Las Vegas – Noon
Neil sat quietly in his armored black Maybach, the windows heavily tinted against the blazing Nevada sun. Outside, the city was a whirlwind—always racing ahead. Vegas never paused for sorrow, vengeance, or fresh starts.
He leaned back, one leg casually crossed over the other, observing the hustle and bustle through his custom Ray-Bans. Opposite him was Lydia Reyes—his top intel officer and the only person who had ever managed to outsmart him at poker.
"You really stirred the pot last night," she remarked.
"I didn't just stir it," Neil shot back. "I kicked it right in half."
She grinned. "The Triads want to meet. The Bratva's gone silent. And the FBI is keeping a close eye on Aether."
Neil tapped the folder she handed him. Inside were legal blueprints, offshore banking maps, connections to shell companies, and a striking red envelope with just one word: **HORIZON**.
"What's this all about?" he inquired.
Leaning in, she replied, "It's what your father died trying to protect."
Neil's gaze sharpened. "I thought Horizon was just a legend."
"It's very real," she insisted. "A project linked to global intelligence networks, arms deals, and a way to control every major financial flow in the underworld. Your father was working on it before he was murdered."
Neil's eyes lingered on the name. Horizon.
"Where is it?" he pressed.
She pointed to a spot on the map. "Mumbai. Hidden beneath the ruins of an old textile factory. It's guarded by someone known as 'The Phoenix'."
Neil snapped the folder shut. "Book the jet. I'm heading home."
---
**Mumbai – 48 Hours Later**
The air felt heavier here. Older. More perilous. Neil stepped out onto the rooftop, taking in the sprawling concrete labyrinth of Dharavi. The sun blazed overhead, street dogs barked, and the distant wail of police sirens was a constant backdrop.
"This place hasn't changed a bit," he muttered.
From behind him, a voice broke the silence: "And neither have its enemies."
The man was dressed in a simple, worn kurta, but his eyes told a different story—dangerous, sharp. He was a former military man turned underground warlord, known as **Raghav "Tiger" Menon**, once the most trusted enforcer of his father.
"You look just like him," Raghav remarked. "But you've got your mother's silent stride."
Neil offered a faint smile. "And you still carry the scent of gunpowder."
They shared a quick embrace, like brothers who hadn't spoken in years yet still felt that bond.
"You're here for Horizon," Raghav stated.
Neil nodded. "And to settle a few old scores."
Raghav handed him a black USB drive. "It's not the full picture. The rest is in Phoenix's hands."
Neil tucked it away. "Where can I find her?"
"Downtown. She's hiding in plain sight. But be careful—she's not fond of ghosts from the past."
---
**Downtown Mumbai – That Night**
The bar was buzzing with noise. Bollywood tunes blared, locals were drunk, and foreign gangsters were trying to blend in. Neil pushed his way through the crowd until he spotted her—lean, lethal, and elegant. Her hair was dyed crimson, and tattoos adorned her fingers. They called her **Aarushi**, but on the streets, she was known as Phoenix.
When she noticed him, she paused her drink and offered a cold smile.
"You're late," she remarked.
Neil took a seat across from her. "Did you know I was coming?"
"I figured you'd last long enough to make the attempt."
They locked eyes, a silent battle of wills. There had once been something between them—a kiss exchanged under gunfire, a night in Shanghai that ended in chaos.
"I need Horizon," he said, cutting through the tension.
She leaned closer. "Then you'll have to earn it."
"How?"
"By taking out the man who killed your father."
Neil went still.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "He's not dead. He's in Moscow. With the Bratva."
Neil stood up, feeling the ground shift beneath him. It no longer felt like India; it felt like war.
---
**To Be Continued in Chapter 3: "The Bratva Invitation"**