In the heavy, leather-scented silence of the office, Leander looked down at Mike O'Loughlin. The high school bully was a pathetic sight—shaking on the floor, his world literally having vanished behind a blindfold and headphones.
Leander felt a flicker of annoyance. What was he supposed to do with him? Killing him felt like using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut; there wasn't a "debt of blood" here, just the remains of a spoiled brat's ego. But leaving him in Queens was a ticking time bomb for Aunt Jenny and Uncle George's peace of mind.
Leander turned to Walker, who looked like he was one loud noise away from a heart attack. "Walker, you've known him longer. What do you think? Should we just... erase the problem?"
"Wh...at!! Leander, stop it!" Walker's voice cracked, his eyes darting toward Zost and the other hulking men in the room. He looked small, vulnerable, and completely out of his depth. "Why is Mike like this? Where is his father? Where is Ian?"
"Ian and his inner circle are dead, Walker. They chose a path that ended in a wall," Leander said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Now only Mike is left. Fine, I won't kill him. I'll just have him transported somewhere very far away. A fresh start in a different state, under a different name, with no way back. It's more than he deserves."
Leander waved a hand, and Lando stepped forward, hoisting the bound Mike up like a sack of grain. "Take him to the holding room for now."
"Walker, look at me," Leander said, stepping closer to his classmate. "Zost has already secured Mike Ian's assets. I'm going to have them consolidate every scrap of the Queens underworld. But to do that cleanly, I need a bridge to the 'legitimate' world."
He paused, studying Walker's pale face. "Your family's Brandon Group is quite the powerhouse. Forty years of history, heavy military contracts, supplying hardware that keeps the gears of the Pentagon turning. Now that Justin Hammer is rotting in a cell, your father and the Dolly Group are the new titans of defense materials, right?"
Walker couldn't even manage a nod. His lips were trembling so hard they were almost blue, and sweat was pouring down his face, soaking his collar. The realization was hitting him like a freight train: the quiet, slightly mysterious Asian kid at school wasn't just "talented." He was a monster. He was a kingmaker who had just decapitated a crime family in a single night.
Leander reached out and patted Walker's shoulder. The touch made Walker flinch, but Leander's grip was steady and surprisingly warm. "Don't be so nervous. I know this is a lot to take in at once. I don't expect a 'yes' right this second."
He pulled a small card from his pocket—the very one Walker had secretly tried to stick to his bag earlier. Leander scribbled a number on it and tucked it into Walker's breast pocket. "Your father is the majority shareholder of Brandon Group. You're his only son; he'll listen to you. Give him this. Tell him I want to talk. I think he'll find the prospect of a 'stabilized' Queens and a new source of raw material logistics very... profitable."
Leander gave him that same harmless, polite smile he used in the hallways at school. But to Walker, it looked like the grin of a demon masquerading in human skin.
"Go home, Walker. Take a long bath. And remember: not a word to anyone. Not the police, not your friends. Just your father."
Zost escorted a catatonic Walker out to a waiting car. Before the door closed, Walker grabbed Zost's sleeve, his voice a frantic whisper. "Is... is Ian really gone? All of them?"
Zost looked back at the office door, then down at Walker. "Nineteen people. The trade meeting and the external security. All resolved in minutes. I don't know why the Boss trusts you enough to tell you this, but if I were you, I'd make sure I earned that trust. Fast."
Walker nodded dumbly and pulled the door shut, the car peeling away into the night.
Back in the office, Chara and Lando stood stiffly. They were elite mercenaries, men who had seen war zones, but the way Zost looked at this teenager made them uneasy.
"Boss," Zost said, stepping forward. "Ian's records were meticulous. He kept a digital 'Black Book' on his computer. Most of it is encrypted, but the physical files in the safe are enough to give us a leash on the local precincts. We've got the money, we've got the dirt, and we've got the territory."
Lando cleared his throat, still a bit skeptical. "We've got about thirty-five million in liquid cash, seventy kilos of gold bullion, and over two hundred kilos of high-purity product. Chara has the logistics to move it, but..."
"But what?" Leander asked, his eyes narrowing.
"The other gangs," Chara chimed in. "The Russians in the north and the Irish mob near the docks. They know something happened to Ian. They're smelling blood in the water. If we don't hit them first, they're going to turn Queens into a war zone by tomorrow night."
Leander's gaze drifted to the crates of drugs. Born and raised with a certain set of morals, he loathed the sight of them. They were a poison, but in this world, they were the currency of control.
"I don't care about the 'business' of it yet," Leander said, standing up. He was a foot shorter than any man in the room, but as he spoke, an invisible weight descended. The air became thick, the atmospheric pressure in the room spiking until the windows groaned in their frames.
Lando and Chara suddenly found it hard to breathe. Their knees felt weak, a primal "fight or flight" response screaming in their brains as they looked at the boy.
"Listen well," Leander said. "I am going to bring order to this borough. You will have the backing of the Brandon Group for your legal fronts. And you will have me to solve your 'problems.' But in exchange, you follow my rules. No more random violence. No more targeting families."
Leander flicked his hands outward. A pulse of golden magnetic energy surged, wrapping around Lando and Chara like invisible chains. He lifted them off the floor, their massive bodies floating helplessly in the air. For a second, they felt the terrifying sensation that their bones were about to be crushed into powder by the very jewelry and belt buckles they wore.
He set them down gently, their faces now pale with the same terror Zost had felt.
"Give me the targets," Leander commanded.
Zost handed him a ruggedized tablet. "This is from Dick. He's our fourth brother—he's been deep undercover with the rival syndicates for months. He's marked the three major bosses who are planning to move on us tonight. Their security is... well, it was supposed to be impenetrable."
Leander swiped through the files. He saw photos of the bosses, records of their hits, and the lists of people they had tortured or disappeared. As he read, the golden light in his glasses turned a sharp, dangerous red.
"These people," Leander whispered, his voice vibrating with a metallic edge. "They aren't just rivals. They're monsters. They don't deserve the air they breathe."
He tightened his grip on the tablet. Under the force of his will, the device groaned. The glass shattered into dust, and the internal circuitry melted into a lump of glowing slag before the men's eyes.
"Yes, Boss. Understood," Zost whispered, bowing low.
"Tell Dick to get out of there. Now," Leander said.
He didn't walk out. He simply vanished—a blur of motion so fast the air cracked like a whip.
Zost scrambled for his phone, his fingers fumbling as he dialed Dick's burner number. "Dick! Where are you? Get out! The Boss is on the move! Everything is resolved!"
"Are you kidding me, Zost?" Dick's voice came through, muffled by the sound of a loud party in the background. "I'm at the O'Malley estate. I'm waiting for the signal to—Wait. S***! Someone just breached the front gate! There's... holy s***, the guards are just flying into the air! Someone's already opened fire!"
"Dick! Shout your name! Shout it as loud as you can!" Zost yelled into the phone, his heart in his throat.
"DICK! I'M DICK! I'M WITH ZOST! DON'T KILL ME!"
Through the phone, Zost heard a series of terrifying sounds—the screech of metal being twisted like taffy, the thud of bodies hitting walls, and then... absolute silence. The gunfire had stopped. The screaming had stopped.
The three brothers in the office looked at each other, a cold sweat breaking out on their brows. They had spent their lives as professional killers, but they had never encountered a force of nature.
Suddenly, a voice echoed from the cell phone on the desk—Leander's voice, cold and echoing.
"Zost. Knock Mike O'Loughlin out. Put him in a reinforced bag. I'll be back in ten minutes to take him to his new 'home.' The O'Malley problem is... corrected."