The dimly lit room smelled of whiskey and cigars. Richard Martin sat in his leather chair, one arm draped over the side, his fingers lazily tapping against the glass of amber liquid in his hand. His sharp features were shadowed under the faint glow of the city skyline behind him.
He had been waiting for this moment. For years, he had built his own empire in the underworld, watching from a distance as his older stepbrother, Dylan, sat on the throne their grandfather had left behind. A throne that should have been his.
Richard took a slow sip of his drink, his mind drifting back to the past—back to the day his grandfather had made his decision.
"You're too reckless, Richard," the old man had said. "Dylan is the rightful heir. He has the strength, the vision."
That day had burned into his memory, the betrayal searing deeper than any wound. It wasn't just about power. It was about legacy. His own grandfather had chosen an illegitimate child over him.
His jaw clenched at the thought. But that was the past. Now, it was time to rewrite the future.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. His right-hand man, Victor, stepped inside.
"It's done, boss. Dylan's shipment is gone."
Richard smirked. "Good. And the message?"
"Delivered."
Richard swirled the remaining whiskey in his glass, watching the liquid swirl like liquid gold. "Let's see how big brother reacts."
---
At Dylan's Office
Jayden walked into Dylan's study with urgency, his steps sharp and deliberate.
"Boss, we have a problem."
Dylan didn't look up immediately, his fingers still typing on his laptop. "Be specific, Jayden."
Jayden took a deep breath. "Richard's men attacked one of our warehouses. Took a shipment and left a message."
Dylan's hands finally stopped moving. His gaze lifted, sharp and calculating. "What message?"
Jayden placed a sleek black envelope on the table. Dylan picked it up, unfolded the neatly folded paper inside, and read the words written in clean, bold handwriting:
"Enjoy your reign while it lasts, little brother."
A slow, dangerous smirk curved Dylan's lips. He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and full of amusement.
"So, the little prince finally grew some claws."
Jayden shifted uneasily. "What do you want to do?"
Dylan leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly drumming on the desk. His amusement faded, replaced by something much colder.
"It's time to remind Richard why he never deserved the throne."
---
Elsewhere, in Richard's Lair
Richard stood in front of a long table, where his most trusted men sat in silence, waiting for him to speak. His eyes scanned the room before he finally spoke, his voice calm but firm.
"Dylan has sat on that throne for too long. It's time we take back what's ours."
A man at the far end of the table hesitated. "Boss, Dylan is strong. He's built his empire for years—"
"And so have I," Richard interrupted, his voice sharp. "The difference is, I've been patient. I let him believe he was untouchable. But patience has its limits."
His gaze darkened. "Dylan thinks he's the king. Let's see how he fares without his kingdom."
The men exchanged looks, then nodded.
The war for the underworld had begun.