Chapter 8 Blood on the Streets

The city can not be silent. Right in the shadows of the night, betrayal whispers, siren wails in the distance, while tires screech.

Cigarette burning between his fingers, his mind a battlefield of thoughts. Below, the city sprawled like a beast, alive and hungry.

It's Robinson, the lord of the ducks. He stood by the window of his penthouse.

He had taken the docks, and the city feared his name.

But fear was a fragile thing.

A single misstep, a single moment of weakness-and the vultures would descend.

And tonight, the first shot had been fired.

Dear reader, it was a bloody message.

A knock at the door.

Three short taps. Deliberate.

Riko entered, his face grim, eyes shadowed by something Robinson had rarely seen in him-uncertainty.

"We have a problem," Riko muttered.

Robinson took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I'm listening."

Riko hesitated before stepping aside.

And then Robinson saw it.

Two of his men.

Their lifeless bodies were dumped like garbage just outside the penthouse entrance.

Their throats slit.

A message carved into their chests. It's the handwriting of the vultures ( the ones responsible for the fall of his teenage gang).

And the message reads;

"You took the docks. Now we take everything."

A slow burn ignited in Robinson's gut, rage simmering beneath the surface.

Whoever did this wasn't just challenging him.

They were mocking him.

His grip tightened around the cigarette, crushing it between his fingers before flicking the ashes onto the floor.

He turned to Riko, voice low, deadly.

"Who did this?"

Riko swallowed. "We don't know yet."

Robinson's jaw clenched.

Then we find out.

Reader,

Like angry hyenas, Robinson and his men flew out for a hunt.

The streets knew everything.

And Robinson knew the streets.

It didn't take long before whispers reached his ears. A name. A face. A ghost from the past.

Lorenzo (The old man on the balcony).

An old-school crime boss.

One of the few who had ruled the city long before Robinson had carved his empire out of blood and fire.

The man was smart. Calculated. Dangerous.

And he wanted his city back.

But Robinson had worked too hard, bled too much, lost too many to let someone like Lorenzo crawl out of the grave and take what was his.

He needs to let the city know who is the boss of the underworld.

Then,

The midnight.

The club boils with music and lights like a hot porridge.

Lorenzo's men were inside.

Relaxed. Laughing. Dancing and drinking.

They thought they were safe.

They weren't.

Robinson moved through the back entrance, his men following close behind. Silencers attached. Blades gleaming in the dark.

They struck fast.

A blade slashed through the air, slicing through a man's throat before he could even scream. Blood sprayed across the bar counter, the metallic scent mixing with the stench of alcohol and sweat.

Gunshots followed-muted but deadly.

Bodies hit the floor.

Lorenzo's men barely had time to draw their weapons before Robinson's crew cut them down like weeds.

By the time the music stopped, the club was drenched in silence and blood.

Robinson stood over one of the surviving men, pressing his boot against his chest.

"Where's Lorenzo?" His voice was calm. Too calm.

The man gasped, struggling against the weight crushing his ribs. "I-I don't know-"

Robinson sighed.

Wrong answer.

He pulled out his knife and drove it deep into the man's thigh.

The scream that followed was music to his ears.

"Where. Is. He?" Robinson repeated, twisting the blade.

The man sobbed, choking on his pain. "he's coming for you! You don't understand! He's not alone!"

Robinson's eyes narrowed.

Not alone?

Something was wrong.

Before he could ask more, a phone rang in the dead man's pocket.

Robinson reached down, pulling it out.

An unknown number.

He answered.

A slow chuckle echoed from the speaker.

"Well, well," a deep voice drawled. "The king of the streets finally answers his call."

Robinson's grip tightened around the phone.

"Lorenzo," he muttered.

The chuckle deepened.

"I hope you enjoyed my little gift," Lorenzo said, amusement lacing his tone. "Because that was just the beginning."

Robinson's eyes darkened. "You just signed your death warrant."

Lorenzo hummed in thought. "Maybe. Or maybe you just walked into a trap."

And then

A single gunshot rang out.

Not from the phone.

From outside.

Riko's voice shouted from the entrance.

"Boss! We got company!"

Then the doors burst open.

Gunfire erupted.

And hell swallowed the night.

Robinson and his men were set up, and now they are in trouble.