The room fell completely quiet, the easy tension of the poker game vanishing in an instant as everyone turned to look at Vera. After weeks of playing nice, eating their food, and living under the same roof, the leader of the Fallen Rose was finally stepping up to the plate.
The truth was, the Billion Bloodline group was absolutely drowning in cash, and it wasn’t because Max was some kind of business prodigy who spent his nights studying market trends. He’d thrown out a few decent, creative ideas at the start that made some good money, but the real wealth came from the sheer volume of turf he’d conquered. Even though he’d handed the family businesses back to Karen and Bobo to keep the peace and keep them off his back, he’d kept a massive, non-negotiable cut of the daily profits for himself.
Now that the Gilt Rats weren’t around to smash up their storefronts, hijack their supply lines, and threaten their workers, the money was rolling in faster than the accountants could count it. Max had structured the entire city’s underbelly so that every transaction paid a tax to the Bloodline.
But their absolute biggest cash cow, the engine keeping their entire operation afloat, was the Black Hounds.
The underground fighting tournaments were officially back on, and the hype was spreading like wildfire. Fighters from neighboring cities were flooding into Notting Hill, looking for quick cash, a reputation, and a chance to prove themselves against the best. Jett and Darius were keeping the events small and controlled for now, testing the waters before expanding. They’d set up the first bracket on a luxury cruise ship anchored in neutral waters, acting as the ultimate security detail just in case things went south.
After all, Jett and Darius used to be the undisputed champions of the ring before Max beat them in a real fight, and they weren’t about to let some out-of-towners ruin their grand restart. They had a legacy to protect, and they were running the ship with an iron fist.
Down on the central stage, beneath the heavy glare of the spotlights, a brutal match was slipping away from a local fighter. He was shirtless, pinned to the canvas, and spitting dark blood onto the mat. Desperate, humiliated, and bleeding out, he realized he couldn’t win under the rules. He reached under the waistband of his trousers, pulled out a hidden tactical knife, and lunged at his opponent’s exposed throat.
He didn’t even get close. Jett intercepted him mid-stride, moving with a terrifying speed that left the crowd gasping. He clamped a hand over the fighter’s wrist like a steel vice, halting the blade inches from its target.
"We don’t care if you use weapons," Jett said, his voice completely level, completely unbothered by the edge of the blade. "But you have to show them before the bell rings. That way, your opponent can decide if they actually want to risk the fight and continue. Underground doesn’t mean lawless, and it doesn’t mean sloppy."
Jett squeezed, applying a brutal amount of pressure. A sickening crunch of breaking bone echoed through the front rows of the stands. The cheating fighter screamed, dropping the knife, and his crew immediately lost their minds. They jumped the metal barricade, storming the stage with pipes, brass knuckles, and blades, ready to tear Jett apart.
"You have no idea who you’re messing with!" a bald guy at the front shouted, his face red with rage as he squared up. "We’re the Venomous Snakes! You touch one of us, and our whole gang will hunt you down across every province until you’re buried!"
"Venomous Snakes?" Jett sighed, not even shifting his stance as the mob closed in. He looked over his shoulder toward the heavy velvet curtains. "Did they really need to add ’Venomous’ to the front of that? It’s bad enough they’re a joke, but the naming style is generic. It’s our first day back, Darius. Has our reputation seriously gotten this bad while we were away?"
Before the bald guy could even swing his pipe, two of his enforcers went flying backward through the air, their bodies crashing violently into the rows of spectator seats. The crowd erupted into wild cheers and frantic applause as Darius stepped into the light, shaking out his knuckles with a massive grin.
"We’ve been way too passive lately, letting people forget who we are," Darius said, ducking a wild swing from a pipe and driving his fist straight into another guy’s ribs with enough force to lift him off his feet. "It’s time we remind people who runs these docks and who collects the tax. Besides, I have a feeling about these idiots."
He dropped another attacker with a clean, devastating left hook to the jaw.
"If they were from Notting Hill, they wouldn’t dare touch our property or break our rules. They’re from out of town, which means they don’t know the consequences of crossing the Bloodline."
By the time Darius finished speaking, Jett had already leveled the rest of the crew, leaving them groaning in bloody heaps on the stage. The entire fight had lasted less than two minutes.
"What’s the play?" Jett asked, looking down at the groaning mess of the Venomous Snakes.
"This isn’t just a simple street brawl anymore," Darius said, his expression hardening. "This is a boundary issue. They crossed the line into our territory without paying respects. Let’s call our new bosses."
Back at the Billion Bloodline base, Max was reading the encrypted report on his phone while sitting at a massive wooden table in the center of the recreation hall. The room was loud, filled with the clatter of plastic chips, the rustle of cards, and the laughter of off-duty enforcers. The core Rangers and the leadership of the Fallen Rose were in the middle of a massive poker game, taking a rare night off to actually breathe and recover from the constant stress of the underworld.
The relaxed atmosphere shattered the second Vivian walked in, her face serious as she dropped the files from the cruise ship right in front of Max.
"So, what’s the move, big boy?" Vivian asked, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.
"Do we even need to move?" Joe asked, tossing his cards onto the table with a sigh. "The Black Hounds handled it cleanly. I thought wiping out the Gilt Rats meant people would finally leave us alone and let us breathe."
"The Black Hounds pull talent from all over the country, Joe," Wolf explained, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin. He was the strategist, always looking at the bigger picture. "Out-of-town gangs don’t care about our local reputation or what we did to the Gilt Rats. They see a high-paying tournament in a new city, and they think we’re soft just because they haven’t personally seen us bleed yet. They think they can bully their way into our market."
"The strategist is exactly right," Vivian said, shifting her gaze to Max. "If we stay quiet and let this slide, the rumors will spread. The other cities will think we’re weak, and the border territories will start slipping."
"Exactly," Max said, his voice cutting through the noise of the room like a physical blade. The chatter in the hall died down instantly. Vivian blinked in surprise as Max looked up from his phone, his eyes completely cold and focused. "The underworld doesn’t respect peace or truces; it only respects boundaries and power. If we don’t crush this Venomous Snakes crew right now, every small-time gang from the outer provinces will start testing our borders, thinking they can get away with it. We don’t have time to play defense and wait for them to strike. We need to eliminate them completely."
Joe let out a heavy sigh, pushing his chair back from the poker table. "Alright, fine. I’ll go to the armory and get the gear ready for a raid."
"Let us do it."
The voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it stopped everyone in their tracks. Max turned his head slowly, his gaze landing on Vera. The leader of the Fallen Rose was staring right back at him, her fingers tapping a steady, rhythmic beat against her deck of cards. The women of the Rose behind her shifted, their eyes lighting up with a sudden, dangerous hunger for a real fight. They had been resting for too long, and they were ready to show the Bloodline exactly what a Syndicate-level crew could do.