The rooftop bar at Daccii was dim, warm, and loud enough to drown a bad day but quiet enough for secrets. Damian and Max sat in a private corner booth, whiskey glasses glowing under the amber light.

Max raised his drink first.

“To forty freaking million dollars,” he said. “Bro, you pulled it off. Cross Empire is officially untouchable.”

They clinked glasses.

Damian exhaled, shoulders finally dropping. “Feels good, man. Really good.”

Max grinned. “You needed a win. You’ve been looking like someone stole your last jollof for weeks.”

Damian chuckled. “Yeah… Selene has been on my neck nonstop.”

“I noticed,” Max said. “Every time I call, your voice sounds...