Chapter Text
Madrid in July felt like a city left under the burning sun for too long.
Just after four in the afternoon, waves of heat rose from the asphalt. Traffic moved slowly along Gran Vía, interrupted now and then by impatient horns. The radio reminded drivers to slow down. Cafés under large umbrellas were full of people hiding from the heat.
No one knew that, beneath the city, a secret operation was already underway.
In the underground conference room of the Madrid Police Headquarters, the lights had been on for hours. A large digital map of Spain covered the wall, filled with red and blue markers.
Police Commissioner Carlo Ancelotti stood at the front of the room. Across from him sat several senior detectives and three officers from the CIA.
The meeting had already lasted three hours.
The same name remained on the screen.
Sergio Ramos.
For both Ancelotti and the CIA, the name needed no introduction.
He was the most dangerous crime boss in Spain.
Illegal weapons.
Chemical weapons.
Military drones.
International money laundering.
From the Middle East to Eastern Europe and South America, his shadow could be found behind many conflicts.
The biggest problem was that no one knew where his real headquarters was. The only thing they were sure of was this — he still had a base somewhere in Spain.
“We intercepted three shipments of parts coming to Madrid in the last three months,” the CIA officer said as new photos appeared on the screen.
“They all disappeared.”
“Someone received and transported them. And someone protected the operation.”
Ancelotti nodded.
“If we find the supply route, we find Ramos.”
The screen changed again, a black SUV without license plates.
“The vehicle will appear this afternoon,” the CIA officer continued. “This is the closest lead we’ve had.”
Ancelotti looked at the three officers sitting nearby.
“Gareth.”
“Karim.”
“Casemiro.”
All three nodded.
They were the most trusted members of the police task force. Today they would work with the CIA and follow the target.
“Don’t expose yourselves,” Ancelotti said.
“If necessary, let them go. Our target isn’t these men.”
“It’s Ramos.”
At the same time…
Inside the Traffic Division office, Luka Modrić was leaning over his desk, reading through an accident report.
His blond hair moved gently in the cool air from the air conditioner. His police cap rested beside him. One button of his uniform shirt was open, and half a chocolate cookie was in his mouth.
“Luka.”
A coworker placed a cup of coffee on his desk.
“Your old classmates are out on another operation.”
Luka looked up.
“Who?”
“Gareth and the others.”
“Oh.”He stretched lazily.
Looking out the window, he saw several black SUVs leaving the police headquarters without sirens.
Bale was driving.
Benzema sat in the front passenger seat.
Casemiro was in the back.
They were fully armed. They clearly weren’t going to deal with ordinary cases.
Luka watched them until the cars disappeared.
“They’re busy every day.” He sighed.
A younger officer nodded.
“The commissioner has been working on some big case lately.”
Luka finished the last bite of his cookie and stood up.
“I’m happy in traffic police. Every day it’s rear-end crashes, speeding tickets, drunk drivers, and couples arguing after parking. The pay isn’t great, but at least nobody is shooting at us.”
The whole office laughed.
Someone smiled.
“Luka, you had the best grades in police academy.”
Luka waved his hand immediately.
“Only in theory. My shooting was terrible.”
“My fighting was terrible.”
“My fitness wasn’t much better.”
“So now I write traffic tickets.”
“I think it’s the perfect job.”
Everyone laughed even harder.
Luka laughed with them.
He liked his life.
He worked regular hours. Sometimes he handled traffic accidents during night shifts. After work he would buy an iced coffee before going home. Things like gunfights, gangs, and international crime…
They felt as far away as the movies.
4:37 p.m.
The radio suddenly came alive.
“Traffic Unit Two, respond to the A-2 highway exit.”
“Two-car collision.”
“The middle lane is blocked.”
Luka picked up his cap.
“Received.”
He started the police car and drove toward the accident.
Fifteen minutes later, he was kneeling beside the damaged vehicles. While writing notes, he tried to calm down two drivers who were shouting at each other.
“Sir. Please calm down. The insurance company will handle this. Arguing won’t fix your car.”
