The city had been swallowed by the night; the flickering lights of street lamps reflected on the rain-soaked asphalt, and shadows lurked like a threat at every corner. Ethan's kingdom of shadows was rapidly expanding. After taking control of the warehouse on the west side and the casino on the east, the small shipment point at the harbor had been seized as well. This latest move had crippled Donati's transportation network, severing one of the veins of his dirty business. The warehouses were filled with weapons, the crates packed with cash; the men, rogues and mercenaries gathered from the streets, united under Ethan's flag. But this flag was waving in Elena's shadow, and with each victory, Ethan felt the weight of that shadow more and more.
At the main base on the west side, Ethan sat at a table. In front of him, the inventory of a shipment just brought in from the harbor was laid out: weapon crates, drug packages, and several encrypted flash drives. The dim fluorescent lights in the warehouse cast harsh shadows on the table, and Ethan's face appeared as a sharp silhouette in the half-light. His men stood around him silently, reporting to him.
"The harbor is clear," said a tall, bearded man, his voice gravelly. "Donati's men didn't even resist. They either ran or surrendered. It's in our hands now."
Ethan nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on the inventory. Each new stronghold was a victory, but also a risk. Donati's silence felt like the calm before a storm.
Elena, in a corner of the warehouse, was studying a map. Her red hair cascaded over her shoulder as her fingers traced the red dots on the map.
"Nice work," she said, her voice calm but authoritative. "The harbor took down my father's supply chain. The next target is a warehouse to the south. It's small, but strategic; it's a hub for weapons shipments. If we take it, Donati will be bound."
She folded the map, turned to Ethan, and approached the table. "Your kingdom is growing, Ethan. Your men trust you."
Ethan pulled out a cigarette, played with the lighter, but didn't light it. "Do they trust me, or do they trust you?" he asked, his voice low but firm. "These men are your choice, Elena. I'm just the face, right? When will I build my own kingdom?"
His anger was boiling like a volcano; he needed Elena, but this dependence was eating away at his soul.
Elena smiled, that familiar, calculated smile of hers. "Be patient," she said, her voice soft yet threatening. "My father is still standing, and he's suspicious. But not sure yet. I'm making you a king, Ethan, but this throne will solidify over time. For now, stay in my shadow, and gather your strength." She placed her hand on Ethan's arm, her fingers tightening slightly. "Trust me."
Ethan felt her touch, but it wasn't a comfort—it was a reminder. "Trust," he muttered, his voice mocking. "If Donati suspects, he'll question you first. What will you do then, Elena? How long will your lies hold up?" He finally lit his cigarette, the smoke rising in a cloud, his eyes locked on Elena's.
Elena paused for a moment, then sat at the table, crossed her legs, and leaned closer to Ethan. "My lies will hold," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "My father will believe me, Ethan. For now. But you need to stay strong. This kingdom rises in your hands. Let him suspect, but never let him be sure. By the time he's sure, we'll have already toppled his throne."
Her eyes sparkled, her ambition burning like a flame.
Meanwhile, in Donati's office at the skyscraper in the city center, another scene was unfolding. Donati sat in his large leather chair, a glass of whiskey in front of him, staring out at the city lights. His aged face bore the marks of time—deep lines, hollow cheeks—but his eyes remained sharp as a hawk's. His desk was piled with reports from the past weeks: the deaths of Carver and Moretti, the explosion at the harbor, the disappearance of the warehouse on the west side, the silence of the casino on the east, and now, the loss of the harbor shipment point. His fingers traced the rim of the glass as his brow furrowed, his lips a thin line. Something was happening, and this time, it wasn't a coincidence.
The door knocked, and Luca entered. His skinny frame seemed to disappear in his black suit, his eyes sunken, his face filled with anxiety.
"Sir," he said, his voice trembling. "The harbor shipment point is gone. The men aren't reporting, shipments are halted. West side, casino, now the harbor… Someone's hitting us systematically."
