The rain came that morning like judgment slow, heavy, and endless. It ran off the rooftops and into the cracked streets, washing away the blood from last night’s raid but not the stain it left behind. Jayden stood by the window of the safehouse, watching the gray pour as if it could tell him what he didn’t want to say aloud.He’d lost more than a warehouse. The raid had gutted one of his major cash lines shipments disguised as scrap metal, washed through shell accounts and back into the slums as payroll, protection money, and bribes. Without it, whole corners were unpaid, suppliers were nervous, and whispers started before dawn.“Two nights,” Malikah said behind him. “That’s how long before half the boys start asking who feeds them next.”Jayden didn’t turn. “They won’t ask if they’re reminded who owns the streets.”Malikah crossed her arms. “And you’ll remind them with what? We’re bleeding money, and the cops are hitting fronts faster than we can cover. Fear works, Jay, but hunger sp

The sea smelled of iron and gasoline. Under the jaundiced glow of the dock lamps, the water lapped softly against the old wooden pylons, hiding the quiet hum of war beneath its surface.Jayden stood on the edge of Pier 19, coat whipping in the wind, his eyes on the dark outline of freighters docked in the fog. The docks were his lifeline his shipments, his funding, his leverage. And Razor was coming for them.“He’ll hit before dawn,” Malikah murmured, lowering her binoculars. “Same pattern he used on the market job. Two prongs one to draw us out, one to torch the warehouses.”Jayden nodded once, unblinking. “Then we give him both. Let him think we’re scattered.”Behind them, his men waited in tense silence Burned Boy, Drix, and a dozen others crouched behind crates and forklifts. They’d moved everything that mattered out of sight: cash, weapons, records. What remained was bait a trap dressed like vulnerability.“Signal teams Alpha and Bravo,” Jayden said quietly into his radio. “Hold

Rain fell that night like it was trying to wash the city clean but the stains ran too deep. From the balcony of the rebuilt warehouse, Jayden looked over the sprawl that had once tried to bury him. Neon flickered through the drizzle, lighting up the maze of rooftops and alleyways that now belonged to him. For the first time since he’d bled for the streets, it looked like an empire.Not a kingdom of marble and law but one made of fear, loyalty, and quiet deals that ran deeper than water.Below, the docks worked through the night. Cargo came and went: crates marked as “imports,” filled with things that never passed customs. Protection dues flowed in regular as rent. The gambling dens in South Wharf and the clubs on Riverside were paying steady. Even the small-time hustlers now kicked a percentage up without complaint. Malikah had organized everything with that unflinching calm of hers, and the Burned Boy had grown into a ghost runner the cops couldn’t catch.Jayden exhaled smoke, watchi

The morning after the warning message, the slums felt heavier. The streets moved slower, like the city itself was waiting for Jayden’s next move.Inside the safehouse, maps and documents littered the table. Jayden leaned over them, cigarette burning low between his fingers. Malikah stood across from him, her voice low.“You really mean to touch the Statehouse?”Jayden didn’t look up. “If they’re holding Amara, I’ll make them choke on her name.”He exhaled a thin stream of smoke. The Burned Boy entered, clutching a tablet with news feeds flickering across the cracked screen.“They’re already spinning stories,” he said. “The banker’s death, your threats, the dock raid. They’re calling you ‘the slum emperor.’”Jayden smirked faintly. “Good. Let them crown me before they try to kill me.”Malikah frowned. “And your plan?”Jayden straightened, flicked the cigarette into the ashtray, and said, “We go through whispers this time. No guns. Not yet.”By noon, he summoned Kera one of his few educ

The sun rose blood-red over the city, spilling light across the slums like a wound that refused to close. Jayden hadn’t slept. The warehouse floor was still stained with salt water and smoke from the dock ambush. Fado was gone. The footage Razor released had hit every screen that mattered the merchant alive, Razor’s smirk beside a silhouette that looked too close to home.Now, whispers spread like plague.“Boss’s got a traitor.”“Fado was bait.”“Maybe the whole rescue was staged.”Jayden could feel the weight of their eyes when he walked past his own men, loyal once, now uncertain.Malikah entered quietly, a file in her hand. “Intel confirms the video was shot two nights before we hit the docks,” she said. “Means Razor had him longer than we thought.”Jayden nodded slowly. “Then he wanted us to see him alive. To make it personal.”“Worked,” Malikah muttered. “Half the boys think you walked into that mess blind.”He didn’t respond. His eyes stayed on the map board red pins marking the