𝑻𝒖𝒚𝒐 (𝑵𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆)

Rodrigo Amarante

0:22 ──♡───── 1:29

"𝚂𝚘𝚢 𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚞 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚕. 𝚂𝚘𝚢 𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚐𝚞𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚊 𝚝𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚍."

Karim Al-Rashid leaned against the edge of his desk, the tip of his cigar glowing faintly in the dimly lit office. Around him, the air was thick with tension. His men, a mix of seasoned smugglers and enforcers, were seated or standing in various corners of the room, their hushed conversations trailing off as Abbas entered, flanked by two other associates. One carried a clipboard, the other a leather case that seemed heavy for its size. The case was placed on the desk with a dull thud.

"You're late," Karim said, his voice calm but with an edge of menace. He didn't look up as he flicked ash into a crystal tray.

"Apologies, boss," Abbas replied, taking his place by the window. "There was an... issue at the docks."

Karim exhaled a plume of smoke, finally turning his sharp gaze toward Abbas. "Issue?"

Abbas exchanged a look with one of the younger men before responding. "One of the foremen grew bold. Tried to skim from the cargo. Thought we wouldn't notice."

"And?" Karim's tone remained level, but the way his eyes narrowed caused a ripple of unease among the men.

Abbas nodded toward the leather case. "We found what he took. And we handled him."

Karim's gaze shifted to the case. With a slow, deliberate motion, he opened it, revealing stacks of bundled cash alongside a few gold coins. He took one of the coins and examined it under the lamp, its polished surface reflecting the faint light.

"Who was it?" Karim asked without looking up.

"Walters," Abbas said, his voice steady.

Karim's hand paused. He set the coin down on the desk and looked up at Abbas. "Walters has been with us for years. Why?"

"He said his family needed the money. Claimed he wasn't being paid enough."

Karim's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "Mafish ma'na fulus?" We don't have money? He looked around at the room. "Does anyone else here feel like they're underpaid?"

No one spoke. The silence was thick, punctuated only by the faint crackle of the cigar in Karim's hand.

"Loyalty," Karim continued, his voice softer now but no less dangerous, "isn't bought with gold. It's bought with fear and respect. If one man thinks he can take from us, what will stop the others from following?"

He gestured to one of the men near the door. "Bring him in."

Moments later, Walters was dragged into the room, his face bruised and his breathing labored. He was forced to his knees in front of Karim's desk, trembling but trying to keep his composure.

"Walters," Karim said, stepping closer, his tone almost conversational. "You've worked for me for a long time. Longer than most here. So tell me-why would you do this?"

Walters swallowed hard, his voice shaking. "I-I thought I could pay it back. My wife-she's sick. I needed the money for her medicine."

Karim tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Shuft?" You see? he said to Abbas and the others. "This is why you don't hire men with families. Their loyalties are divided."

"Please," Walters begged, his voice cracking. "It was a mistake. It won't happen again."

"No," Karim said quietly, drawing a pistol from his jacket and pressing it to Walters' temple. "It won't."

The shot rang out, and Walters slumped to the floor. The room fell silent, save for the muffled thud of the body hitting the rug. Karim holstered his pistol, his expression unchanged.

"Clean it up," he said to the two men closest to the body. "And make sure his wife gets enough money to leave the city. She doesn't need to suffer for his stupidity."

The men nodded, quickly dragging Walters' body out of the room. Karim returned to his desk, wiping a faint smudge of blood from his cufflink before turning back to the others.

"Now," he said, taking a seat and leaning forward. "Let's talk about the shipment."

Abbas cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "The whiskey shipment is being moved to the secondary dock. The portmaster has been cooperative since the last... conversation we had with him."

"Good," Karim said. "And Kimber?"

"He's restless," another man chimed in, a younger enforcer named Rashid. "He's been asking why the shipments are taking longer than expected."

Karim's gaze darkened. "Kimber doesn't ask questions. He takes what we give him and says thank you. Make sure he understands that."

Rashid nodded quickly, but Abbas interjected. "Kimber's a volatile one. If we push him too hard, it could backfire."

"Then make it clear," Karim said coldly, "that if he steps out of line, his clubs will burn. And his precious accountants will hang."

There was a knock on the door, and a servant entered cautiously, holding a silver tray with a telephone on it. "Sir," he said, bowing slightly. "A call from London."

Karim nodded, dismissing the servant with a wave. He picked up the receiver, his tone shifting to one of practiced ease. "Yes?"

"Karim," his father's voice came through, warm but firm. "How are things?"

"Busy, as always," Karim replied, leaning back in his chair. "But under control."

"Good," Khalid said. "I wanted to remind you of the shipment coming through Alexandria. It's critical that it reaches its destination without delay."

"It's already being handled," Karim assured him. "The docks are secure, and the route has been cleared."

"And Birmingham?" Khalid asked. "I trust you're managing the Shelbys?"

Karim smirked faintly. "They're manageable."

"Good," Khalid warned. "Men like that are useful, but they're not to be trusted."

"Neither am I," Karim replied smoothly.

Khalid chuckled softly. "True. But remember, trust isn't necessary for loyalty. Fear is."

"I'll keep that in mind," Karim said.

"Good," Khalid replied. "And Karim... make sure you don't get distracted."

Karim's smirk faded slightly, his eyes narrowing. "I'm never distracted."

The line went dead, and Karim replaced the receiver, his expression cold and calculating. He turned back to Abbas and the others, his tone brisk.

"We move the shipment tonight. And make sure Kimber knows his place." He paused, glancing at the bloodstain still faintly visible on the rug. "If anyone else has doubts about their loyalty, remind them what happens to traitors."

The room was silent as his men nodded, the tension palpable. Karim leaned back, his sharp gaze sweeping over them.

