After repeatedly kicking Donto back into the hardwood, Max watched as the senior finally went still. Donto was utterly worn out, his chest heaving as he stared blankly at the high rafters of the athletic hall. Every muscle in his body had revolted, refusing to grant him the strength to stand up even one more time.
But as Max looked down at him, he realized it wasn’t just the physical exhaustion pinning Donto to the floor. It was the fact that his will had finally snapped. For a man who had spent his entire life believing he was the protagonist of the world, being treated like a nuisance to be swatted away had done something permanent to his psyche.
"Max... do you really think that situations like this are dealt with just with our fists?" Donto rasped, a thin trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. "So what if you can beat me up? So what if you took out all the seniors? Does that change anything in the real world? Does it change the operation we have going on?"
Donto managed a jagged, painful smirk. "You’re just one person, and this is just one university. Beat me as much as you want, cousin, but it’s not going to change a thing. Our positions in this family and this city aren’t determined by who can hit harder. I have a system. I have a network. And tomorrow, the machine keeps turning."
Max had dealt with this specific brand of arrogance before in his line of work. In a strictly traditional sense, Donto was right. Unless Max was prepared to end his life right there on the basketball court, Donto would simply heal, regroup, and restart his business. To men like Donto, violence was a temporary setback, not a permanent solution.
"You think I’m just strong?" Max asked, his voice dropping to a low, chilling frequency. "You’ve underestimated me in more ways than I can count, Donto. If I want to stop every single person from selling your product in this university—and every other campus you’ve touched—I can do that with a single word."
Max took a step closer, the shadow of his silhouette looming over the fallen athlete. "You truly have no idea how much of Notting Hill I actually control, do you?"
While there were certainly large, legitimate corporations and political sectors that Max couldn’t reach with ease, when it came to the Underworld, the power dynamic had shifted. Max was no longer a rising player; he was the head of the largest syndicate group in the territory. The news of the Billion Bloodline’s dominance had already spread through the veins of the city like wildfire.
Bringing out his phone, Max scrolled through his contacts and made a specific call. The room was so silent that the ringing tone seemed to echo off the backboards.
"Yeah, it’s me," Max said when the line connected. "There is someone who has been supplying specific medical supplies—ADHD medication and chemical additives—to university students and seniors in the area. I want you to find out exactly who the producers are."
There was a brief pause as Max allowed the person on the other end to process the request. Donto, watching from the floor, couldn’t help but let out a dry, hacking laugh. What was Max trying to achieve? Did he think he could use his own money to outbid a Stern?
Donto knew his producers were loyal because he offered a massive, consistent cash flow—one that had made them exclusive partners. There was no way they would give up that kind of revenue for a few threats. But Donto didn’t realize that Max wasn’t planning to use his finances at all.
"Tell the producers that the Billion Bloodline group has told them to stop," Max said into the phone, his eyes never leaving Donto’s. "Tell them we aren’t looking to get involved in their territory, and we aren’t looking to punish them for past business. Just tell them that if they ever want to move a single shipment through Notting Hill again, they will do their business with someone else. Effective immediately."
Max didn’t wait for a response; he simply hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. At first, Donto’s smirk remained. He believed Max was bluffing, putting on a grand show of power to try and intimidate him into closing up shop voluntarily.
That was until Donto’s own phone, lying on the floor a few inches from his hand, began to vibrate violently.
"You should probably look at that," Max said. "I imagine it’s quite important for your bottom line."
Donto fumbled for the device, his fingers trembling. When he opened his messages, the smirk vanished as if it had been wiped away by a physical strike. His eyes darted across the screen as a barrage of notifications came in. His primary suppliers, his logistics coordinators, and even his local distributors were all sending the same panicked message: they were out.
One message stood out among the rest, sent from his lead producer:
[I don’t know what you did to get on the Billion Bloodline’s bad side, kid, but no one is willing to risk their neck for your profit anymore. There will be no one doing business with you in Notting Hill or the surrounding districts. Don’t contact us again.]
"What..." Donto whispered, looking up at Max with a face that had gone completely pale. The reality of his situation was finally sinking in. The "useless" cousin wasn’t just a fighter; he was a kingmaker.
"I told you, things are different now, Donto," Max said. "I’m not coming after your life, so you don’t have to worry about that. But you’re going to stop this stupid stuff. Stop getting innocent people involved in your petty power plays. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you and your desire to feel important."
Max leaned down, his face inches from Donto’s. "There are people out there living lives a lot crappier than yours, and they don’t have the luxury of playing games. You don’t get to make their lives worse just to line your pockets. So, now that we’ve settled the business side of things... are you going to tell me about your father?"
In the end, Donto had no choice but to admit total defeat. He had been beaten physically, socially, and financially in the span of an hour. But the answer he gave wasn’t what Max had been expecting.
"What do you even want to ask about him?" Donto asked, his voice hollow. "You want to know his business lines? How he earns his money? His daily routine? I’ll tell you the truth, Max—I know none of it. He keeps me at arm’s length. He gives me an allowance and expects me to be a star athlete, and that’s it."
Donto coughed again, a bitter look on his face. "You’d be better off hiring a private detective to follow him. Everything you’ve done today—the fighting, the shut-downs—it was all useless if you wanted information from me."
Max didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he lifted his boot and pressed the heel firmly against Donto’s shin—the very leg that was supposed to carry him to a professional soccer career.
"There is one thing you have left, Donto, and that is your future in sports," Max said, applying a fraction more pressure. "You could be praised and cheered on by the whole world. You could have everything you ever wanted. But if I do this... if I apply just a little more weight... you might never get that chance again. You’ll be a local legend who got a ’career-ending injury’ in a locker room. So, do you want to try answering again?"
Donto looked into Max’s eyes and saw no hesitation. He realized then that Max would actually do it.
"Wait!" Donto shouted, his voice cracking. "I wasn’t lying! I don’t know his business details! But... I do know one thing. Something that might be more useful to you than a routine."
Max paused, maintaining the pressure but not increasing it.
"You shouldn’t just be worrying about my father, Max," Donto said, his eyes filled with a genuine, shivering fear. "In the Stern family, there is one person you should really be watching out for. A person who wouldn’t just beat you up or shut down your business. A person who would be willing to kill you."