Ochieng stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, his sharp gaze fixed on the city below. It was his playground now—a battleground where alliances were forged, and enemies were buried.
The golden city lights flickered beneath him, reflecting off the polished marble floor of his high-rise residence. From this height, he could see everything—the towering skyscrapers, the neon-lit streets, and the dark alleys where power shifted hands in whispers.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Caller: "The council has decided. You have 48 hours to prove yourself, or they'll eliminate you."
A slow smirk tugged at Ochieng's lips. "Let them try."
He ended the call and turned to Tielen, who stood beside him in a crisp navy suit, his expression unreadable. The man had been Ochieng's shadow for years, watching his back through betrayals and bloodshed.
"They think they can corner me?" Ochieng murmured.
Tielen chuckled, adjusting his cufflinks. "They don't know who they're dealing with."
Ochieng nodded. The council—the old rulers of the underworld—thought they still held power. But they were relics of a bygone era. The world belonged to those who dared to take it.
And Ochieng was ready.
---
The elite of the underworld gathered in a hidden luxury estate deep in the hills, an exclusive retreat known only to the most powerful figures. It was a place where the fate of empires was decided over glasses of aged whiskey and silent threats.
The conference hall was lavish—gold chandeliers hung from the ceiling, reflecting off the pristine mahogany table. Each seat was occupied by a leader of a province, men who controlled vast territories, wealth, and influence.
Ochieng walked in, exuding quiet dominance. The whispers began immediately.
"He's too young."
"He doesn't have the experience."
"What makes him think he can lead us?"
Richard, the self-proclaimed king of the Eastern syndicates, leaned forward. He was a man in his late fifties, his hair graying at the temples, but his eyes still held the sharpness of a seasoned killer.
"You want control?" Richard said, his voice laced with condescension. "Then prove yourself."
Ochieng smirked, his gaze unwavering. "You're still talking as if I need your permission."
Gasps echoed through the room. Richard's face darkened.
Before he could respond, Ochieng tossed a file onto the table.
"Your offshore accounts? Frozen. Your secret properties? Under my name now."
Silence.
The other leaders exchanged nervous glances. Richard, for the first time in decades, looked uncertain.
Ochieng leaned in, his voice ice-cold. "Sit down, Richard. Your reign is over."
The room held its breath.
Then, slowly, Richard slumped back in his chair.
One by one, the others nodded.
Ochieng had just taken control.
---
As the meeting ended, Linet found him outside, standing beneath the moonlight. The estate's garden was filled with roses, their fragrance mixing with the crisp night air.
She crossed her arms, her gaze piercing. "So this is who you've become?"
Ochieng sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have a choice."
She took a step closer, her fingers brushing against his sleeve. "You always have a choice."
For a moment, he wanted to believe her.
But the world he ruled had no room for softness.
Ochieng gently pulled away. "Stay out of this, Linet."
Her eyes filled with pain. "And if I don't?"
He hesitated. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper—"Then you'll get hurt."
She turned and walked away.
Ochieng watched her go, his heart aching.
But his enemies were watching.
And a king couldn't afford weakness.
---
Hours later, Ochieng returned to his penthouse, his mind a storm of thoughts. He poured himself a drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass.
As he stepped into his bedroom, a shadow moved.
A dagger pressed against his throat.
A voice—soft, deadly.
"I've been sent to kill you."
Ochieng smirked. "Then why haven't you?"
The assassin hesitated.
And in that hesitation, Ochieng made his move.
A twist. A counterattack. Within seconds, he had her pinned against the wall.
She gasped. "You—"
Ochieng's voice was like steel. "Tell me who sent you. Now."
The game was far from over.
And Ochieng was just getting started.
---
The assassin—Ella—was no ordinary killer. Her deep brown eyes held fire, her posture disciplined. She had been trained to take lives without hesitation.
But Ochieng wasn't just anyone.
He pressed the edge of her own dagger against her throat. "Who sent you?"
She smirked. "You think I'll betray my employer that easily?"
Ochieng chuckled darkly. "I don't think—I know."
With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed her completely.
A second later, he had her tied to a chair.
"You're making a mistake," she murmured.
Ochieng leaned in, his breath warm against her skin. "We'll see about that."
Ella's eyes flickered with something unreadable—fear? Or intrigue?
Ochieng didn't care. He had a war to win.
---
The next night, the city's most exclusive gala was held at the Sky Tower Hotel. The rich and powerful gathered, draped in designer outfits, sipping on champagne worth more than most people's salaries.
Ochieng arrived in a sleek black Maserati, the license plate reading K1NG 001.
Heads turned.
Whispers followed.
He walked in, dressed in an all-black custom suit, his presence demanding attention.
But he wasn't here for a party.
He was here to send a message.
His eyes locked onto Richard across the room.
The older man smirked, raising his glass.
Ochieng smiled back.
But his hand was already on his concealed weapon.
Tonight, the king would decide who lived and who died.
---