Chapter 139

Chapter 139
Marcus's POV

I stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Donovan estate's study, swirling a glass of whiskey in my hand. The amber liquid trembled slightly from a distant explosion. The sound rolled in from deep within the city, a low rumble that made the window frames buzz.

I spun around sharply, my gaze falling on the tablet in Felix's hand. On the screen, Sullivan's southern district warehouse was being consumed by flames—orange-red fire surging skyward, thick smoke spreading like a black mushroom cloud, devouring the night and all semblance of order.

This was the escalation I'd been waiting for. The conflict between Quincy and Aiden had finally evolved from verbal threats and posturing into real destruction and bloodshed. The explosion had destroyed two weapon caches under Aiden's control. Even through the screen, I could almost feel the heat wave, smell the acrid smoke and ash in the air.

Before I could mask it, a smile curved my lips unbidden. That long-awaited thrill of excitement raced down my spine like an electric current. I set down my glass, spread my five fingers across the city map laid out on the desk, and decisively drew an X over Aiden's territory with my fingertip.

"Gabriel's right and left hands are finally tearing each other apart," I said quietly, my voice echoing through the cavernous study with undisguised dark satisfaction.

Felix stood beside me, his face pale in the tablet's glow, shoulders tense with obvious strain. "According to our sources, Aiden was critically injured in the blast and rushed to a private medical facility. Quincy's men secured the scene and executed three of Aiden's guards on site—they were killed trying to protect him. The scene is... bloody. We have photographs if you want to see them."

He handed me the tablet. I swiped through the screens, my satisfaction gradually swelling. The warehouse's steel frame twisted like broken bones, shattered glass glittering like diamonds in the firelight. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, bullet holes leaving black marks on their clothing, blood pooling in puddles that reflected the flames in an eerie black-red. In the final photograph, Aiden lay on a stretcher, his face the color of old parchment, chest bandages soaked through with blood.

I drew in a deep breath, as if I could actually smell victory in the air—that intoxicating mixture of gunpowder, blood, and power. Watching enemies destroy themselves brought a satisfaction bordering on euphoria.

"Gabriel," I murmured his name like a prayer, picturing in my mind that perpetually composed face and those cold eyes. He was always so controlled, as if he forever held the winning hand. "You're finally losing control."

The intensity of this internal war exceeded even my expectations. Before, Quincy and Aiden had merely argued at the docks, occasionally pulling guns on each other—I'd even suspected those were performances staged for my benefit. But this time, explosions, deaths, Aiden critically wounded—these losses couldn't be faked.

Gabriel, that self-proclaimed master strategist who never made mistakes, was watching his empire crumble because of one woman and one unborn child. The irony was almost poetic.

I paced the study, my mind racing through various possibilities. Sullivan's southern district had been seized by Quincy, the northern docks were in my hands. The eastern district remained under Gabriel's control, but with Aiden injured and Quincy in rebellion, his core team had fractured beyond repair.

If I could forge an alliance with Quincy and jointly swallow what remained of Gabriel's territory, the entire city's underground power structure would be reshaped, with the Donovan name ascending to the top.

"Boss." Felix's voice interrupted my thoughts. His hesitation triggered my instincts. I stopped pacing, turned to face him, noting the fear on his face—the look of someone forced to deliver bad news.

"Speak," I commanded, my voice dropping several degrees.

Felix swallowed hard, his fingers moving across the tablet to pull up a different interface. My bank account page appeared on screen, every number turned a glaring red, stamped with the word "FROZEN," as if silently accusing me.

"Our primary accounts in Valencia have been frozen," Felix struggled to maintain composure, but his voice still trembled. "The United Bank claims they received reports of suspicious transactions. All funds are locked down. I contacted their executives, but they say the orders came from international financial regulatory authorities—they're powerless."

Blood rushed to my head, a roaring filled my ears, white noise drowning out everything else. I snatched the phone from Felix's hand. The screen displayed a cascade of disasters: when the Altenburg stock market opened, my corporate shares had plummeted, someone aggressively shorting my positions; investment accounts in Kroensfeld had been seized; the Portland Harbor legal team sent urgent emails about money laundering investigations launched by financial regulators.

I gripped the phone until I heard the screen crack, spiderweb fractures spreading beneath my palm. Numbers jumped across the display—market value down by a third, liquid assets locked away, overseas channels severed. This wasn't ordinary reporting, but a carefully orchestrated financial massacre, precisely targeting every vulnerable point in my empire.

"Douglas..." I ground out the name between clenched teeth, each syllable tasting of acid and betrayal.

