Binondo never slept.
While the rest of Manila slowed down after midnight, this ancient Chinatown pulsed with a different kind of energy — one laced with neon, whispers, and sin. Behind the red lanterns and herbal medicine stalls, a different market thrived — the black market of Manila's elite shadows.
Don Eduardo Montefalco parked his car under the Jones Bridge. Dressed in a midnight-blue suit, hair slicked back, bolo tucked discreetly into his waistband — he looked like a businessman, but he moved like a ghost.
Catalina Zhou stood waiting by a dimly lit alley. Her qipao shimmered with dragon patterns. Her eyes were unreadable.
"You're sure this is the place?" Eduardo asked.
Catalina nodded. "They call it Red Jade Club. Officially, it's a private lounge for VIP clients. Unofficially? It's where the Zhao Family Syndicate launders money, hosts gun auctions, and bribes politicians."
Eduardo raised a brow. "And we're just walking in?"
Catalina smirked. "We're not walking in. We're performing."
---
Inside the club, the scent of incense mixed with cigar smoke and perfume. Crimson lanterns swung above velvet curtains. Violinists played slow, haunting Chinese tangos. The clientele: Chinese-Filipino elites, Macau billionaires, retired generals, and two senators pretending they weren't drunk on blood money.
The bartender bowed slightly when Catalina entered. "Señorita Zhou," he whispered. "You have the floor."
Catalina stepped onto the center platform, took the mic, and began to sing — a haunting Mandarin song that silenced the room. Every note wrapped around the guests like smoke.
While the crowd watched her, Eduardo moved.
He slipped past a curtain guarded by a man with a dragon tattoo. One quick jab to the neck, silent as rain.
Behind the curtain: a narrow hallway of offices and private rooms.
Eduardo scanned the rooms — poker games, gun deals, suitcases full of counterfeit casino chips. But in the last room, he saw what he came for:
A ledger.
Marked with crimson ink.
Initials: VL. Victor Liang.
He took photos with his hidden camera. A list of shipments. Airstrips. Even payoffs to Bureau of Customs officials in Batangas and Cebu.
Then — a whisper behind him.
"You shouldn't be here, Don Montefalco."
Eduardo turned. A young man in a white suit leaned against the wall, holding a katana. He had the soft features of a scholar, but his eyes were empty. A golden pin gleamed on his lapel — a spade pierced by a rose.
"You one of Liang's men?" Eduardo asked.
The man smiled. "I am Liang's student. And you, señor… you're trespassing."
Eduardo drew his bolo.
"Let's dance, then."
---
The fight was swift — steel clashed with steel, shadows danced between candlelight and crimson silk. Eduardo dodged a slash, countered with a strike to the ribs. The student stumbled but laughed.
"You're good," he said, blood trailing from his mouth. "But you're late. Victor knows you're coming. He's already in Macau."
Eduardo disarmed him and slammed him against the wall.
"Tell me something useful," he growled.
The man whispered, "Check the tower in Ermita… Fourth floor. Behind the jade dragon."
Then he passed out.
---
Eduardo rejoined Catalina outside, blood on his sleeve.
"You got what you needed?" she asked.
Eduardo looked back at the club.
"No," he said. "I got something worse."
"What?"
He lit a cigarette, hands still shaking. "Confirmation."
Catalina narrowed her eyes. "Macau?"
Eduardo nodded.
"The King of Spades is alive. And he's planning something big."
To be continued…