The four hulking men lunged toward Simon at once, their weapons were raised, and Simon did not move. The first knife came for his chest. Simon only tilted his body aside and shook his head, as if he had just seen a child spill soup. “Too slow,” he said. His palm landed on the man’s face with a hard slap. The thug spun sideways and crashed into the man with the chain. Before the other two could stop, Simon stepped between them, grabbed both by the back of their heads, and jammed their skulls together. Once. Twice. The sound made Paulo cover Mara’s eyes. “Ah!” one thug cried, dropping his knife. “My head!” Simon caught the wooden stick meant for his ribs and snapped it across his knee. “You brought sticks and kitchen knives to collect security f*e?” The leader staggered up with blood at the corner of his mouth. “You… you bastard…” Simon slapped him again. The man fell flat on his back. Children from nearby stalls began laughing. One small boy pointed at the pile of groaning me

“No, Simon,” Isabella said coldly. “This isn’t just…” Simon stared at her, waiting for the rest of the sentence, but her silence already felt like an answer. The living room was too clean, too bright, too full of people who looked ready to watch him bleed without touching him. Isabella lifted her chin. “This isn’t just about the baby. This is about my future, the future of my company, and my father’s legacy. I don’t think you are good enough to be my husband, let alone be a member of this family.” Simon shook his head slowly. “Good enough?” “Yes,” Isabella said. “You heard me.” “I served your father well,” Simon said. “I protected this family when you had enemies you did not even know about. I helped Robertson Oil survive deals that would have ruined it. I sat with executives, corrected contracts, stopped bad investments, and saved your father from people smiling at his table while planning to bury him.” Fiona laughed from the sofa. “Listen to him. A fish seller now claims

Caleb should have stepped aside when he saw Simon’s eyes change. But Caleb had lived too long behind Robertson money to understand danger. He looked at Simon up and down and curled his lips in disgust. “Look at you,” Caleb said. “A dirty fish seller still acting like he has pride. Do you know how long we have waited to remove you from this family?” Simon said nothing. Caleb continued, louder now because everyone was watching. “You were a stain on our name. A mistake Father made before he died. Isabella deserves always deserved a man like Romeo, not a useless parasite who smells like rotten fish.” “Move,” Simon said. Caleb laughed. “Or what? You will cry? You will run back to your little stall and complain to your fish?” Simon’s forehead smashed into Caleb’s face. The sound was hard and sudden. Caleb stumbled backward, his eyes rolling for a second before he fell against the wall and dropped to the floor. Blood ran from the split on his forehead, down the side of his n

By midnight, the Iron Fangs were drowning themselves in noise, liquor, and smoke. Their hideout was an old private party hall behind a closed warehouse in East Betford. The windows were blacked out. The music was loud enough to shake the metal roof. Men laughed with bottles in their hands, powder stained some tables, and smoke hung in the air like dirty fog. Some gang members gambled near the wall. Others danced badly, shouted over one another, and threw money at women who moved between them with tired smiles. Broken bottles rolled across the floor. A man vomited near the back door while his friends laughed at him. Two others argued over a dice game until one slapped the other across the face. No one cared. This was their kingdom, rough, filthy, and full of men who thought fear was the same as respect. At the center of it all sat Varen their leader. He was broad, bald, and heavy-faced, with a thick gold chain around his neck. A half-smoked cigar rested between his fingers. His

The laughter died as Simon pulled the first two men inward and slammed their skulls together. The sound cracked through the hall. Both men dropped at his feet, their bodies folding badly against the dirty floor. For a moment, even the music seemed weaker. The men who had been laughing now stared with open mouths. Varen’s face tightened. “Why are you standing there? Break him!” The remaining attackers rushed at once. One man swung a chair. Simon caught it, tore it from his hands, and drove it into his chest. The man flew backward into a table, sending bottles and cards across the floor. Another came with a knife. Simon stepped inside his reach, seized his wrist, and twisted until the weapon dropped. The man screamed. Simon struck him in the throat with the edge of his palm, and he went down choking. “What the hell is he?” someone shouted. “Get him from behind!” another yelled. A bottle smashed against Simon’s head. Glass burst across his hair and shoulders. Blood r