That old fox. I'd thought he was just making a last desperate stand, using financial tricks to annoy me, buy himself time. But now I understood—he wasn't playing defense. He was waging all-out financial war. Freezing accounts, shorting stocks, reporting money laundering... every move precisely hitting my pressure points, forcing me to submit without firing a single shot.

"Is there more?" My voice came out low and dangerous. Felix instinctively took a step back, fear flashing in his eyes.

"There's... yes." He could barely speak, his voice nearly breaking. "The secret accounts in San Marco Islands and Nordavia have also been frozen. Those accounts... only our core team knew about them. But somehow, they have all the information..."

The world tilted before my eyes. Those secret accounts were my final insurance, the emergency fund I'd spent fifteen years building through layers of encryption and false fronts. Even if my primary accounts failed, I could rebuild. I'd been so careful, created so many redundancies.

But now, even those were gone.

I hurled the phone at the wall with explosive force, watching it shatter into a dozen pieces, glass shards falling on my leather shoes like glittering snowflakes. My chest heaved with each breath, rage and disbelief warring inside me, threatening to tear me apart.

The study's air grew thick, suffocating. Felix stood frozen in place, afraid to move. Only the sound of his nervous swallowing echoed in the silence.

"How did he do it?" I demanded, my voice hoarse with fury and confusion. "Douglas is just a financier—how could he simultaneously freeze accounts across so many different jurisdictions? He must have backing, someone with real power..."

The words died on my lips as realization struck like a hammer blow.

Gabriel.

Only Gabriel had this kind of reach. His family didn't just control the underground—they were deeply rooted in legitimate business, their connections like an invisible web running through banks and regulatory agencies. If Gabriel and Douglas had joined forces, everything made perfect sense: Douglas providing financial expertise and connections, Gabriel supplying intelligence and leverage. Together, they could dismantle my entire financial infrastructure in days.

But how was that possible? Gabriel should be drowning in grief over losing Isabella and their child. How could he have the presence of mind to orchestrate such a complex operation? Unless... unless from the very beginning, Isabella's miscarriage and Gabriel's breakdown had been theater, designed to make me drop my guard.

No, impossible. I'd seen those videos—Gabriel keeping vigil at her bedside, eyes hollow and dead like a man who'd lost everything. Quincy and Aiden pulling guns at the docks, the bloodstains, explosions, bodies... Gabriel couldn't fake that level of destruction, wouldn't sacrifice his core team's cohesion just to set a trap...

Unless he'd never broken down at all. Unless everything I'd witnessed was part of his design.

Cold sweat soaked through my back, the humiliation of being manipulated crawling under my skin like insects. But I forced myself to stay calm—this wasn't the time to spiral into paranoia. I needed solutions, not doubts. I had to turn this around before it was too late.

"Gabriel's family has already been severely damaged," I said aloud, as much to convince Felix as myself. "Aiden injured, Quincy in rebellion, southern district lost... As long as I can secure Quincy's cooperation and take the remaining Sullivan territory, Douglas's financial war becomes irrelevant. Real power doesn't live in bank accounts—it's in the streets, in the hands of loyal armed men."

I resumed pacing, my thinking shifting from defense to offense. Yes, accounts were frozen, stock prices had crashed, financial lifelines severed—on paper it looked like disaster. But those were just numbers, abstract concepts that could be rebuilt. True power came from controlling physical territory, earning loyalty through fear and reward, commanding the guns, supply chains, and lifelines of the underground economy.

As long as I could seize Sullivan's territory—the docks, warehouses, smuggling routes, weapons networks—I could use that hard power to force Douglas back in line, threaten banks into unfreezing my accounts, intimidate the short sellers, make everyone who'd betrayed me pay the price. In the underground world, violence was the ultimate currency. Finance was merely surface appearance.

"Felix," I turned around, my eyes burning with resolve. "What's Quincy's latest response? Is he willing to cooperate?"

Felix hesitated briefly, then said carefully, "He's indicated willingness, but... there's a condition."

"What condition?" I couldn't suppress the urgency in my voice.

"He says this level of negotiation can't happen through encrypted messages alone. He needs to meet you face-to-face to confirm the details. Otherwise..." Felix paused meaningfully. "He won't commit."

My smile froze on my face. A meeting? Quincy wanted a face-to-face meeting?

My mind snapped to full alertness, the euphoria of imagined victory dissipating as cold calculation took over. I turned the request over in my mind: Why did Quincy need a meeting? Weren't encrypted communications secure enough? Was he trying to assess my strength in person, or was this Gabriel's trap, waiting for me to walk into an ambush?

I paced the study, the thick carpet absorbing my footsteps, weighing risks against potential gains. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Sullivan's warehouse still burned, orange flames reflecting my image in the glass, distorted and twisted like some hungry beast.