Motel's on Hand

The next morning, Vincent woke up to the system's usual piercing alarm and went straight into his Daily Task.

After showering, he headed to reception. Stephanie was there, sorting invoices, her usual scowl softening when she saw him.

"Still kicking, huh? Thought Voss's boys would've turned you into roadkill."

Vincent leaned on the counter, smirking. "Takes more than a few punks to put me down, Steph. Got the Marcus deal locked. Now I'm making sure nobody fucks with the Stardust."

Her eyebrow arched, a flicker of respect. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Dead serious," he said, his voice low. "You in or what?"

She snorted but nodded. "Fine. But if you tank this place, I'm kicking your ass myself."

"Deal," Vincent said, watching the hovering screen update.

[Progress Updated: Influence on Stephanie Moore—90% Complete.]

He spent the morning grinding through motel business—slashing supplier costs, tweaking ads, even fixing a leaky faucet in Room 12.

By noon, he had renegotiated the food supplier down by 15 percent, Stephanie nodding like she might actually trust him. But his mind was on Voss and Dario. Taking over the gang and meeting Dario within 48 hours loomed like a storm cloud.

Vincent hit the streets, heading to a rundown diner to dig for dirt. The place stank of grease and regret, but the waitress, a tired woman named Marge, knew the town's underbelly. He slid her a ten, keeping his voice low.

"What's the word on Dario?"

Marge glanced around, then leaned in. "Bad news, kid. Runs drugs, protection, you name it. Voss is his attack dog, but Dario's got bigger fish—suits from out of town, corporate types."

Vincent's gut twisted. Corporate? That sounded too much like Universe Enterprises.

"Any names?" he pressed.

She shook her head. "Just whispers. Be careful."

***

Voss sent an address—a warehouse on the town's edge. The Dario meeting was tonight. Vincent spent the day prepping, running scenarios.

Dario wasn't Voss. He'd be sharper, deadlier.

By dusk the next day, Vincent reached the warehouse, a rusted hulk under flickering lights. Two goons frisked him, snagging his knife, and waved him inside. The air reeked of oil and metal.

Voss leaned against a crate, cigarette glowing, smirking like a prick. Beside him stood Dario.

Mid-forties, tailored suit, eyes like a viper. He oozed power, the kind that silenced rooms. Vincent met his stare, unflinching.

"You're Vincent," Dario said, voice smooth as a blade. "Voss says you're a problem. I like problems—if they're profitable."

Vincent kept his cool. "I'm here to keep the Stardust clean. No gang bullshit. We can work together, or I'll make it ugly."

Voss laughed, but Dario's smile was ice. "You're a small fry with big balls. Why should I give a shit?"

[Tactical Awareness Module: Active.]

"Because I'm taking charge," Vincent said, voice steady. "Voss's crew is mine now. You want a piece of this town, you deal with me. I'll run your ops clean—protection, deals, no cop trouble. But the motel's off-limits."

Dario's eyes flicked to Voss, then back to Vincent. "You think you can run my streets better than him?"

"Damn right," Vincent said. "Ten percent of motel profits, plus I streamline your game. No messes, no heat."

Voss bristled, but Dario raised a hand. "Gutsy. Alright, we'll try it. But fuck me over, and you're a dead man."

"Deal," Vincent said, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as the system chimed.

[Task Progress: Neutralize Local Threat — 95% Complete.]

[Objective Completed: Secure agreement with Dario.]

Back at the motel, Vincent collapsed but still pushed through his Qi Cultivation. By the time he finished, the system updated his progress.

[Basic Breathing Techniques — Level 1 Progress: 30%.]

He smiled tiredly. The deal with Dario had drained him, and within minutes of his head hitting the pillow, he was out.

***

After a morning shower, he hit reception.

Today, he wanted to focus on the motel. He had been grinding to turn this place around, and Stephanie was starting to notice.

She stood behind the counter, sorting keys, her dark hair pulled back, eyes sharp but less hostile than when Vincent first rolled in. A half-empty coffee mug sat next to a stack of invoices, evidence of another long night.

She glanced up, catching him watching, and snorted. "What's with the stare, hotshot? You gonna stand there all day or actually do something useful?"

Vincent grinned, unfazed. "Just admiring the view, Steph. You got those booking numbers yet? I wanna see if my ads are still pulling."

She rolled her eyes but slid a clipboard across the counter. "Up 15 percent since last week. Don't let it go to your head, asshole. We're still in the red."

He scanned the numbers, nodding. "Better than bleeding out. Give me a month, and we'll be in the black."

"Big talk," she said, but there was a flicker of something—respect, maybe—in her eyes. She set the keys down, leaning forward, voice lowering.

"You're really sticking with this, huh? Most guys would've bailed by now, with Voss's crew sniffing around and the bank up our ass."

Vincent met her gaze, his smirk fading. "I don't run, Steph. This place is mine to fix, and I'm not letting any fucker—Voss, the bank, or otherwise—screw it up."

She studied him for a long moment, then reached under the counter and pulled out a worn keyring with a single key, its brass dulled from years of use. She slid it across to him, her expression unreadable.

"Room 8. It's yours. Not just a crash pad—you're running shit now, so you get a permanent spot. Don't make me regret this."

Vincent raised an eyebrow but took the key, turning it over in his hand. Room 8 was one of the better ones—less mold, a window that actually locked.

It wasn't just a room. It was a sign she was handing him the reins, or at least part of them.

"Didn't know you were the sentimental type," he said, pocketing the key. "What's next, you baking me cookies?"

"Fuck off," Stephanie snapped, but a smirk tugged at her lips. "I'm not your mom. Just don't trash the place, and keep doing whatever you're doing. This motel's all I got."

He nodded, the weight of her trust settling on him. "I got you, Steph. We're turning this shithole into something real."

The system pinged again.

[Progress Updated: Influence on Stephanie Moore—95% Complete.]

[Objective Advanced: Secure Local Operations—80% Complete.]