Ochieng sat in the dimly lit study of his penthouse, the weight of the city now on his shoulders. Power had changed hands, but the scars of war still ran deep. The underworld was restless, old alliances shifting, new enemies lurking.
A knock on the door.
Sienna stepped in, her silhouette sharp against the glow of the city lights.
"You haven't slept."
Ochieng smirked, swirling the glass of whiskey in his hand. "Neither have you."
She walked over, eyes scanning the scattered documents on his desk. Financial reports. Surveillance images. Names crossed out in red.
"You don't trust them."
"I don't trust anyone," he corrected.
---
In the shadows of an abandoned warehouse, a figure stirred. Blood stained the floor, the air thick with dust and the scent of burnt flesh.
Kieran.
His empire was gone, his power shattered. But he was still alive.
Barely.
"They think I'm dead," he rasped, gripping the edge of a broken table. "Good."
His fingers curled around a hidden phone. One number. One call.
The line clicked.
A voice on the other end. Cold. Calculated.
"It's time."
Kieran smiled through the pain.
"Let's remind them why I was king."
---
Ochieng walked into the underground club, the air thick with cigar smoke and whispers. Linet was waiting at the VIP booth, her expression unreadable.
"We have a problem."
She slid a folder across the table. Ochieng flipped it open. His eyes darkened.
A single photo. A grainy image from a security feed.
Kieran.
Alive.
Ochieng exhaled slowly, his grip tightening.
"So the rat crawled back."
Linet's voice was calm, but firm. "He won't be the same man we destroyed."
Ochieng closed the folder. His lips curled into a smirk.
"Neither am I."
---
The game was far from over.
It was just getting started.
---