Stivvo did not knock.
He never did.
He stood on the corner of Mott Haven, just north of the Bronx line, where the streetlights flickered and the buildings leaned like tired men. This block had learned fear the hard way.
Stivvo was tall. Not just tall—built. Broad shoulders. Long arms marked with scars that told their own stories. His hair was cut into short braids that fell just past his ears. A thick scar ran from his cheekbone to his jaw, pale against dark skin.
Dark blue jacket. Blue sneakers. Always the same.
Beside him stood his little brother.
Stanley.
Stanley wore black. Always black. Hoodie. Pants. Shoes. His eyes stayed low, but his hands were never still.
They had risen fast.
Too fast.
Petty crimes at first. Then weapons. Then intimidation. Then silence. People paid because it was easier than bleeding.
This block belonged to them now.
And that was the problem.
Because Arron wanted it.
Arron sat alone in his room.
The blinds were closed. The air was heavy. A small machine sat on the desk beside him, humming softly as he worked. His movements were calm. Precise. No rush.
He wasn't guessing.
He was planning.
Everything in front of him meant leverage. Not just money—control.
Jack had done his part.
Now it was Arron's turn.
He sent Jack out across the Bronx. Clubs. Lounges. Dark rooms with loud music and weak security. New faces were placed carefully. Trusted ones. People who owed favours.
Fast movement. Quiet growth.
Money moved faster than rumours.
Arron leaned back and exhaled slowly.
Then his phone rang.
Jack.
Jack answered from a hotel room.
He stepped away from the bed, careful not to wake the girl still sleeping there. Half naked. Hair spread across the pillow. He grabbed his phone and dropped into a leather chair near the window.
Nike tracksuit. Blue Jordan Ones.
Living good.
"Bro," Jack whispered, then laughed. "Say it again."
Arron put on a serious face , he did this while speaking business. "I ran the numbers and. I bought a weighing machine and started measuring the white powder into small packets of one gram each, and just from one kilogram of white powder he could make up to a thousand small packets of the white powder, and he planned to sell each packet at two hundred dollars and since Jack delivered six kilograms when he stole, it was all a worth estimate of one hundred and twenty thousand dollars ."
Jack sat up straight.
"You serious?"
"Yes."
There was silence.
Then Jack screamed.
"What?! Man, you playing with me! You telling me that bag was worth that much?"
"Calm down jack," Arron said. "You'll wake the whole floor."
Jack laughed hard, covering his mouth.
"Bro, I almost hugged the wrong man in the hallway just now. I thought he was you."
Arron shook his head.
"Focus. How's recruitment?"
Jack leaned back.
"Easy. Parties. Drinks. Music. Girls. People love free things. You were right, boss. They're loyal already."
"Good."
Jack grinned. "Man, when this pops, I'm buying my mom a house."
"Not yet," Arron said. "We move clean from now onwards don't rush bro."
They both laughed.
Then Arron's voice lowered.
"There was something else in the bag."
Jack froze.
"…Yeah. what was it , I was rushing bro I didn't see."
White with red words. Dragon symbol symbol.
And after running some research in the dark web, I found out that it belongs to the yakuza.
An address printed on the back.
Jack swallowed .
"Those guys don't joke bro we better not mess with them."
"I know."
"They don't forgive either."
"I know," Arron said again.
Silence stretched.
That card was an invitation.
To a party called sōkai.
A sōkai is a formal meeting of yakuza leaders.
It is where:
Big bosses gather
Important decisions are confirmed
Loyalty is checked
Power is shown without violence
Everyone follows strict rules.
Only high-ranking members speak.
Mistakes are not forgiven.
A sōkai is quiet, serious, and dangerous—because what is decided there cannot be changed.
The second call came later that night.
Jack had sobered up by then.
Arron spoke first."I bought a car."
Jack blinked."A what?"
"Go pick it up tomorrow."
Jack frowned."What kind?"
"A 1971 Ford Maverick Grabber."
Jack whistled."Old school. Muscle."
"Refurbished. Clean engine. Wide body. Deep green paint. Black stripes. Loud without trying."
Jack smiled."That thing's a beast."
"What's it for?" Jack asked.
Arron paused.
"Don't worry about it."
Jack laughed."Man, you always say that right before something crazy happens."
Arron hung up.
Across the city, Stivvo punched a man in the mouth.
No warning. No reason.
Blood hit the sidewalk.
"This block ain't changing hands," Stivvo said calmly.
Stanley watched.
Someone mentioned a new name.
Arron.
Stivvo smiled.
"Good," he said. "I was getting bored."