Chapter 3: The Gathering Storm

The warehouse on 5th Street sat in grim silence beneath a pale moon, its cracked windows like blind eyes staring out over the empty lot. For years, it had been a ghost of the cartel's past, a place where deals were once made and debts settled. Tonight, it was the stage for a reckoning.

Bari arrived early, moving through the shadows with the grace of a predator. His mind was a razor, every detail sharp and clear — who would come, who would hesitate, and who would betray.

He paced the cracked concrete floor, the faint scent of oil and rust mixing with the city's damp chill. In his hand, he twirled a small knife, fingers steady despite the storm inside. This wasn't just about cleaning house; it was revenge.

Bari listened as the warehouse door creaked open, and one by one, the cartel's lackeys shuffled inside—faces wary, weapons tucked just out of sight. Over a hundred men and women who had fed on the family's blood, who had feasted on lies and betrayal.

Bari stood at the centre, cold and still as a statue. His eyes scanned the crowd, noting who held their ground and who shifted nervously, who whispered behind cupped hands, who cast glances toward the exits.

"Tonight," Bari began, his voice steady and commanding, "we settle old debts. Loyalty means everything — betrayal means death."

Without warning, the heavy steel doors slammed shut behind them, echoing like a guillotine's blade.

Panic flickered across faces, some already reaching for guns, but Bari was faster.

With a single, precise motion, he drew his pistol, aimed, and fired. The crack of the shot rang sharp and clear.

A man nearest the door collapsed silently, a clean bullet through his temple.

Chaos exploded.

Those who tried to flee were cut down by others—cartel members who, realising the trap, turned on their comrades in a desperate, brutal firefight.

In less than five minutes, the warehouse was a bloody battlefield.

When the gunfire ceased, barely fifteen remained standing, faces pale, breaths ragged, eyes wide with terror.

Bari stepped forward, his voice calm, almost warm.

"You survived. That means you're either loyal or useful."

He moved among them, shaking hands, clasping shoulders with chilling sincerity.

"Your loyalty means everything. We're family. And families protect each other."

One by one, as they listened, relief flickered—until Bari pulled the trigger again and again, fast and precise.

No screams, no time to react.

Bodies crumpled silently to the floor.

Within moments, only ten remained—those he deemed necessary for the next phase.

He lowered the pistol, eyes cold steel.

"This is the beginning. I'm cleaning house, rooting out the rats. Tonight, you bear witness."

He pulled out the boss's phone, fingers already moving through contacts.

"Send the word. Gather everyone at the docks in one hour. No exceptions."

The survivors exchanged glances—fear tangled with dark respect.

Bari's war had truly begun.