Chapter 32: Fear is the Ultimate Weapon

The city pulsed with restless energy, oblivious to the silent war raging beneath its glittering lights. While the elite drank champagne in penthouses and the streets buzzed with life, a darker game was being played in the shadows—one where every move had consequences, and hesitation meant death.

Ethan stood at the edge of his balcony, the skyline stretching endlessly before him. The destruction of his warehouse wasn't just an attack—it was a challenge. Cavalli thought he was playing a game of equals. He thought Ethan would respond like every other rival he had crushed before—recklessly, emotionally, predictably.

But Ethan wasn't like the others. He didn't just retaliate. He dismantled.

Dominic's voice cut through the night air. "Everything's in place. Our men are stationed near his clubs, his casinos, his shipments. The moment you give the word, we move."

Ethan's fingers tightened around his glass, the ice clinking softly. He didn't need to rush. Fear wasn't just about destruction—it was about anticipation, about letting the enemy feel the noose tighten before the final pull.

Seraphina, perched on the leather armchair, twirled a cigarette between her fingers but never lit it. "You're making him nervous," she mused. "His men are restless. You should see the way they watch their backs now. He knows you're coming. He just doesn't know when."

Ethan smirked, setting his drink down. "Good."

Down in the city, Cavalli's security detail was tighter than ever—patrolling his clubs, shadowing his movements. But it didn't matter. No amount of guards could protect a man from his own paranoia.

Ethan made the first move at exactly 3:07 a.m.

A shipment of Cavalli's most expensive goods—art, diamonds, weapons—vanished without a trace. His men checked the docks, the warehouses, the transport routes. Nothing. No bodies, no witnesses, just an empty container where millions of dollars' worth of product had once been.

By morning, another blow—one of his casinos was hit. Not robbed, not burned. But emptied. The employees disappeared, the doors locked, the lights off. It was as if the entire operation had never existed.

The message was clear: You are not safe.

Cavalli was already on edge when the final strike came. His most trusted lieutenant—Paolo DeLuca—was found bound to a chair in the center of an abandoned warehouse, stripped of his weapons, his pride, and most importantly, his certainty.

Ethan arrived alone, his presence swallowing the room. Paolo's eyes flickered with barely concealed fear. "You think this scares me?" he spat.

Ethan didn't answer. He simply stepped closer, crouching so they were at eye level. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost amused.

"You're afraid," he murmured. "Not because of what I might do now, but because you don't know what comes next."

Paolo's breathing hitched, just slightly. A small crack in his bravado, but Ethan saw it. He saw everything.

He leaned in, his words a whisper of certainty. "Tell Cavalli the next time I take something, it won't be a warehouse. It won't be a casino. It'll be his ability to sleep at night."

He stood, turning away, already knowing the message had been received.

Fear wasn't just a weapon. It was the only weapon that truly mattered.