One of the drivers stepped forward again. Luka gently stopped him: “Don’t stand in the middle of the road. It’s dangerous.”
Several kilometers away…
Bale’s team had found the target vehicle.
“Confirmed.”
“Black SUV.”
“It’s moving.”
Three unmarked police cars followed from a distance. The CIA stayed even farther behind. Everything was going according to plan. The SUV turned through several streets without doing anything unusual.
“They’re careful,” Benzema said quietly.
Bale tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
Then, a delivery truck entered the intersection ahead. In only two seconds, the black SUV suddenly accelerated.
“They spotted us!” a CIA agent shouted through the radio.
The SUV ran the red light. Its tires screamed against the road.
“Go!”
Police sirens finally came on. The streets of Madrid exploded into chaos.
The SUV drifted around corners. It knocked over trash bins, and passed only inches from a city bus.
Bale stayed close behind. Benzema kept reporting their location. Casemiro looked ahead.
“They’re heading for the highway.”
More CIA vehicles joined the chase. Cars rushed through the streets. Drivers pulled aside.
Tires smoked.
Brakes screamed at every intersection, but the people inside the SUV knew Madrid extremely well.After several quick turns, they drove into a construction road. When Bale followed them, the SUV had already returned to the main road.
The gap grew larger.
“Damn it!” Benzema hit the dashboard.
Then…
A police car appeared ahead. It was parked across the middle lane.
Blue and white.
Traffic Police.
A blond officer stood between two damaged cars. His back faced the speeding vehicles, writing on a clipboard.
It was Luka.
Hearing the sound of tires, Luka turned around. A black SUV was racing straight toward him.
“What—”
He didn’t even have time to think. The SUV slammed on the brakes.
The accident scene completely blocked the road and there was no way through.
The driver punched the steering wheel, and yelled: “Fucking hell!”
Police sirens were getting closer.
The passenger looked toward Luka.
“A cop.”
“He blocked us on purpose?”
“The CIA planned this.”
“Take him.”
The doors flew open. Luka reached for his radio.
“Wait, I’m just…”, before he could finish, something struck the back of his neck and his vision went dark.
The clipboard fell to the ground and his cap rolled across the road. Without making another sound, Luka collapsed. Two men grabbed him immediately.
“Move.”
“Hurry.”
The SUV backed up, turned around, and disappeared down another road just seconds before the police arrived.
When Bale reached the scene, only the traffic police car remained.
Luka was gone.
Benzema’s face changed: “There was someone here.”
Casemiro picked up the clipboard.
In one corner was a familiar signature.
Luka Modrić.
The three men fell silent.
Bale’s expression slowly darkened.
“…Luka.”
No one knew how much time had passed before Luka finally stopped moving. The black SUV entered an ordinary-looking building on the edge of Madrid.
An elevator carried them underground. Heavy metal doors opened onto a quiet floor that looked more like a research facility than a hideout.
Still unconscious, Luka was carried through a long hallway.
They stopped outside a large office.
The door opened. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of Madrid filled the night.
A tall man stood behind the desk. He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.His broad shoulders blocked part of the light. Without turning around, he continued reading a file.
“Did you get him?”
“Yes, boss.”
One of the men lowered Luka onto the floor.
“We ran into a police officer.”
“We think the CIA placed him there.”
Only then did Ramos look up. His eyes settled on the unconscious young officer. Luka’s blond hair had fallen across his face during the ride. A faint red mark remained where he had been struck and his traffic police uniform was slightly messy.
Luka’s cap was gone.
He looked surprisingly innocent.
Ramos walked over slowly. At first, he only wanted to check who the officer was.
Then he stopped.
There was a very faint sweet scent in the air.
Not perfume.
Not soap.
As an Alpha, he recognized it almost immediately.
It was the scent of an Omega.
Ramos raised an eyebrow.
An Omega.
A traffic police officer.
And somehow, he had appeared at exactly the place where the CIA chase had ended. That was too much of a coincidence. He looked quietly at Luka’s peaceful face for a long moment.
Then he said: “Lock him up. And when he wakes up, bring him to me.”
TBC