Isaac's laughter filled the warehouse like the sound of breaking glass—sharp, cutting, and utterly devoid of sanity. It bounced off the rusted steel walls and broken windows, amplifying until it seemed to come from everywhere at once.Michael stood between Isaac and Sarah, his body a human shield, his breathing labored. Blood trickled from a cut on the side of his face where debris had struck him during their scuffle. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he didn't move. Couldn't move. Not while Isaac's gun was pointed directly at his heart."Look at you," Isaac said, his voice dripping with contempt. "The great Michael Thompson, bleeding and broken, playing hero for a woman who doubted you just yesterday." He took a step closer, the gun never wavering. "Do you really think you can save her? You can't even save yourself.""Put the gun down, Isaac." Michael's voice was steady despite the pain. "This doesn't have to end in blood.""Oh, but it does!" Isaac's eyes gleamed with

The red and blue lights painted the warehouse exterior in alternating waves of color, like the building itself was breathing. Police cruisers formed a blockade around the perimeter, their sirens wailing a discordant symphony that cut through the night air.Isaac was dragged out in handcuffs, his shirt soaked with blood from the graze wound on his side. Two officers gripped his arms as he struggled against their hold, his face twisted with rage and something else—a manic grin that suggested he knew something they didn't."You think this is over, Michael?" Isaac's voice carried across the parking lot, raw and venomous. He twisted in the officers' grip, trying to face the warehouse entrance where Michael stood. "You think putting me in cuffs changes anything?""Keep moving," one officer growled, pushing him forward."You have no idea who I work for!" Isaac's laugh was bitter, unhinged. "You have no idea what's coming! This was just the beginning, nephew! Just the—"The officer shoved him

The private medical suite was bathed in soft morning light that filtered through gauze curtains. Medical equipment beeped rhythmically in the background, a mechanical heartbeat that measured life in digital numbers.Michael stood at the doorway for a moment, his arm still in a sling from the gunshot wound, taking in the sight of his grandfather propped up against white pillows.The old man's eyes were open—truly open—for the first time in weeks. Though his face was gaunt and pale, there was an unmistakable sharpness in his gaze that no amount of medical trauma could diminish."Are you going to stand there gawking, or are you going to come in?" His grandfather's voice was raspy but carried that familiar edge of authority.Michael smiled and crossed the threshold. "It's good to see you awake.""It's good to be awake." His grandfather gestured weakly to a chair beside the bed. "Sit. You look like hell, by the way. What happened to your arm?""Long story.""I've got time. The doctors tell

The front door of the Martinez family home stood before Sarah like the entrance to a battlefield. She took a deep breath, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for the handle.The events of the past few days had changed her—the kidnapping, the warehouse, pulling the trigger.She wasn't the same woman who'd left this house weeks ago seeking her mother's approval.She didn't need approval anymore.The door swung open before she could touch it. Carmen stood there, arms crossed, her face a mask of cold fury that barely concealed something else—fear, perhaps, or regret."So you finally decided to show your face," Carmen said sharply. "After all the scandal, all the embarrassment you've caused this family."Sarah walked past her without responding, moving into the living room where her grandmother sat on the sofa, rosary beads clutched in her weathered hands. Her brother Derek lounged in the armchair, smirking as always."Sarah, darling," her grandmother began in that sweet, poisonous

The warehouse on the east side looked abandoned from the outside—broken windows, graffiti-covered walls, weeds growing through cracks in the pavement. But Michael could hear the muffled roar of a crowd inside, the primal sound of bloodlust and gambling fever.Santiago handed him a black mask. "You sure about this, boss? Going in there is insane.""Isaac's lieutenant won't come to us," Michael replied, pulling the mask over his face. It covered everything except his eyes and mouth. "So we go to him.""Vincent's not like Isaac. He's smarter. More patient." Santiago's voice carried genuine concern. "Isaac was a rabid dog. Vincent's a snake.""Then I'll have to be careful where I step." Michael tested his shoulder—the wound was healing, but it still ached. "How long until the fights start?""Twenty minutes. You're in the third bout." Santiago checked his phone. "Remember, you're just another fighter looking for quick cash. Nobody knows who you are.""That's the idea." Michael started towa