The grand ballroom of the Sky Tower Hotel was bathed in a golden glow, chandeliers hanging like stars from the high ceiling. The air was thick with power, money, and the scent of expensive perfume.
Ochieng moved through the sea of guests with effortless grace, his sharp eyes scanning the room. The city's most influential figures were here—billionaires, politicians, underground kingpins—all gathered under one roof, hiding their secrets behind practiced smiles.
But he wasn't here to socialize.
Across the room, Richard leaned against the bar, sipping his whiskey with a smug smirk. His tailored suit hugged his aging frame, but the aura of dominance he once carried had begun to fade.
Ochieng approached slowly. The moment Richard noticed him, the smirk disappeared.
"You're bolder than I thought," Richard murmured, setting his glass down.
Ochieng tilted his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "And you're more desperate than I expected."
Richard chuckled, though there was no humor in his tone. "You've made many enemies, boy. Tonight, you won't leave this hotel alive."
Ochieng leaned in, his voice a whisper. "I hope they sent their best."
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Richard's face, but it was gone in an instant.
Then, from the corner of his eye, Ochieng saw movement.
A group of men, all dressed in black, began closing in.
So, it was an ambush after all.
A slow smile curled on Ochieng's lips.
It was time to paint the night red.
---
The first assassin moved fast, a blade slipping from his sleeve as he lunged.
But Ochieng was faster.
A sidestep. A twist. In one fluid motion, he disarmed the man and buried his own knife into his chest.
Gasps filled the ballroom. The music stopped.
Panic set in.
The second attacker charged with a silenced pistol.
Ochieng grabbed a champagne bottle from a passing tray and smashed it against the man's skull. He collapsed, blood trickling from the wound.
The third opponent hesitated.
That was his mistake.
Ochieng grabbed his wrist, snapped it effortlessly, and used the stolen gun to take out the remaining threats.
By the time the last body hit the floor, silence reigned.
Richard was gone.
Coward.
Ochieng straightened his suit, adjusting the cuffs as security rushed in.
"Sir," one of them stammered. "What—what should we tell the authorities?"
Ochieng smirked. "Tell them it was self-defense."
And with that, he walked away, leaving chaos in his wake.
---
Ochieng knew this was only the beginning. Richard had fled, but he wouldn't stay in hiding for long. The real battle was yet to come.
Back at his penthouse, he poured himself a drink, the city lights twinkling behind him.
Linet sat across from him, her arms crossed. "So this is your life now? Killing in ballrooms and ruling over crime syndicates?"
Ochieng took a slow sip. "Would you prefer me dead instead?"
She sighed. "No. I just... I wonder if there's still a part of you that isn't consumed by this world."
He looked at her then, really looked at her.
For a moment, he saw a future—one where he wasn't drowning in blood and betrayal.
But that wasn't his reality.
Ochieng stood, setting his glass down. "Richard will retaliate. I need to be ready."
Linet stared at him for a long moment. Then, she nodded.
She wasn't going anywhere.
And neither was he.
---
Two nights later, Ochieng received a message.
An invitation.
Richard wanted to meet.
A trap? Definitely.
But Ochieng wouldn't refuse.
Because tonight, he would end this war.
For good.
---
The abandoned warehouse smelled of rust and gasoline. The air was thick with tension.
Ochieng walked in alone, his footsteps echoing.
Richard stood waiting, surrounded by his men. Their guns were already aimed at Ochieng.
Richard smiled. "You should have stayed away."
Ochieng sighed, rolling his shoulders. "I'm getting tired of this, Richard."
Richard's face darkened. "You killed my men. My empire is crumbling because of you."
Ochieng chuckled. "Your empire was built on sand. It was bound to fall."
Richard's hand twitched. The signal.
The gunmen fired.
Ochieng was already moving.
A roll. A dive. He landed behind a stack of crates, pulling his own gun.
Shots rang out. Sparks flew.
Ochieng took them out one by one, moving like a phantom in the dark.
Until only Richard remained.
The older man panted, blood dripping from a wound on his shoulder. He dropped his gun, raising his hands.
Ochieng approached, pressing his pistol against Richard's forehead.
"You started this war," Ochieng murmured. "Now I'm ending it."
Richard sneered. "You'll be just like me, boy."
Ochieng pulled the trigger.
The echo of the gunshot faded into the night.
He turned, walking away, leaving Richard's lifeless body behind.
This war was over.
But a new one was just beginning.
---