He rubbed his hands together nervously and looked at Donati.
Donati turned to Luca, his eyes briefly piercing through him. "Systematically," he repeated, his voice deep and heavy. "It started with Carver and Moretti's deaths. Harbor chaos, warehouse gone, casino silent, now the shipment point. Someone's waging war on us, Luca. But who?"
He slammed the glass down on the table, the whiskey spilling out and spreading across the surface. "Ethan? That stupid kid came back? Or is it someone else?"
Luca swallowed, shoved his hands in his pockets, then pulled them out again. "We don't know, sir," he said. "Ethan's body hasn't been found, but Moretti's men were saying he was dead. Maybe it's a gang, maybe another enemy… But this fast, this organized? It's suspicious."
He paused, then added, "Elena called this morning. She said she was investigating the harbor incident, that everything was under control. But... she cut it short."
Donati's brows furrowed deeper, his gaze briefly shifting to the window, then back to Luca. "She cut it short," he murmured, his voice like the calm before a storm. Elena, his daughter, his greatest weapon, but also his greatest uncertainty. Since Carver and Moretti's deaths, she had been reporting, attributing everything to a gang conflict, a coincidence. But these losses, this silence... Doubt was curling in his mind like a snake, slowly spreading its poison.
"Get to her," he said, turning to Luca, his voice harsh. "Find out where she is, and give me a detailed report. If she's hiding something, I want to know."
Luca nodded and quickly left the room. Donati turned back to the window, clasping his hands behind his back. The city's lights were a reflection of his empire, but now they seemed to be fading. Pieces were trying to fit together in his mind, but the picture was still blurry. Could Ethan still be alive? He'd heard rumors about Moretti shouting in the casino, "You were supposed to be dead!" But if Ethan was a ghost, how had he organized so quickly? And Elena… His daughter, always ambitious, but was this ambition turning against him? He wasn't sure about betrayal yet, but suspicion, like a seed, had been planted and was beginning to sprout.
When he was alone in the office, Donati returned to his desk and opened a file. Elena's latest reports were neatly written, filled with notes explaining everything. But now, those notes felt fake. His fingers traced the papers, then he closed the file. "Elena," he murmured, his voice low but thoughtful. "What are you doing?"
He took out a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled the smoke into the air. Doubt filled the office like a cloud, but it hadn't turned into betrayal yet. Donati leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and began to form a plan in his mind. If there was betrayal, he would uncover it, but one wrong move could endanger his entire empire.
At the warehouse on the west side, Ethan and Elena weren't celebrating the harbor victory; they were planning the next move. Elena spread the map on the table, marking the southern warehouse. "We hit tonight," she said, her voice calm but resolute. "If we cut off Donati's weapon shipments, he'll be helpless. Get your men ready, Ethan."
Her eyes shifted to Ethan, sizing him up for a moment.
Ethan dropped his cigarette on the table, the smoke still lingering in the air. "They're ready," he said, his voice cold but sharp as a knife. "But Donati is suspicious, Elena. So much loss, so much silence... He's not stupid. He'll come after us, and he'll come after you first."
He stood up, approached the table, and looked at the map. "How much time do we have?"
Elena said nothing, only smiled. "We have time," she said, her voice soft but confident. "My father is suspicious, but not sure. By the time he's sure, we'll have already torn down his throne. Strengthen yourself, Ethan. The kingdom is in your hands."
She placed her hand on Ethan's shoulder, but this time, Ethan didn't pull away.
As preparations continued in the warehouse, the clouds of doubt thickened over the city. Donati, sipping his whiskey in the skyscraper, was waging a battle in his mind. Betrayal stood before him as a possibility, but it was still unclear. Elena, his daughter, but also a shadow. If Ethan was a ghost, was he hiding within this shadow? Donati said nothing, only looked out the window at the city. His throne was cracking, but it hadn't fallen yet.