The warehouse was supposed to be silent. It was a rule in this business—big deals happened in places where the echoes of gunfire wouldn't travel, where witnesses weren't an issue, and where both sides could pretend trust existed. But tonight, the silence was shattered.
Alexander arrived in his black sedan, rolling to a stop at the edge of the docks, where dim orange lights flickered against the steel containers lining the water. He stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his suit as the wind carried the faint scent of salt and oil.
Inside the warehouse, chaos had erupted.
Stacks of crates had been overturned, scattering weapons across the cold concrete. Blood streaked the floor, and a few bodies lay motionless—two of his men and at least three of the buyers. The deal had gone to hell before it had even been finalized.
Joseph stood near the center, his face twisted in frustration, while Eric and Samuel were at the edges, securing what was left of the shipment. Guns were still drawn, tensions thick in the air. Across the room, the supposed buyers—an up-and-coming gang looking to make a name for themselves—were down to just a handful of men. Their leader, a wiry man with a scar running across his cheek, held his shoulder where a bullet had grazed him. He was alive, but barely standing.
Alexander took in the scene in a single sweep. He wasn't surprised—deals like this always carried risk. What angered him was that it had gotten out of control before he had even arrived.
"What the hell happened?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made even Joseph flinch.
"They tried to play us," Eric answered, nodding toward the rival gang. "Wanted more weapons for half the price. When we refused, they tried to take them anyway."
The leader of the gang coughed, his grip tightening around his wound. "It wasn't like that," he muttered. "We got spooked. Thought it was a setup."
Alexander tilted his head, stepping forward slowly. "A setup?" He gestured at the dead bodies. "Looks to me like you came ready to take what wasn't yours. That's not fear—that's greed. And greed gets people killed."
The man's eyes darted around, desperate for an escape.
"You're lucky we didn't wipe out the rest of you already," Joseph added, his jaw clenched.
Alexander considered the situation. The gang had made a mistake—a costly one. But if he wiped them out entirely, it would send a message that he was unwilling to negotiate, that every minor failure ended in blood. That wasn't leadership; that was short-sightedness.
Instead, he crouched down in front of the man. "You have two choices," he said. "I kill you now and take whatever's left of your crew out with you. Or…" He paused, watching the fear in the man's eyes. "You work for me."
The man's lips parted in surprise. "What?"
"You tried to take from me. Now you're going to work for me until you've repaid that debt ten times over." Alexander's voice was cold, calculated. "Your crew, what's left of them, will answer to The Big Four. You'll run shipments for us—no questions, no deals of your own. You move when I tell you to move. You take what I give you. And if you ever—ever—step out of line again, I'll make sure you don't get a third option."
The man swallowed hard. "And if we refuse?"
Alexander exhaled slowly. "Then I won't be making offers anymore."
A long silence followed. Finally, the man nodded. "We'll work for you."
Alexander stood, adjusting his suit jacket. "Good." He turned to Eric and Joseph. "Clean this up. Make sure nothing traces back to us."
Joseph nodded, already barking orders to the men.
As Alexander walked back to his car, Samuel followed. "You could've just killed them," he pointed out.
Alexander smirked. "I could've. But I'd rather have men in my debt than corpses in the ground."
Samuel chuckled. "That's a taste of real leadership, huh?"
Alexander didn't answer. He simply got in the car, knowing that tonight had been another lesson—one that proved leadership wasn't just about power. It was about control.
And he was beginning to master it.