"Now, get to work."

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The room was dimly lit, the kind of darkness that swallowed sound and light, making it feel far smaller than it was. Karim Al-Rashid stood near the window, the dim glow of a cigarette illuminating his sharp features as he stared into the night. His men filled the room, some leaning against the walls, others seated in silence, their eyes occasionally flicking toward the center of attention: Arthur Shelby Sr.

Arthur Sr. was seated on a wooden chair, his hands tied behind his back. His face was bruised and bloody, evidence of the struggle it had taken to get him here. He shifted uncomfortably, the ropes biting into his skin, but his swagger hadn't entirely faded. He spat blood onto the floor, looking up at Karim with a defiant smirk.

"You've got some balls, yanking me off the street like that," Arthur Sr. muttered, his voice thick with mockery. "What do you want?"

Karim didn't respond immediately. He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke as he turned to face the older man. His expression was calm, composed, but the glint in his eyes betrayed something far darker.

"You'll speak when spoken to," Karim said smoothly, his voice carrying an unnerving authority. He nodded to Abbas, who delivered a sharp slap to the back of Arthur Sr.'s head, sending him lurching forward.

Arthur Sr. gritted his teeth but said nothing, glaring up at Karim as he straightened.

"You're here because I have a job for you," Karim continued, pacing slowly around the chair. His polished shoes clicked against the hardwood floor, a sound that seemed to echo ominously in the tense room. "A job that only you can do."

Arthur Sr. snorted. "Yeah? What makes you think I'd do anything for you?"

Karim stopped behind him, leaning down until his mouth was close to Arthur Sr.'s ear. "Because you don't have a choice."

Arthur Sr. stiffened but didn't reply. Karim straightened, motioning to one of his men, who stepped forward and placed a thick folder on the table beside them. Karim opened it, pulling out a series of photographs and spreading them across the surface.

Arthur Sr.'s eyes flicked toward the pictures. They were of his sons-Tommy, John, and Arthur-going about their business in Small Heath. Arthur Sr.'s smirk faded slightly as he took in the images.

"You see," Karim said, his tone conversational as he gestured to the photos, "your sons have built themselves quite the empire. But every empire has its cracks. Weaknesses. And you, Mr. Shelby, are uniquely positioned to exploit them."

Arthur Sr. frowned, his gaze narrowing. "What do you want with my boys?"

Karim stepped closer, his eyes cold. "I want you to go back to them. Reunite with your family. Stir the pot, so to speak. Focus on Arthur. He's the most... vulnerable."

Arthur Sr. scoffed. "Arthur's a tough bastard. You won't get under his skin that easily."

Karim smirked faintly, tapping his temple with two fingers. "Arthur craves your approval. He always has. Use that. Manipulate him. Push him to the edge."

"And then what?" Arthur Sr. asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think they'll just roll over for you?"

"I don't need them to roll over," Karim replied, his tone darkening. "I need them to bleed."

Arthur Sr.'s defiance wavered slightly as Karim leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You'll do exactly as I say. And if you don't... well, let's just say your sons won't be the only ones who bleed."

Arthur Sr. tensed, his jaw tightening. "And if I decide to tell them what you're planning?"

Karim's smile disappeared. He reached into his jacket, pulling out a sleek pistol and pressing it against Arthur Sr.'s temple. The room fell deathly silent, the tension palpable.

"You won't," Karim said quietly. "Because you're smart enough to know that crossing me is a death sentence."

Arthur Sr. swallowed hard, his bravado faltering. After a long moment, he nodded slowly. "Fine. I'll do it."

Karim lowered the gun but didn't put it away. "Good. Abbas, untie him."

Abbas stepped forward, cutting the ropes with a flick of his knife. Arthur Sr. rubbed his wrists, glancing warily at the armed men around him.

"Before you go," Karim said, his tone lighter but no less menacing, "there's something you should know."

Arthur Sr. looked up at him, his expression guarded. "What?"

Karim gestured toward Abbas, who handed him another folder. This one was thinner, but its contents were no less significant. Karim opened it, pulling out a single photograph and holding it up.

It was a picture of Maeve.

Arthur Sr.'s brow furrowed. "What?"

Karim's smile returned. "Arthur's woman."

Arthur Sr.'s eyes widened slightly, his expression a mix of surprise and intrigue. "Arthur's got a woman?"

Karim nodded, slipping the photo back into the folder. "She's important to him. Very important. You'll make sure they're not on good terms."

Arthur Sr. frowned. "Why?"

Karim's smile vanished, and his voice dropped to a dangerous tone. "That's none of your concern. Just do as you're told."

Arthur Sr. hesitated, clearly tempted to push further, but the look in Karim's eyes stopped him. He nodded reluctantly, standing slowly. "Fine. But if this goes south, don't expect me to clean it up."

Karim motioned for his men to escort Arthur Sr. out. As they moved toward the door, Karim called after him, his voice calm but chilling.

"And, Arthur?"

The older man paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"Don't get cocky," Karim said, his hand resting lightly on the pistol at his side. "The moment you step out of line, you'll wish you hadn't."

Arthur Sr. said nothing, turning and walking out of the room with the guards flanking him. Karim watched him go, his expression unreadable. Once the door closed, he turned to Abbas.

"Watch him," Karim ordered, switching to Arabic. "كل خطوة." Every step.

Abbas nodded, his gaze serious. "سأراقبه." I'll keep an eye on him.

Karim exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the now-empty chair. "Let's see if the old man still has his bite."

Heyyyy, I hope you've enjoyed what you've read so far! 😊 Just a heads up, I used the internet for the Arabic translation, and I'm sure there's room for improvement. If you spot any mistakes or have some tips to share, feel free to drop a comment! 🙌 I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback.