreet, but we caught word of him supplying a fleet of unregistered vessels to an unknown buyer."
Crocodile's gaze sharpened."A fleet?"
Daz nodded."A small one. Five ships, high-speed, reinforced hulls, built for maneuverability rather than firepower."
Sineka, who had been playing with the edge ofCrocodile's coatthroughout the entire meeting, finally spoke.
"Sounds like he's moving something important. If he needed pure strength, he'd commission warships. But if he's sacrificing power for speed?"
Crocodile exhaled smoke."Smuggling."
Daz's fingers trailed to the second name.
"Sorena Vex. Handles Tezren's financials in the West Blue. Money laundering, offshore accounts, high-profile clientele. She keeps his assets liquid and untouchable."
Crocodile smirked."A banker with dirty hands. I'm sure she sleeps well at night."
Daz didn't acknowledge the sarcasm."She's moving large sums—consistently. But she isn't sending it to the usual strongholds. There's a pattern in her transactions. Funds are being funneled through third parties before vanishing into unregistered accounts."
Sineka hummed thoughtfully."Someone's funding something expensive."
Daz finally tapped the last name.
"Kain Rostov. Former bounty hunter turned executioner. He doesn't leave bodies behind—just disappearances. If Tezren has a problem, Rostov makes it vanish."
Crocodile's jaw tightened slightly. That name was familiar.
"Rostov works for the Donquixote Family,"he muttered.
Daz nodded."For now. But he's been taking independent contracts on the side—off-the-record jobs. Ones that don't get traced back to Doflamingo."
Aghost in the underworld, straddlingtwo allegiances.
That wasdangerous.
"So he's looking for a way out,"Crocodile mused.
"Or a way to switch loyalties,"Daz corrected.
Interesting.
Daz straightened."There's more, but that's what I have for now. Tezren isn't just some broker sitting behind a desk. He's building something, and he's using people who don't fear getting their hands dirty."
Crocodile flicked ash into the tray,processing.
Tezren hadresources. Connections. Control.
But controlwasn't absolute.
And if Crocodile knew one thing about the underworld, it was this—no one stayed untouchable forever.
"Good work,"he finally said, standing.
Daz gave a sharp nod."I'll keep digging."
With that, he turned and strode out, leaving Crocodile and Sineka alone in theheavy silence.
Thesoft crackle of burning tobaccofilled the silence between them, smoke curling toward the ceiling as Crocodile took a slow, deliberate drag of his cigar. His mind was alreadycalculating, adjusting, moving pieces on an invisible board.
Tezren wasdangerous, butnot untouchable.
And Crocodile? He had spent his entiredamn lifeproving thatnothing lasted forever.
Yet, despite the weight of the underworld shifting, despite the knowledge that awar was stirring beneath the surface, there was apersistent distractionin the room.
Sineka.
She had beenidly playing with the hem of his coatfor the entire meeting,twisting the fabric between her fingers, trailingabsentminded patternsinto the expensive material, a touch solight, so delicate,that it felt almostintimate.
She wasn'tpaying attentionto the aftermath of the conversation.
No—she wassulking.
Stilltouchy, still irritated, still fighting some silent war with herselfover the fact that she hadlost to himyet again.
It was almostadorable.
Almost.
Crocodile watched as sheexhaled slowly, her gaze fixed somewherefar off, lost in thought.
Then—hernails traced over the lapel of his coat, a slow, deliberate motion, as if she wasn't even aware she wasstill touching him.
His patiencesnapped.
Withone smooth motion, he grabbed her wrist andpulled.
Sineka let out asoft gasp, barely catching herself as she wasyanked forward, her balance tipping as shefell into him, herknees straddling his lap before she could stop it.
She stilled, eyeswide, hands braced against his chest.
Crocodile smirked.
"What exactly are you doing, woman?"
Sinekaswallowed, her throat bobbing slightly as sheglanced down—realizing exactly where she was.
Histhighs between hers, hishand still gripping her waist, hishook resting lightly against her exposed thigh, a dangerous contrast ofsteel against silk.
She recoveredquickly, of course.
She always did.
Her lips curled intosomething smug, something taunting, her bodyrelaxing ever so slightly, shifting just enough topress herself closer.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she murmured.
Crocodileexhaled sharply, amused by herboldness, hisgolden eyes gleaming with something dark, something knowing.
He tightened his grip on her waist, fingers pressingjust slightly, enough to make hertense, enough to remind her who had control here.
"Still playing games?" he murmured, his voicegravel-smoke and silk, slow and deliberate."You haven't won a single round."
Sineka smirked,dragging a finger along his collar, her nails scraping lightly against his skin.
"Maybe I like losing."
Crocodile'sgaze darkened.
Then—slowly, deliberately—he leaned back, exhaling alazy plume of smoke, watching her through half-lidded eyes.
"We'll see about that."
Sineka hadanticipatedmany things when Crocodile pulled her into his lap.
Apower struggle. Abattle of control. Maybe even aslow, drawn-out gamewhere she could stilltilt the scales in her favor.
What shehad not expected—
Was to behauled over his shoulder like a damn sack of silk and sin.
"Crocodile—!"shegasped, her nailsdigging into the back of his coatas herose to his full, imposing height,effortlessly carrying her out of his officewithout a singledamn word.
Theaudacity.
Thenerve.
The absolutelack of warning.
Sinekaswung a fist against his back, her voicehalf irritation, half amusement.
"Put me down, you brute—"
"Shut up."
Hermouth snapped shut.
Not because she wasintimidated.
But because she wasintrigued.
Crocodile strode through the villalike he owned the world, completelyunbotheredby the fact that he had afully grown woman draped over his shoulder, hisgolden hook resting against the back of her thighsas his free handheld her in place.
And theworstpart?
She could tell—he was enjoying this.
Bastard.
The moment they stepped into thehallway leading to his quarters, one of the servants—a young man dressed inimmaculate black and gold livery—rounded the corner.
Hefroze.
Hiseyes widened.
Sineka had just enough time toprocess the sheer embarrassment of her position—her ass perfectly level with Crocodile's line of sight, her long legs draped over his chest—
Before Crocodilespoke.
Withoutso much as glancing at the servant, hegave a single, effortless command.
"Have the maids bring her night things to my room. She's staying."
Sineka'sbrain stopped working.
Theservant blinked rapidly, clearly debating whether he shouldquestion what the hell was happening—but one glance at Crocodile'sunbothered expressionmade him snap into action.
"Y-yes, sir."
Sineka,still hanging over his shoulder, let out a slowexhale.
Oh.
Oh,he was good.
Shehad no ideaif this waspunishment, possession, or pure amusement—but one thing wascertain:
He was making a goddamn statement.
By the time Crocodile reached hislavish, dimly lit bedroom, Sineka hadaccepted her fate.
At least, until—
He threw her.
The moment they entered, heeffortlessly tossed her onto the massive bed, the plush silk sheetssoftening the landingas shebounced slightly, her breathknocked loosein sheershock.
Sineka propped herself up on herelbows, eyes narrowingas she stared at him.
"You—"
But her wordsdied.
BecauseCrocodile didn't leave.
He didn't turn his back.
He didn't walk away.
No.
Instead—
He started undoing his coat.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Asingle shrug, and the expensive, heavy fabricslid from his shoulders, dropping onto a nearby chair.
Sinekastilled, her breathhitching, because—
Oh.
Oh.
He was giving her a goddamnstrip tease.
Abastardized, slow-burning, smug-as-hell strip tease.
He rolled up hissleeves, exposingstrong forearms, the movementunhurried, as iffully awarethat she waswatching.
Then, withagonizing slowness, he undid the buttons on hisvest, letting it fall open before shrugging it off.
Sineka'sthroat went dry.
Her fingersgripped the silk sheets beneath her.
He finally—finally—reached for the buckle of his belt, his goldeneyes flicking up, watching her reaction.
She hated how smug he looked.
Hated how herbody betrayed her, heat pooling low in her stomach, her own breathturning uneven.
She should have beeninsulted.
She should have beenannoyed.
But instead—
She wascompletely fucking mesmerized.
Crocodilesmirked, undoing the last of his belt before sliding it free from the loops in asharp, smooth motion, thesoft snapof leather echoing in the dimly lit room.
Sineka's breathstilled, her nailspressing into the sheets.
Bastard.
Absolute,smug, wicked bastard.
And theworst part?
She had lost.
Again.
And she wasgoing to let him win.