Chapter 57:
The air was thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder.
Screams had long faded into silence, leaving only the eerie hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
Tristan stood in the dimly lit office of the gambling house, his presence as suffocating as the thick smoke that hung in the air.
Behind him, his men held the surviving gang members at gunpoint, their faces twisted in fear, their knees weak from the weight of death looming over them.
The manager, a wiry man with sweat pooling at his temples, fumbled with his phone.
His fingers trembled as he dialed the boss's number.
The ringing seemed to stretch on forever, the silence in the room pressing down like a vice.
Finally, someone picked up—but it wasn't the boss.
"What the hell is happening over there?" the manager blurted out, desperation cracking his voice.
