THE NIGHT BEFORE DEATH: TERROR STRIKES BACK

"The steps of life are quiet and hasty."

Nafisa sat on a weathered park bench, her gaze fixed on the distant trees, unbothered by the crisp chill in the air. She adjusted the edge of her shawl absentmindedly, her ears catching the faint laughter of children playing on a merry-go-round nearby. A woman in a brown overcoat approached, her heels crunching softly against the gravel. Without hesitation, she sat beside Nafisa.

"You're here," Nafisa said, her voice quiet, almost detached. Her eyes never left the horizon. "Are you angry?"

The woman removed her sunglasses, revealing sharp black eyes that gave away nothing. She watched the children spinning wildly, her face still and composed. When she finally spoke, her tone was grim. "No."

"You should be," Nafisa said, her lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. "He's your husband. His arrest must've been hard on you. On the children."

The woman exhaled deeply, her gaze unwavering. "I always knew this day would come. Andrich was playing well above his level."

Nafisa's smile lingered, tinged with irony. "Apparently, we all are."

The woman turned, her eyes narrowing slightly. "No. We aren't. Simple things—boring things—keep us safe. You'd do well to appreciate them."

Nafisa let out a soft, weary sigh. "I can't. Vikram wouldn't let me."

The woman's voice softened, but only slightly. "Do you fear him?"

Nafisa's hand tightened around the edge of the bench, her knuckles paling. "Not fear. His love worries me more. He won't leave me alone."

The woman retrieved a cigarette from her coat pocket, her fingers steady. The small flame from her lighter danced briefly before vanishing. She took a deep drag, then offered the cigarette to Nafisa.

Nafisa shook her head. "No, thank you."

The woman shrugged, her voice heavy with skepticism. "There are rumors he's severed all ties with you. I fail to see how his 'love' serves you."

Nafisa's lips twitched, a bitter smile playing on her face. "The rumors are true. But it's temporary. He needs me. I know too much about his business. If I switch sides, he's finished."

"That's what concerns me," the woman said, her voice dropping. She leaned forward slightly, her cigarette burning low between her fingers. "Andrich is in custody. My brother, Joseph, is out of town. If something happens to you, who protects my children?"

Nafisa turned, her expression softening just enough to hint at reassurance. "You have enough money to keep yourself and your kids safe for a decade. As for security, once I reach Berlin, Dempsey will take care of it."

The woman raised an eyebrow, her skepticism deepening. "Should you trust a man who wants to kill your former employer?"

Nafisa's voice sharpened, her composure cracking slightly. "Vikram was never my employer. He never will be. I work for myself. Whether it's Vikram or Dempsey, I don't care. As long as I get paid and stay safe, I'll work with anyone."

The woman reached into her coat and handed Nafisa a small card. Her tone turned almost casual, though her gaze remained calculating. "His name is Arthur Dale. If you can convince him, you can convince Dempsey."

Nafisa studied the card briefly, then tucked it into her coat pocket. A faint smile returned to her lips. "Thank you. I promise, I won't let anyone harm you or your children. And I'll get Andrich out of the hands of those U.C.I.D. dogs."

The woman smiled faintly, her expression unreadable. She rose, adjusting her coat with deliberate precision. "I'll be waiting for that day."

Without another word, she walked away, her figure blending into the crowd, leaving Nafisa alone on the bench.

It was raining heavily outside and the water was dripping on the glass window, making the transparent glass blurry. Arthur was sitting on the sofa, reading the newspaper, when his phone rang. He looked at the screen of his phone and saw a new number flashing. He answered the call and asked, "Who's this?" The other end answered, "Am I talking with Mr. Arthur Dale?" Arthur asked, "Who's asking?" The other end asked, "Is this line secure?" Arthur smiled, "You are the one who called me."

The other end replied, "Okay. I am Nafisa. VPS's ally." Arthur's facial expression changed. He asked, 'If you have called me to threaten me, I must tell you that I am not some ordinary person? I have people behind me too." Nafisa smiled, "Don't worry, Mr. Dale. I have not called you to threaten you. Actually, I want to work for you." Arthur was in utter disbelief that Nafisa herself is offering to work with her boss's enemy. He laughed, "It's a good joke. But, right now I am in no mood to hear jokes. Don't ever call on this number again." He disconnected the call.

He chuckled, "She really thought she could fool me so easily. I am pretty sure it was not even Nafisa herself, but some cheap whore impersonating her. It must be VPS's new tactic to infiltrate the High Table." He was about to pick up the newspaper again, when a thought flashed in his mind. He picked up his phone and dialled Dempsey's number. After a few rings, Dempsey picked up the phone and asked, "Why the fuck are you calling me such late in the night?" Arthur asked, "Late at night? Where are you?" "It's none of your business" Dempsey retorted.

Arthur smiled, "Fine. I have something to discuss with you." "What?" Dempsey asked. Arthur replied, "A few minutes before, someone called my number and introduced herself as Nafisa. She allegedly wants to work with us." Dempsey asked, "Really? Did you verify the source?" Arthur asked, "How can I verify the source?" Dempsey retorted, "Don't pursue it any further. I am sure it is VPS's ploy to infiltrate the High Table." Arthur asked, "But, what if she was indeed Nafisa and she genuinely wants to work with us? The intel she has will be very important for us in destroying VPS."

Dempsey grunted, "Use your brains, sometimes Arthur. It is clearly a trap to lure us. Nafisa has been with VPS longer than anyone. She has done numerous dangerous tasks for him without any hesitation. Do you really think she will betray him? And even if that is true, Nafisa would be killed before she even reaches Berlin. VPS is a very cunning person. He would never let a valuable asset like Nafisa reach our hands." Arthur asked, "So, we should do nothing?" Dempsey sighed, "Actually, I may have a plan to test the authenticity of this request." Arthur inquired, "What plan?"

