The Hidden King: Rise of Hercules

Steel He’s Made Of

Alex didn't say a single word back, just picked up a cup of wine and took a slow, heavy sip while a dark mood weighed on his chest.

He didn't even have the patience to trade insults with them. His entire mind was stuck on the loved ones he had lost.

“Damn it!” Ryan cursed under his breath. “What a total moron.”

Alex snapped his head toward him, a sharp flash of irritation burning in his gut. Right then, he felt like breaking the rest of that guy's nose.

True to form, Sophia refused to speak to Alex for the rest of the evening until they reached the curbside cars outside.

She abruptly stopped walking and spun around to glare at him. “Let's get one thing straight—there is no way in hell I’m going home with you. I refuse to live in a dump like that,” she snapped.

Alex stared at her coolly for a second. “I am your legal husband after all, why shouldn't you?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

Sophia let out a dry, mocking scoff. “Are you serious right now? Is this because my grandfather handed me over on a silver platter? I am way out of your league.”

“We’re married now, though. Shouldn't we at least try to bridge the gap?” Alex pushed further.

“How the hell did you even end up passed out on my hotel bed in the first place?” she fired back, her eyes narrowing.

Alex sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly? I've been trying to figure out that exact same puzzle myself.”

“Whatever, I don't care anymore. Just deal with it yourself, I’m out of here,” she muttered in pure exhaustion. One of her private guards quickly popped open the car door, and she slid inside.

Alex stood on the pavement, watching the luxury ride pull away into traffic until it vanished completely. He let out a weary breath, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against the cold metal of his ring.

What if he hadn't worn that ring to the party at all?

A harsh alarm clock shrilled through the silence, jerking Alex straight out of his heavy sleep. He rolled over in bed, misjudged the edge of the mattress, and hit the hardwood floor with a loud, jarring thud.

Sitting up slowly, he rubbed his sore arm. The vivid echoes of his dreams, flashes of John, his father, and that bloody night, still ached in his ribs, a harsh reminder that they were gone forever and could never come back.

Still, a quiet sense of gratitude warmed his chest toward Mr. Kane, who had worked tirelessly to keep the massive business empire and the global syndicate running through decades of chaos. Now that he had finally returned from the shadows, the duty fell squarely on his shoulders to finish what his father started.

Even so, he couldn't shake the nagging question of why his father had kept the mafia secret hidden from him. If he had known the truth back then, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Just as Mr. Kane had advised, keeping a low profile was his safest bet for now. Continuing his daily grind as a modest delivery worker served as the ultimate camouflage.

Who in their right mind would ever suspect that the legendary, feared heir to Hercules was dropping off packages for pocket change? It was completely unthinkable.

Alex rushed through his morning routine, slipping into his clothes. He still had the hundred-million-dollar check tucked safely away in his coat pocket, but he had no immediate plans to cash it. He would wait for the right moment to play that card.

Within an hour, Alex was straddling his delivery motorbike, cruising down the street toward the distribution warehouse. Because his small rental was close by, he punched the time clock right on the dot.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up, delivery boy,” Chris sneered, stepping out into the lobby with a mocking, punchable grin plastered across his face.

Alex let out an internal sigh. Chris was notorious for taking every single chance to haze and humiliate the junior staff. Considering Chris was a senior worker pulling a much fatter paycheck, he clearly felt untouchable, and Alex didn't have the energy to feed his ego.

“I’m just here to clock in for my shift,” Alex muttered flatly, keeping his voice low.

Chris let out an obnoxious cackle, acting as if Alex had just delivered the punchline of a lifetime. “Whatever floats your boat, kid. By the way, the boss wants a word with you in his office. But seriously—where the hell did you ditch work for yesterday?”

Alex ignored him entirely, stepping past him toward the management wing. Engaging with Chris was a total waste of oxygen.

He walked up to the heavy wooden door and gave a soft, polite rap. “Good morning, boss,” he murmured, keeping his head close to the wood.

“You better march your ass in here right now before I have security drag you through the door!” Philip’s booming voice roared from the other side.

Alex pushed the office door open, stepping into the cluttered space. Philip, a heavy-set, aggressive man in his sixties, sat behind his desk, glaring at him with an intensity that could vaporize steel.

“Morning, boss. Chris mentioned you wanted to see me,” Alex said, playing dumb to buy himself a second.

