Chapter 140

Chapter 140
Marcus's POV

If this was a trap, going to that meeting meant certain death. Gabriel might already have snipers positioned, explosives planted. But if I refused, Quincy might turn to other families—the Kozlovs, the Petrovs, even those neutral factions who'd been watching from the sidelines. Then I'd not only lose this opportunity but become prey for everyone.

More critically, Douglas's financial assault had already backed me into a corner. Accounts frozen, stocks crashed, cash flow severed—if I couldn't quickly secure a new power base, I'd be bankrupt within weeks. Bankruptcy meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant death.

I stopped pacing and looked directly at Felix, studying the worry in his eyes.

"Honestly," I asked calmly, "do you think this is a trap?"

Felix blinked, clearly surprised I was asking his opinion. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Boss, I... I'm not certain. Quincy's defection seems genuine—the explosions, casualties, Aiden's injuries, none of that looks staged. But Gabriel has never truly lost control. He's too calculating, too ruthless..."

"So you think it might be theater?" I pressed.

"I don't know," Felix admitted frankly. "But if it is theater, the cost has already been enormous. Aiden is one of Gabriel's core lieutenants. If he's willing to sacrifice someone that important just to set a trap..." He didn't finish, the unspoken implications hanging heavy in the air.

I understood what he meant. If Gabriel was truly willing to sacrifice Aiden to lure me in, then this trap's scope and ambition far exceeded anything I'd imagined. But that also meant Gabriel had gone insane—no rational leader would destroy his own power structure just to eliminate one rival.

I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, letting various scenarios play out in my mind. Isabella's miscarriage notice. Gabriel's hollow eyes at her bedside. Quincy and Aiden's gunfight at the docks. Aiden bleeding on that stretcher... Every image felt so real, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that it all fit together too perfectly.

But I had no choice.

I opened my eyes, my decision crystallizing into ice. "Tell Quincy I agree to meet."

Felix's face registered shock. "Boss, that's extremely dangerous. If Gabriel—"

"I know the risks," I cut him off, my voice hard as steel. "But I'm out of options. Quincy is my key to controlling Sullivan territory, my only path forward. Douglas's financial war has me cornered. If I don't take this risk, I'll have nothing left in weeks."

I moved to my desk, leaning over the city map, and pointed to a location with my finger—Saint Anthony's abandoned church in the western suburbs. It had been a Donovan family meeting point in my father's era, abandoned after a fire, now a forsaken place with no surveillance, no police, just collapsed walls and a crumbling spire.

"Tell Quincy the location is here," I tapped the map emphatically. "Saint Anthony's church, three days from now, midnight. No cameras, no third parties, just our two groups. If he's serious about cooperation, he won't object."

Felix stared at the map, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "Understood. And our preparations?"

"Mobilize every available asset," I ordered, my voice cold and sharp. "Including the mercenaries from Rhine Valley. I want at least twenty snipers covering every approach to that church. Any suspicious movement, open fire immediately—no need to wait for my signal."

"Yes, sir."

"Also," I added, "have our people in city hall shut down surveillance in that area. Use equipment maintenance as the excuse. I don't want any third parties recording what happens that night."

"Understood."

I turned back to the window, watching Sullivan's warehouse burn against the night sky. The flames danced and flickered, seeming to mock me and beckon me forward simultaneously. My reflection in the glass looked haggard yet determined, shadows carving deep lines into my face.

"Boss," Felix asked quietly behind me, "if this really is a trap... do we have an exit strategy?"

I was silent for a long time, so long Felix probably thought I wouldn't answer. Finally, I said in a low voice, "There is no exit strategy, Felix. Douglas's financial assault has already cut off all my escape routes. If I fail, I lose everything—territory, money, power, even my life. But if I succeed, I'll control this city's underground."

I turned to face him directly. "This is an all-or-nothing gamble. I'm putting every chip on the table. Either I win everything, or I lose it all."

Felix's face went pale, but he nodded firmly. "I understand. I'll make all the arrangements."

He left the study, his footsteps gradually fading. I stood alone before the window, fingers pressed against the cold glass, watching the flames consume the night sky. Smoke obscured half the heavens, casting the city in an ominous shadow.

Gabriel's face kept surfacing in my thoughts—that eternally composed expression, those calculating eyes. I remembered something he'd once said to me: "Marcus, your greatest weakness is believing violence solves everything. You've never understood that real power comes from strategy, from seeing ten moves ahead."

At the time I'd scoffed, dismissing it as pretentious posturing. But now, facing Douglas's financial warfare and Quincy's defection, doubt seeped into my thinking like poison.

Did I really understand Gabriel? Did I know what he was thinking, what he was planning?

