The General's Daughter: The Mission

”What did you say?”

Anton shoved the naked woman off his lap with enough force to send her crashing onto the marble floor.

A sharp gasp escaped her as pain shot through her spine, but she quickly swallowed the sound. Crying in front of Anton was dangerous. So was speaking when his temper darkened like this.

With trembling fingers, she gathered the scraps of silk and lace scattered across the floor and hurried out of the room without looking back. Experience had taught her that the slower she moved, the crueler he became.

Anton Trillo was in a foul mood.

And men like Anton did not simply get angry—they destroy things.

Sometimes furniture. Sometimes people.

She had lasted four months as his kept woman, longer than most. Long enough to learn the subtle shifts in his expression, the coldness that settled in his dark eyes before violence erupted beneath his skin. Long enough to know that survival beside him depended on silence, obedience, and disappearing before his rage found a target.

Luxury came at a price.

The penthouse, the diamonds, the designer gowns draped over her body like silk chains—they were all paid for with fear.

Behind her, Anton remained seated in the leather armchair, looking almost untouched by an hour of giving him pleasure.

Aside from the faint creases strained across the expensive fabric at his crotch, he was still impeccably dressed. His charcoal suit clung perfectly to his broad frame, every cuff and button in place, as though brutality and elegance belonged naturally together on him.

Which they did.

Anton looked less like a man and more like a weapon disguised in tailored luxury.

Anton rose from the chair with unhurried grace, the kind that concealed violence beneath polish. He slid open the glass doors and stepped onto the balcony, the cold night air sweeping against his face.

He was still in Laguna.

More specifically, in Ranova—a forgotten old town an hour away from Calma.

Weeks ago, the local government had uncovered an ancient provincial records and restored Calma’s original name on official maps. Most people considered it nothing more than sentimental history.

Anton saw opportunity.

The moment the restoration project was announced, he quietly moved to acquire properties around Calma.

But the lands there were deeply rooted, owned for generations by the powerful Belmont family, Ares’ maternal family. Every negotiation ended the same way—refusal.

And Anton Trillo despised being denied.

He did not want a mansion boxed within city limits. He wanted territory. Land vast enough to feel like a kingdom.

So he bought the outskirts instead.

Now he stood on the third-floor balcony of an aging hacienda in Ranova, staring across dark fields and distant mountains silvered faintly by starlight. The mansion itself had once belonged to a wealthy ranch owner and local magnate who had stubbornly refused to sell.

Until Anton made refusal impossible.

The old estate still carried traces of its former grandeur—massive narra pillars, wrought-iron railings, weathered stone walls stained by decades of rain. But under Anton’s ownership, the place no longer felt historic.

It felt occupied.

Claimed.

Like prey beneath a predator’s claw.

”Boss X,” Artemio’s voice came from the other line, low and cautious. ”A spy I planted among Liam’s men reported that Liam, Logan, and Larissa went to Mount Ourea. They didn’t know the exact mission, but they overheard something about retrieving a treasure.”

Anton remained silent, leaning one arm against the railing as he watched the darkness stretch endlessly before him. Artemio knew better than to mistake silence for disinterest.

”They stayed inside a limestone enclosure for several hours,” Artemio continued carefully. ”Then Ares Zuvel arrived by helicopter. They loaded a metal box before leaving.”

A notification chimed.

Anton glanced at the photo Artemio had sent—a blurred image taken from afar. A massive steel box, roughly three feet in height and width, suspended in the air as men loaded it into the helicopter.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

A faint smirk tugged at Anton’s lips.

”That Larissa Reyes...” he murmured. ”She becomes more mysterious by the day.”

On the other end, Artemio hesitated.

”Boss...” His voice lowered further. ”Larissa Reyes is actually the child I found years ago.”

”I know,” Anton replied flatly.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

”I merely pretended I didn’t,” he continued. ”People who work under me become my business. And I make it a point to know everything about my business.”

Inside his quarters in Isla, Artemio’s grip loosened in shock. The phone slipped from his hand onto the bed. He quickly picked it back up, fingers trembling slightly.

A soft chuckle escaped Anton.

”And I know whose child she truly is,” he added. ”I admire your courage, Artemio. Hiding her for years, planning this far ahead...” His voice darkened with amusement. ”You are far more capable than I initially thought.”

Cold sweat gathered along Artemio’s forehead.

He had been careful. Extremely careful. Months after his wife and son died, he had secretly taken Lara away from that man and erased every trail leading back to her.

No one should have known.

At that moment, Artemio fully understood something terrifying:

Anton Trillo was not merely dangerous. He was omniscient. A predator who saw through walls, lies, and shadows alike.

”Don’t you still have people inside Ares Zuvel’s mansion?” Anton asked casually as he pulled a cigarette from its case.

He flicked open a lighter, the flame illuminating the sharp angles of his face.

But before the cigarette touched his lips, he paused.

The doctor’s warning surfaced in his mind.

If he wanted longevity—if he intended to remain strong and untouchable for years to come—he needed discipline.

With visible irritation, he crushed the cigarette into the ashtray instead.

”They were all dismissed,” Artemio answered. ”Ares discovered them somehow.”

A brief silence followed.

”Then use another pawn,” Anton said coldly. ”You already know who she is.”

Before Artemio could respond, the line disconnected.

Anton lowered the phone and tilted his head upward.

The sky was moonless tonight, making the stars appear brighter—thousands of distant lights scattered across an endless black void.

Beautiful.

Cold.

Untouchable.

Much like power itself.

He scrolled through his contacts before selecting a number.

Then he typed:

Let us meet tomorrow. Come to Garden’s Café. I’ll send someone to pick you up.

He hit send without hesitation.

A slow smile spread across his face as the night wind stirred around him.

It was finally time to use his own pawn.