Philip slowly laced his thick fingers together, resting his arms on the blotter. “What is good about this morning, Alex? Care to explain why you didn't show up for your shift yesterday?”

Alex stayed silent. He hadn't bothered to invent a plausible lie.

“Don't bother trying to make up fairy tales!” Philip snapped the second Alex parted his lips. “I always knew you were a lazy, good-for-nothing parasite. Who gave you the audacity to treat this company like your personal playground?” he snarled, his face turning red.

“I’ve got no patience left for your excuses. Clean out your locker, Alex, you’re fired!” Philip barked, slamming his palm on the desk.

A cold surge of anger flared through Alex’s veins. Honestly, he had seen this coming. Word traveled fast, and he had no doubt Ryan had whispered in Philip’s ear to make life miserable for him. Since Alex had unfinished business with Ryan, hitting him through his proxy lackeys was just par for the course.

Still, it was partly his own fault; missing a shift without notice gave the company an easy excuse to cut him loose.

Alex gave a calm, measured nod. “Fine by me. I’ll walk out right now, but I expect my full paycheck for the hours I’ve already put in this month.”

Philip let out a harsh, mocking scoff. “You must be out of your damn mind if you think you’re getting a single cent. You haven't earned a penny, and you’re walking away with zero!”

“Are you kidding me right now? I busted my back for those hours! That's my hard-earned money!” Alex protested, his patience wearing thin.

“We’ll see about that,” Philip sneered, reaching over to slam his hand down on the desktop intercom. He mashed a button furiously. “Hey! I want every available warehouse guard in my office right this second!”

Before the mechanical click of the intercom even finished, the office door flew open with a bang, and eight heavy-set security guards swarmed into the cramped room.

Philip pointed a shaking, accusatory finger straight at Alex’s chest. “Beat this ungrateful punk into the dirt and toss his carcass out into the alley!” he ordered viciously.

Alex stood completely still, staring down the raging manager. A strange, secondary wave of adrenaline washed over him, mixing pure fury with quiet amusement. He shifted his gaze to the approaching wall of guards as they cracked their knuckles and closed in.

The lead guard lunged forward with a wild, overhand right aimed straight at Alex’s jaw.

With effortless, lightning-fast reflexes, Alex ducked beneath the swing, stepped inside the guard's defensive guard, and drove a crisp, heavy fist right into the man’s nose. A sickening crunch echoed through the office as the guard howled in agony, stumbling backward into his peers.

Before the others could react, two more guards rushed him from opposite sides. Alex sidestepped the first attacker's tackle and executed a spinning roundhouse kick that sent the second thug crashing headfirst into a filing cabinet.

“What are you waiting for, you useless idiots? Crush him!” Philip shrieked, his face turning purple with panic.

Alex offered the remaining five guards a cool, confident smile, curling his fingers and beckoning them forward. When the nearest thug charged, Alex grabbed him by the collar, spun him around like a human shield, and delivered a flying side-kick that bowled over the other four men at once. He then casually backhanded the thug in his grip, sending him crumpling to the carpet.

In less than thirty seconds, all eight guards were groaning in pain on the floor.

Alex slowly turned his attention back to Philip. With casual strides, he crossed the room, grabbed Philip by the lapels of his cheap suit, and twisted him up against the wall.

Philip let out a choked, terrified squeak as the pressure mounted against his windpipe.

“My salary,” Alex whispered, his voice dangerously low. “Or you can join your guards on the floor permanently.”

“Please—mercy!” Philip wheezed, his eyes bulging in absolute terror. “I’ll write out the check right now, I swear!”

Alex tightened his grip just a fraction more.

“I’l sorry!” Philip screamed, thrashing against the hold. “I'll give you the cash! Take it all!”

Releasing his grip, Alex stepped back and watched as the terrified manager practically dove across the room toward his desk. Philip fumbled frantically with his drawer, pulled out a thick envelope bulging with cash, and thrust it forward with trembling hands.

Alex took the envelope with a faint smile, tucking it securely into his coat. Just as he turned toward the door, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, noting an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen, and swiped to answer.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Hercules,” Mr. Kane’s smooth, authoritative voice crackled through the speaker. “I’d like to arrange an introduction for you. There is another prominent mafia boss in this city, an honorable man you can completely trust. How does dinner sound? Let's meet up at Weathervane Restaurant.”