I shook my head sharply, forcing myself to dispel the uncertainty. No, I couldn't afford doubt. Gabriel had lost everything—his woman, his child, his team's unity. He was just a broken man now, drowning in private tragedy, incapable of the strategic brilliance he'd once possessed.

This time, I wouldn't give him any chance to recover.

Over the next three days, I barely slept. I locked myself in the study, obsessively reviewing Saint Anthony's church terrain maps, marking every sniper position, escape route, and blind spot. Felix mobilized fifty elite operatives, including ten high-priced Rhine Valley snipers.

I personally inspected every weapon—pistols, rifles, sniper rifles, even portable rocket launchers. I needed to ensure that whatever happened that night, I'd have overwhelming firepower to crush any resistance.

The second evening, Felix brought Quincy's response—he'd agreed to meet at Saint Anthony's church at midnight in three days. The message was brief, but tension and anticipation permeated every line.

"What else did he say?" I asked.

"He said he'll bring fifty men and requests we don't exceed that number either. He emphasized this meeting is about negotiating cooperation details, not starting a firefight—he hopes both sides will exercise restraint."

I laughed coldly. "Restraint? He blew up Aiden's warehouses, killed dozens of men, and now he wants to talk about restraint?"

Felix remained silent, simply watching me quietly.

I waved dismissively. "Fine, tell him I agree. But my snipers will be pre-positioned. If he tries anything clever, he won't even find his own corpse."

"Yes, sir." Felix turned to leave.

I returned to the window, gazing out at the city lights. They flickered in the darkness like countless eyes, waiting to witness my success or failure.

On the evening of the meeting, I put on a bulletproof vest and checked the pistol at my waist. Felix reported the final preparations: "Snipers are all in position, covering twenty high points around the church. Armored vehicles and reinforcements are standing by three kilometers out—they can reach you within five minutes."

"Good," I nodded. "Remember, if I give the signal, have the snipers open fire immediately. No hesitation."

"Understood."

I walked to the window for one last look at the city. Night had fallen, lights coming on everywhere, the metropolis spread out like a giant chessboard. I was about to make the most critical move of my life.

"Boss," Felix asked quietly behind me, "are you absolutely certain?"

I was silent for several seconds, then turned to look at him. "Felix, how long have you worked for me?"

"Twelve years."

"In those twelve years, have you ever seen me lose?"

Felix shook his head.

"Then trust me now," I said, my voice low and resolute. "I won't lose. Whatever trap Gabriel has set, whatever ambush awaits, I will win. Because I have to win."

I strode out of the study, footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. Felix followed close behind. We descended the stairs, crossed the manor's grand hall, and headed toward the armored vehicles waiting outside.

Night wind hit my face, carrying the chill of the wilderness and the scent of an approaching storm. I looked up at the sky—clouds obscured the stars, the heavens like an oppressive black cloth.

"Let's go," I said calmly. "To Saint Anthony's church."

The armored vehicle's engine roared to life, and our convoy slowly pulled away from the estate. I sat inside, watching the landscape rush past through bulletproof windows. City lights gradually thinned, replaced by desolate suburbs and abandoned buildings.

My fingers unconsciously traced the pistol at my waist, the cold metal providing a measure of comfort. My mind constantly ran through possibilities—how many men would Quincy bring? Would he genuinely cooperate? Would Gabriel appear?

But regardless of what awaited, I was ready. Tonight, I would seize Sullivan's territory, then use that power to crush Douglas and make everyone who'd betrayed me pay the price.

The convoy stopped at the church's outer perimeter. I pushed open the door and stepped onto the barren ground. In the distance, Saint Anthony's church spire cast a sharp shadow in the moonlight, shattered stained glass windows like wide-open eyes, collapsed walls exposing rusted rebar like skeletal fingers reaching toward the sky. Weeds grew wild, a few dead trees standing like grim sentinels.

I checked my watch—ten minutes until midnight.

"Everyone in position," I ordered through my earpiece. "Maintain vigilance. Report any anomalies immediately."

A chorus of "Copy that" responses filled my ear. I took a deep breath and, with Felix and twenty elite operatives, stepped into the church's depths.

Moonlight filtered through gaps in the clouds, illuminating the abandoned church, broken stained glass reflecting an eerie glow. The main door hung half-open, darkness beyond, only the vague outlines of collapsed pews and a dust-covered altar visible inside.

My heart hammered against my ribs, each step feeling like walking on knife blades. This was the ultimate gamble. I'd put all my chips on the table.

Either I'd win everything, or I'd lose it all.

I pushed open the heavy wooden door, its hinges shrieking in protest, the sound echoing through the cavernous interior. The damp, cold air reeked of mold and decay. Moonlight streamed through the broken skylight, casting mottled shadows across the floor.

I stood in the church's center, quietly waiting for Quincy's arrival.

The game was about to begin.