Newark Airport buzzed with the usual chaos, but a sleek line of black Cadillacs parked curbside drew eyes like a magnet. A dozen black-clad bodyguards stood watch, their steely glares and hulking frames screaming stay away. To the curious onlookers craning their necks, this kind of spectacle screamed money or fame—some billionaire or A-list celebrity, no doubt.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as the terminal’s exit erupted with activity. A pack of burly men in dark suits emerged, flanking a towering figure in a tailored suit. A brave soul edged closer for a look. The man was a mountain—nearly two meters tall, bald as a cue ball, with a square, impassive face. He looked like a fat man at a glance, but anyone bold enough to strip away that suit would’ve seen a body carved from iron. Compared to him, bodybuilding champs were scrawny pretenders. Ninety percent of his mass was pure, unyielding muscle.
The Cadillac’s door swung open, and Wesley stepped out, smoothing his suit as he approached. "Sir," He said, his voice a mix of deference and awe. "Welcome back."
This was Wilson Fisk—Kingpin, the undisputed lord of New York’s underworld.
---
The Cadillac convoy glided down the highway, a silent procession of power. In the backseat, Kingpin and Wesley sat, both staring out their respective windows, the tension between them thick enough to choke on. Wesley’s gut churned. Before leaving, Kingpin had entrusted him with the empire, and what had he delivered? A shitstorm. Kingpin’s wife, Vanessa, had been compromised. The city’s gangs were in disarray. And the catalyst, Jason, was still out there, living large somewhere in the shadows. Worst of all, Wesley had played a role in the chaos, leaking intel to Jason under duress. Guilt gnawed at him, keeping his lips sealed.
The silence stretched until Kingpin broke it, his voice low and measured. "I hear he hit the Speed Freaks last night?"
Wesley nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah. Killed twenty of them, stole a haul worth $4 million. They’re tearing up the streets looking for him."
Kingpin’s eyes narrowed, analytical. "Jason doesn’t have the connections to move that kind of product. He’s selling to someone else. Find out who. Check every black-market dealer he’s ever worked with."
"On it," Wesley said, jotting a mental note.
The car fell quiet again. Wesley’s head bowed, his conscience wrestling with itself. Finally, he forced the words out. "Sir, I’m sorry. The Speed Freaks’ intel... I gave it to Jason."
Kingpin’s brow furrowed, his gaze piercing. "Why?"
Wesley spilled everything—Jason’s blackmail, the compromising evidence, even his wife’s infidelity. His voice trembled but held firm. "He had me by the balls."
Kingpin listened, his face unreadable until Wesley finished. Then, a mocking edge crept into his tone. "The Speed Freaks’ haul was worth $4 million. Why not point him at our stash? It’s worth more."
Wesley’s face hardened, his loyalty flaring. "He didn’t ask. And even if he did, I wouldn’t have told him. I’d rot in prison first."
Kingpin let out a booming laugh, clapping Wesley’s shoulder. "That’s what I like to hear! As long as you don’t betray the family—or me—you’ll always be my right hand." His tone shifted, dismissive. "The Speed Freaks, the Russians—they’re all on our list anyway. Jason’s just doing our dirty work."
Wesley’s chest loosened, a wave of relief washing over him. Kingpin’s forgiveness was rare, and he hadn’t misjudged his sir’s loyalty.
But the problem remained. "Sir, Jason’s got the whole underworld spooked. If this keeps up, the gangs might start tearing each other apart before he even makes a move."
Kingpin’s lips curled into a smug grin. "They’re fools, all of them. As long as I’m in New York, this city won’t fall apart."
It was a bold claim, but coming from Kingpin, it carried the weight of truth. No one dared doubt him.
"What about Jason?" Wesley pressed. "The warrant’s been out for days, and we’ve got nothing. Should we send our guys to hunt him down?"
"Jason?" Kingpin snorted, his voice dripping with disdain. "He’s a stray dog. I’ll crush him myself when the time comes. Leave him to me."
"Understood." Wesley hesitated, then added, "Sir, Madame Gao wants to meet you."
"Gao?" Kingpin’s arrogance vanished, replaced by a flicker of unease.
New York’s underworld was full of heavy hitters, but few could unsettle Kingpin. Jason, for all his chaos, didn’t make the cut. Madame Gao did. The woman was a viper—cunning, ruthless, and in control of over eighty percent of the city’s drug trade. A Chinese national with deep ties to Japanese yakuza and access to premium Mexican products, her web of connections was a labyrinth even Kingpin couldn’t navigate without caution.
He sighed. "Set it up at the penthouse. Break out the Chinese tea for her."
Wesley nodded, already dialing to arrange the meeting.
---
The convoy rolled into Manhattan, pulling up to Kingpin’s opulent penthouse. In the top-floor meeting room, Madame Gao sat, her frail frame leaning on a cane, her wrinkled face serene as she sipped tea with delicate precision. Kingpin’s men stood guard in the corners, heads bowed, hands clasped, silent as statues.
"Gao, good to see you," Kingpin said, his Mandarin clumsy but earnest.
"Wilson, it’s been too long," Gao replied, rising with a smile, addressing him by his real name without hesitation.
After polite pleasantries, they sat across from each other, sipping tea like old friends catching up. But the air was heavy with unspoken tension.
"Wilson, my condolences about Vanessa," Gao said, her tone smooth but pointed. "Though, from my perspective, Jason did you a favor."
Kingpin’s eyes narrowed, a spark of anger flaring in his chest.
Gao pressed on, unfazed. "Since Vanessa came into your life, you’ve been distracted. Ignoring the family, neglecting business, wasting days on dates and art galleries."
"My mistake," Kingpin admitted, his voice tight, a rare moment of humility. "I’ve corrected it."
Gao nodded, satisfied. "I know. You had Vanessa killed. It shows you’re back in control. I’m pleased." She paused, sipping her tea. "But I’m here about Jason."
Kingpin frowned. "He’s crossed you?"
"Not yet," Gao said, setting her cup down. "But the drug market needs stability. If Jason keeps stirring chaos, it’ll ruin our profits. So, I’ve taken steps."
Kingpin and Wesley exchanged stunned glances. The NYPD and every gang in the city were hunting Jason with no luck, and Gao had found him?
"Gao, thank you," Kingpin said, his voice thick with excitement. "Give me the address, and I’ll send—"
"Wilson!" Gao’s voice cracked like a whip, cutting him off. "Your job is to stabilize New York, not chase Jason to stroke your ego."
Kingpin’s face flushed, but he bit back a retort. She was right, and he hated it.
Gao glanced at her watch. "By now, he should be there."
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