Tyrone sat frozen in his chair, staring blankly at the floor as the sounds of heated arguments swirled around him. His crew and the gang bosses, who had been his partners and allies, were now at each other's throats, shouting accusations and threats. The tension was thick, with every word exchanged adding to the chaos that filled the room. Some blamed rival gangs, others suspected it was a calculated hit from someone much closer. But all Tyrone could hear was the sound of his own breathing, slow and hollow, as if he were miles away from the situation.
"Someone needs to pay for this, we can't just sit here!" one of the gang leaders shouted, pounding his fist on the table. "You know damn well it had to be someone inside our network, someone who knew when and where to strike!"
"Nah, man. It's gotta be those other fools trying to move in on our territory!" another voice countered, trying to hold back his own anger. "We've been stepping on toes for months, and now this? They're sending a message."
"We need to be smart about this, not just jump to conclusions," a calmer voice chimed in, trying to bring reason into the boiling situation. "Retaliation without knowing who did it could get us all killed."
But it was no use. The room was a mess of voices and emotions, all pointing fingers and demanding answers. No one could agree on a course of action. The argument escalated with each passing minute, but Tyrone didn't move. He barely blinked. Jamal was gone, and now this empire he had built with so much blood, sweat, and sacrifice felt empty. Meaningless. He couldn't focus on the plans they were discussing or the revenge they were plotting. None of it mattered without Jamal by his side.
After the funeral, Tyrone's mother had been the last one to leave. Sharon, who had warned him so many times about the dangers of this life, didn't even look him in the eyes. She hadn't spoken a word to him throughout the entire service. She stood off to the side, watching as they lowered Jamal's casket into the ground, her face stoic and cold.
When it was over, she walked past him, her silence heavier than any reprimand she could have given. Tyrone felt her judgment, her disappointment cutting deeper than any bullet. He wanted to say something, to apologize maybe, but the words wouldn't come. She had warned him—over and over again—about the path he was walking. About how this life would destroy everyone around him. But Tyrone never listened. Now, her silence was all that remained between them.
As he sat in the back of the funeral car, staring out the window at the cemetery disappearing behind him, Tyrone felt the weight of his decisions pulling him down. Jamal's death wasn't just a loss—it was a consequence. A reminder that nothing in this life came without a price. And now, everyone in his circle was paying for it.
But Tyrone wasn't ready to let go. He couldn't. Jamal had been more than just his right-hand man. He was family. A brother. And now, that brother was gone, murdered in cold blood, and there was no going back.
After the funeral, Tyrone received a call that he hadn't expected. Isabella's voice came through, surprisingly soft and sympathetic.
"I heard about Jamal," she said, the tone perfectly measured, not too overbearing but filled with just enough empathy. "I'm truly sorry for your loss, Tyrone. He was loyal, and I know that's rare these days."
Tyrone, still numb from everything, muttered a low "thanks" before hanging up the call. He had bigger problems to deal with and wasn't in the mood for pleasantries, especially from someone like Isabella. But little did he know, her condolences were far from genuine.
Later that evening, inside Isabella's lavish penthouse overlooking the city, she sat comfortably, swirling a glass of wine. Across from her, her brother Carlos watched, intrigued but still somewhat skeptical of her methods. Isabella had always been the one to take risks, to play games with people's lives in ways Carlos never understood.
"Good work," she said to the man standing silently in the corner. The biker, who had just returned from executing the hit on Jamal, gave a small nod in acknowledgment. His expression was unreadable, but he knew what his task had accomplished. Jamal's death was more than just a hit—it was the first move in a much larger game.
Isabella's eyes flicked back to Carlos, who raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to explain.
"I told you I had a plan, didn't I?" she said, leaning back into her chair. "Tyrone was too comfortable. Jamal was his rock, his anchor. Take that away, and he's lost, vulnerable. And now, the real fun begins."
Carlos folded his arms, still unconvinced. "And what's the endgame, Isabella? Killing Jamal is one thing. How does that get you control of Tyrone or anyone else?"
Isabella smiled, a calculated glint in her eyes. "It's simple. Tyrone's going to spiral, looking for someone to blame. And that's where I come in. I'm going to point him straight at Giovanni."
"Giovanni?" Carlos repeated, intrigued now. "Your competition in the arms business."
"Exactly," Isabella confirmed, her voice cool and confident. "He's been a thorn in our side for too long. He's got his hands in everything from arms dealing to legitimate businesses, and he's been getting in our way. But if I can push Tyrone into thinking Giovanni ordered the hit on Jamal, Tyrone will take him out for us. One less rival to deal with, and I get to manipulate the situation in my favor."
Carlos leaned forward, a grin starting to form. "So, you kill two birds with one stone. Giovanni's out of the picture, and Tyrone owes you."
"Not just owes me," Isabella said, her smile growing wider. "He'll trust me. I'll be the one who 'helps' him figure out who's responsible. Once Giovanni's dead, Tyrone will feel like I'm the only one in his corner. I can control him, use him to do the dirty work, all while keeping our hands clean."
Carlos sat back, impressed but still cautious. "And what if he finds out? If he realizes you're behind all of this…?"
"He won't," Isabella said with absolute certainty. "He's too blinded by grief and rage. By the time he figures anything out, it'll be too late. He'll either be completely under our thumb, or he'll be too broken to do anything about it."
Carlos finally smiled, realizing how much his sister had already orchestrated. "I have to admit, Isabella, you're proving me wrong. You always said controlling criminals wasn't a mistake, and maybe you're right."
Isabella raised her glass. "I am right. Controlling criminals is the key to controlling everything. And when this is all over, we'll have full control of the arms trade, with no one standing in our way."
Carlos clinked his glass against hers, the two of them sealing their dangerous alliance with a toast, as Isabella's plan slowly unraveled to destroy everyone in her path, using Tyrone as her unwitting pawn.