Dempsey smiled, "If Nafisa calls again, tell her to secretly come to a place where she thinks is safe for her. Then, tell her to send her location and I will send a person to transport her to the airport discreetly and then she will fly to a place where another person will take her to a warehouse whose location is unmarked. There you will meet her. Now, both of us haven't seen her, so she has to prove herself by providing us a secret of VPS which we will verify later. Now, if that piece of information proves genuine, she can work with us. The High Table is always open to anyone and everyone." Arthur said, "Okay. It's a brilliant plan." Dempsey said, "Call Rico Martinez. It's time to poke VPS a little." Dempsey disconnected the call. Arthur threw the phone aside and picked up the newspaper and started reading.

U.C.I.D Headquarters, London

Andrich was sitting with his hands cuffed with the table. He slightly laughed at the opening of the door as Sir Lorenzo entered the room. Sir Lorenzo looked at him and said, "I guess you have finally decided to answer all my questions without any unnecessary hard work." Andrich chuckled, "You already know all the answers. You are just torturing me for your own crooked entertainment." Sir Lorenzo sat parallel to him and smirked, "Am I? You are here for your shortcomings. You befriended the weaker person and made an enemy of the bigger one. Your family is waiting for your release, but apparently they don't have any evidence to ease the process. Maybe, you can ease the case for yourself." Andrich grunted, "Repeating the question again and again won't change the answer. I have already told you all I know about VPS and Nafisa. I am a small drug dealer who has very limited market access." Sir Lorenzo slammed the table and roared, "LIES! Your last deal was with Rico Martinez. Rico Martinez is not a small goon or crook from around the corner. He runs the third largest crime syndicate in the world. Your phone records show that you and him were in constant contact with each other and you are saying that you are just a small drug dealer with limited market access. Tell me the truth or else this time I won't be so lenient." Andrich screamed, "I don't know, Sir Lorenzo. I don't know anything. I don't know why I got entangled in this mess? All the people who are real criminals are roaming freely and I am here answering the same question over and over again. You already know about them and yet you are torturing me with this everyday torture. Just take out your gun and end me." Sir Lorenzo slapped him, "Stop your fucking drama! This won't work here. People like you are the reason criminals like VPS and Rico roam around with arrogance, belittling the law. You are the reason Rico Martinez has drugs and you are the reason why we couldn't catch VPS. You even alerted Nafisa and she is untraceable too. You people are like pests who are slowly destroying the integrity and security of the world." He walked briskly outside, slamming the door hard.

Mr. Massino was sitting in his study, reading some important documents, when Mr. Coppola along with Mr. Demmola entered the room. Mr. Massino looked at them and asked, "So, is the work done?" Mr. Coppola's face turned dark and he looked at Mr. Demmola who was equally nervous. Mr. Massino looked at them, trying to read their expressions. He grunted, "Is the work not done yet?" Mr. Coppola startled, "Yes. We went to the docks but before we could see the consignment Mr. Mario sent for us, the Black Cats stole the consignment." Mr. Massino hissed, "The Black Cats. Again." Mr. Demmola gulped, "We lost thirty million." Mr. Massino fumed, "What!! Thirty fucking million. Why on Earth am I feeding you bastards if some stray cats come and steal our consignment before your eyes and you don't do anything?" Mr. Demmola lowered his head. Mr. Coppola interjected, "It is not his fault, Mr. Massino. He was not even there. We arrived late due to an urgent meeting with Mr. Valentina. He wants the marriage to happen within this month. His health is deteriorating and he wants to stay alive to see his daughter's marriage." Mr. Massino looked at him with furious eyes, "You delayed my work because you went to listen to the whining of that sick pest. GET OUT!" Mr. Coppola wanted to say something but when the paperweight came flying and got smashed into several pieces near him, he decided to silently close the door and walk away with the shivering Demmola. Mr. Massino clasped his hands, "I have to do something about these Black Cats. It was my biggest mistake to ignore them as insignificant goons." He looked at the shotgun hanging on the wall and smirked "Their tale ends tonight."

The echo of hurried footsteps filled the quiet corridor, each step heavier and faster than the last. The dim overhead lights flickered, casting distorted shadows that danced across the cold concrete walls.

Coppola and Demmola moved quickly, their faces pale, their breaths shallow. Coppola's jaw was clenched, his eyes scanning ahead as if expecting trouble to leap out from the darkness. Behind him, Demmola struggled to keep pace, his trembling hands clutching at the lapels of his coat.

"You shouldn't have told him about the thirty million," Coppola muttered through gritted teeth, his tone sharp.

"What was I supposed to do? Lie to him?" Demmola shot back, his voice quivering.

Coppola stopped abruptly, turning to glare at him. "It's not about lying; it's about timing. Massino's not the kind of man you hit with bad news when he's already angry!"

Demmola opened his mouth to respond, but Coppola raised a hand to silence him. "Save it. Just move. He's fuming, and we don't want to be here when he decides to act."

The two resumed their hasty retreat, the tension between them palpable. Coppola's mind raced with potential solutions to the mess they were in, but each idea seemed more hopeless than the last.

Behind them, the faint creak of a door opening echoed down the hall. Both men froze, their eyes wide. Slowly, they turned to see the study door ajar and a shadow moving within.

Demmola whispered, "Do you think he's—"

"Quiet," Coppola snapped, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward. "Just keep walking. Faster."

As they reached the end of the corridor, a low, ominous chuckle reached their ears, sending a chill down their spines. They didn't look back. The sound of a car speeding outside the gate startled them and they instantly understood that something insidious is going to happen....