The night was eerily silent, the kind of silence that preceded a storm. Dylan Martin sat in his study, his fingers tapping against his whiskey glass. The amber liquid swirled as he stared at the map on his desk—a detailed layout of Richard's casino.
Jayden stood beside him, waiting. The tension in the air was thick.
"Richard made a mistake challenging me," Dylan muttered.
Jayden nodded. "He's been gathering allies. If we let him get stronger, he'll be a real problem."
Dylan smirked coldly. "I don't intend to let him get that far." He leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "We hit his biggest casino. It's his main source of income, his pride. Destroy it, and we cripple him."
Jayden hesitated. "There will be casualties."
Dylan's jaw tightened. "Then they'll learn the cost of standing with Richard."
The decision was made. The war had begun.
---
At Richard's Casino
The casino was alive with flashing lights, laughter, and the rhythmic clinking of chips. The air was thick with cigar smoke and expensive cologne. Wealthy men sat around poker tables, oblivious to the danger closing in.
In the VIP lounge, Richard leaned back in his leather chair, sipping his whiskey. Across from him sat Ivan Petrov, a powerful arms dealer.
"Dylan's reign is slipping," Richard said, swirling his drink. "He thinks he's untouchable, but soon, the underworld will belong to me."
Petrov smirked. "Ambitious. But is ambition enough?"
Before Richard could respond—
BOOM.
The entire building trembled as an explosion ripped through the east wing. The walls shook, chandeliers shattered, and screams filled the air. Panic spread like wildfire as people rushed for the exits.
Richard shot to his feet. "What the hell—"
Before he could finish, the doors burst open. Dylan's men stormed in, masked and armed, their weapons cutting through Richard's security with ruthless precision.
Gunfire erupted.
The once-lively casino became a war zone. Tables were overturned, glass shattered, and bodies hit the ground.
Richard's heart pounded as he pulled out his gun. He had expected Dylan to strike—but not like this.
Through the smoke and chaos, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Miss me, little brother?"
Richard turned, his grip tightening on his gun.
There, standing amidst the destruction, was Dylan. Calm. Unbothered. A ghost from the past returning to haunt him.
"You're bold," Richard sneered. "Attacking me on my own turf."
Dylan smirked. "Bold? No. I'm just reminding you who's in charge."
Their eyes locked.
The war had officially begun.
And neither of them was backing down.