Chapter 310
The arena fell deathly silent. Jaxon knelt in the dusty center, head bowed like a penitent sinner.
He finally lifted his gaze, jaw tight with reluctant respect.
“You’re one hell of a fighter,” he growled, voice rough with pride and defeat. “I yield p>
“What the hell did he say?” gasped someone from the audience.
Murmurs exploded around the arena like wildfire, disbelief sparking through the crowd.
“He hasn’t even thrown a punch! He walked to the arena just to kneel? Did the Kingstons pay him off p>
Zane surged to his feet, eyes blazing with fury.
“What kind of cowardly shit is this, Jax? A Chicago Lord never bows down! Kill the damn janitor now p>
“Shut your mouth, Zane!” Jaxon snapped back fiercely, eyes ablaze.
“There’s honor in knowing when you’re beaten. He’s the real deal. If he’d wanted, I’d be lying dead in the dirt right now p>
The crowd froze, trying to decipher the bitter truth hidden in Jaxon’s eyes.
Zane’s face twisted in rage.
“Bullshit! You didn’t even fight him! Are you seriously bowing to a cleaning boy? You’re embarrassing the whole damn city p>
Jaxon’s eyes hardened, burning with defiance.
“Step up yourself, then. See how fast you hit the dirt p>
“I’ll show you fools how a real man handles business,” Zane snarled, storming into the arena, pride blinding him from reason.
The stakes couldn’t be higher-his entire future hinged on this moment.
The legendary profits from the Emerald Elixir were within reach, but only if he succeeded. One misstep, and it would all collapse. He couldn’t afford to lose. Not
now.
The janitor-Alex-watched calmly, mask shadowing his face, sunglasses reflecting nothing but cold indifference.
“Stepping onto this floor means you’ve accepted death as a possible outcome. No complaints if you don’t walk away p>
“Threaten me?” Zane spat venomously, puffing up his chest.
“Do you even know who you’re dealing with? I’m Zane Hernandez, heir of the goddamn Chicago Lords p>
Alex stood unmoved, his voice slicing the tension like a razor.
“Then let me introduce myself. I’m the guardian of Vancouver. Anyone who touches what’s ours faces hell itself p>
Zane staggered, suddenly gasping as an invisible force seized his throat.
His knees buckled, eyes bulging in panic, and he collapsed hard onto the dirt.
Chicago’s medics scrambled desperately, voices frantic. “His heart’s stopped! Get CPR going, now p>
The arena erupted into chaos-fear and awe colliding into a volatile wave.
Every jaw dropped. Fear silenced the stands completely.
The message was clear: Vancouver had chosen its champion, and death awaited anyone reckless enough to cross his path.
Alex remained utterly composed.
He grabbed his mop, snapping it effortlessly until only a deadly shard remained. Without hesitation, he hurled it like a spear across the arena.
The splintered shaft punctured through Charles’ shoulder, pinning him brutally to his seat, blood spurting violently onto stunned spectators.
Charles was screaming in pain.
Alex stood tall in the middle of the arena, eyes narrowed with raw menace.
His voice, deep and cold as steel, cut through the noise without the aid of a microphone.
“You pull another stunt against Vancouver, and I’ll crack your skull wide open p>
With a dismissive sweep of his gaze, Alex turned his back and strode confidently out of the ring.
A roar erupted from the Vancouver supporters, deafening and triumphant.
“We won p>
“Vancouver Won p>
“Vancouver, Vancouver, Vancouver p>
“We did it! Kingstons dominate again p>
Shrieked joyous/et
her eyes sparkling with pri
Across the ring, fury contorted the faces of Chicago’s team. One of them pointed
fiercely, voice dripping with venom.
“This isn’t over, you cocky bastard! You’ll pay for this p>
But their bravado faltered quickly as they retreated, humiliated and shaken.
Their perfect scheme shattered, undone by someone they’d dismissed—a mere janitor, of all people.
Yet beneath the anger and
embarrassment simmered an ominous realization: Vancouver wasn’t protected by some ordinary janitor but by an unseen master whose message was brutally clear-interfere, and you’ll face death.
Later, in a dimly lit meeting hall, five powerful Chicago lords sat grim-faced around
a polished table.
Dupont was seething, his jaw clenched tight, eyes blazing.
Luca Hernandez, grief-stricken but icy with rage, matched his glare.
Dupont slammed his fist down, the table shaking under his anger.
“We’ve lost enough. My son’s dead, and now yours too, Luca. Vancouver must burn. We declare war, right now p>
“Absolutely,” Luca echoed coldly.
“We’ve got guns, elite soldiers—they won’t stand a chance, even if they rally three entire states p>
The usually unified group was fracturing, their unity hanging by a thread.
Tom Jones, a voice of moderation, raised his hand cautiously. “Let’s put it to a vote p>
Tension thickened as hands rose slowly.
Two supported war immediately. Two opposed, wary of the consequences.
One abstained, caught between caution and fury.
The stalemate hung heavy, unresolved.
Tom sighed heavily, eyes tired yet stern. “We’ll reconvene next month. Hopefully
by then, clearer heads will prevail p>
Three lords left silently, leaving only Conrad Dupont and Luca Hernandez, their fury barely contained.
“So we’re just going to wait?” Conrad growled, his voice bitterly sharp.
Luca leaned forward, eyes darkening dangerously. “No. We strike first, force their hand. Once Vancouver retaliates, the others will have no choice but to back our war
A malicious grin twisted Conrad’s lips.
“A smart move-exactly my style p>
“They spilled my son’s blood,” Luca whispered fiercely, eyes filled with a chilling
resolve. “Now they’ll drown in their own p>
“Good,” Conrad whispered back, his voice laced with dark promise.
“Then let’s hit them hard next week. And if necessary, unleash hell itself—we have
nukes, Luca. Why hold back p>
“Absolutely,” Luca replied, his voice cold and merciless, consumed by a dark, unstoppable thirst for vengeance.
“Let Vancouver burn p>