Chapter 134
The previous night.
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A restless moon hung over Vancouver that night, casting a pale glow across the cramped apartment block where Marco Ashford arrived in a breathless rush.
His heart thudded louder than his footsteps, though he kept his face carefully composed.
Inside, Florence stood in the faint hallway light, her cheeks streaked with tears, her shoulders trembling.
“Florence, what happened?” he asked, mustering his best tone of concern.
She clutched at his arm, her grip so tight it hurt.
“Marco–oh God–my daughter! They took Sophia! You’ve got to help her!”
Marco forced a sympathetic frown, fighting the guilt that coiled in his stomach.
“Who took her?” he asked quietly, even though the answer was already gnawing at him.
He’d sold Sophia’s address to Hans, and the shame of that betrayal pressed like a cold stone against his chest.
Florence’s voice cracked, her tears renewing. “I–I don’t know. It was so fast. Please, Marco–you have connections, you can do something!”
He nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Take it easy,” he said softly, sounding smoother than he felt. “I’ll call my people. I promise they’ll find Sophia. Nothing will happen to her.”
Florence let out a shaky breath, clinging to his reassurance as though it were the only thing keeping her upright.
“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes red and desperate. “You are the only one I believe.”
Stepping aside, Marco pretended to dial a number, anxiety tightening his gut.
Returning to her, he wore the mask of a grim messenger.
“I got some news,” he said heavily. “Harlan Drake is after Sophia because of Alex. He attacked Drake’s prince. Jasper’s in the hospital.” He paused, letting the gravity of the words sink in.
“Drake’s out for blood.”
Florence’s knees nearly gave out. “My baby… my Sophia…” The heartbreak on her face made Marco’s throat close up.
“Don’t worry,” he lied, gentling his voice. “I’ve got people on it. She’ll be safe, I swear.” As he spoke, the hope twisted his
stomach.
Part of him silently wished the entire mess–Alex, Sophia, all of it would just vanish.
His life depended on it.
When the axe entered the forest, the trees said, “The handle is one of us.‘
Elsewhere in Vancouver, the tension was a physical thing, crackling through the air like static.
At one of Harlan Drake’s nightclubs, about thirty men stomped inside, assault rifles drawn and ready.
Their leader, wearing a harsh scowl, confronted the two guards at the door.
“We’re Vancouver Security. This place is ours now,” he said, voice low and menacing. “You gonna stand aside, or fight?”
The guards exchanged uneasy glances.
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They were big men, but they weren’t stupid. Most of Drake’s crew had been diverted to the mansion, leaving them hopelessly outriumbered.
One guard cleared his throat. “This is Harlan Drake’s territory,” he said, stepping back. “You think you can just walk in and
claim it?”
A sneer flickered across the intruders‘ faces.
“Harlan’s going down tonight,” the leader snarled: “Join us or die. Your call.”
The guard hesitated, sweat beading on his forehead. “Same salary as Harlan?” he asked, a pitiful attempt at stalling.
“Same salary,” one of Carlos’s men said, shrugging. “Suit up with us, or get out of our way.”
And just like that, Drake’s nightclub fell without a single bullet fire.
Meanwhile, Carlos and his new crew waged a swift, brutal takeover across the city.
Drake’s loan shark office went under, then his security building, then his many shady outsourcing businesses.
They all toppled one after another, the guards at each location given the same three options: submit, flee, or bleed on the pavement.
Most chose the first two.
All this carnage and betrayal filtered back to Hugo, one of Drake’s most trusted soldiers.
Outside the Harlan’s Mansion, he paced like a caged animal.
“What the hell are Carlos’s people playing at?” he muttered, slamming his fist on car door. “They will go down after Kingston!”
Unable to stand the reports any longer, Hugo marched to Harlan’s study room.
He knocked once, twice, but got no answer.
“Boss,” he called, forcing the door open, “we’ve got an emergen-
>>
He froze, his stomach lurching. Harlan Drake lay on the rug, eyes vacant, blood trickling from every opening in his head.
For a long moment, Hugo couldn’t even breathe. He walked to Harlan’s side.
“Boss?” he whispered, though he already knew.
He felt for a pulse–nothing.
“Dead,” he choked, as if saying the word would break him. “He’s dead…”
Suddenly, Hans appeared, breathless and frantic.
“Boss! The cops are coming with Kingston’s crew. We need to-“His words died on his lips when he spotted Harlan’s body.
Fear twisted his face into something wild.
“Hugo killed Harlan!” he blurted, stumbling back. “He betrayed us!”
Then he tore down the hall before Hugo could stop him, his voice echoing through the mansion.
“Hugo killed the boss!”
“Hans, wait!” Hugo roared, giving chase, but Hans burst through the front doors, broadcasting his accusation to the crowd of three hundred men assembled outside.
“Harlan’s dead! Hugo did it!” Hans shouted, fear and desperation fueling his lie.
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The reaction was immediate–a ripple of shock and confusion spread through the mob.
Then somebody bellowed, “Carlos’s men are taking all our bases!hey’re cleaning us out!”
A third voice yelled, “The police are coming with Kingston’s people! Five minutes out!”
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In seconds, the men turned from a loyal army into a panicked swarm, eyes darting left and right for an escape route. One cry cut through the mayhem: “Who’s gonna pay us now?! If Harlan’s dead, there’s no money!”
That sealed it.
They weren’t about to risk their lives for a corpse with empty pockets.
Like a dam bursting, the crowd broke formation.
Men scrambled for their bikes, their cars, or the safety of dark alleys–anywhere but here.
Hugo stumbled outside, hopelessly watching as the kingdom he’d dedicated two decades to crumbled before his eyes.
They’d planned to fight for power, for wealth, for Jericho Kane’s favor.
Instead, they were scattering like roaches when the light flips on.
Why? Hugo wondered bitterly, stepping aside to avoid getting run over by a fleeing SUV.
All this… because Harlan tried to kidnap a single woman.
The reality hit him like a punch to the gut. Twenty years of loyalty gone in one night.
The mansion he’d once seen as a fortress of prestige now stood hollow, just another empty husk in a world that kept turning no matter how many dreams lay shattered.
He cast one last look at the lifeless building.
Twenty years–years of unwavering loyalty, countless sacrifices, and even the scars of taking bullets for Harlan–had crumbled into nothing.
What once seemed unshakable, a bond forged in blood and trust, now felt like a cruel illusion.
“What a shitty life,” he breathed, feeling every syllable like glass in his throat.
Then he climbed into his car and drove away without glancing back, leaving broken promises and the ghost of the man he used
to be.
The headlights illuminated a lonely stretch of road, stretching into a future that no longer made sense.
Yet Hugo pressed the accelerator, forcing himself onward.
The sky may shatter, the world may crumble, and all of hell may rise, but as long as life endures, a man must press forward.
No matter how heavy the burden or how searing the pain, this is the essence of life—unforgiving yet undeniable.
To live as a man is to carry on, not because it is easy, but because it is necessary. This is the only path, the struggle, and the silent strength that defines existence. (1
The next morning, Alex stood outside Sophia’s apartment, clutching a carefully chosen bouquet of flowers.
White tulips, symbolizing forgiveness and a fresh start, nestled next to delicate pink roses, which spoke of gentle love and gratitude.
Among them were blue hyacinths, a heartfelt apology captured in their soft blooms, all tied together with ivy, a symbol of
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commitment and enduring bonds.
He had spent hours selecting the flowers, hoping their meanings would express the emotions he struggled to put into words. “Maybe, just maybe, he could start fresh with Sophia,” he thought as he stood there, his heart heavy with both hope and nerves.
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