In the Lower Manhattan district, inside a luxury villa, a young Black man stood by the pool, reporting to their boss, Jamal.
"Only five died?" Jamal frowned, clearly dissatisfied. "Next time those yellow pigs come again, kill all of them. Leave none alive."
Jamal was the boss of Nine Thunder, a sub-branch of the Bloods gang. Among the Bloods, he was also one of their strongest fighters.
Standing over two meters tall and weighing nearly three hundred pounds, he wasn't fat—he was pure muscle. A walking, breathing black juggernaut.
He waved his underling away, not taking the Chinese gangsters seriously at all. As long as the Hongmen didn't get involved, he feared no Chinese organization.
In the pool, a blonde, petite white girl was swimming. Barely one-sixty tall, but curvy in all the right places. When she saw Jamal enter the water, her giggles mixed with a hint of fear.
Jamal extended one giant hand, easily gripping her slender waist with one palm, lifting her high into the air before tossing her back into the pool.
"Hahaha!" He laughed and repeated the motion, treating her like a toy.
The girl choked several times, her skin flushed red from the splashing. Terrified, she whimpered and swam back to Jamal like a frightened puppy.
Soon, sounds drifted across the pool… you can imagine the rest.
Outside, the guards listened with envy. They all hoped the boss would get tired of her and hand her over someday.
Outside the villa, a Chevy slowly rolled to a stop.
The car had been stolen—by Cao Yang.
It wasn't because he couldn't afford one. When doing dirty work, stolen cars were safer.
Everyone assumed he would rally all his men and charge back for revenge.
But Cao Yang had no such intention.
Their numbers were huge. He only had a few dozen brothers. Fight? Fight what?
Even if he alone could beat a hundred, this wasn't Hong Kong—this was America. People carried guns here. You exchange a few punches and someone might shoot you in the head. End of story.
Even if he won, how many of his men would be left? How would he explain things to Fobler later?
So Cao Yang made a simple choice: capture the king first.
Kill their leader, crush the source, and Nine Thunder would collapse on its own.
He had prepared long ago. A week earlier, he spent ten grand bribing one of Nine Thunder's junkie foot soldiers. That guy gave him Jamal's address.
"Boss Cao, this is…?" Du Hao and Chen Wei still had no idea what they were about to do.
Cao Yang pulled a black hood from his bag—only the eyes and mouth exposed—and put it on.
"We're taking out their boss. Let chaos handle the rest." He tossed two more hoods to the other two.
"Just the three of us?" Du Hao asked as he slipped his on.
Cao Yang nodded. "There are only a dozen people inside. Three of us is more than enough."
The two exchanged glances. Then, armed with two pistols each, they followed Cao Yang over the villa wall.
Inside, about a dozen men were scattered around. Jamal and the girl were still messing around in the pool. Two guards stood outside. The others were sleeping, high, or busy with their own distractions.
Bang!
A shot shattered the quiet night. The gunshot drowned out the girl's scream.
A guard fell, a bloody hole in his forehead.
Before the second guard could react, another shot rang out.
Bang!
He collapsed as well.
Strictly speaking, the bullet entered his skull before he even heard the gunshot—but that detail didn't matter much now.
"Splash!" Jamal jolted up, his massive dark body dripping water as he searched for cover.
Inside the villa, his men scrambled out, yelling.
"Boss!"
"BOSS!!"
They ran around shouting, some searching for the shooter, others rushing to protect Jamal.
"Behind the statue!" Jamal roared. The man truly deserved to be the boss—he'd already pinpointed the shooter using sound alone.
Two gangsters crept toward the marble nude statue.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Before they even reached it, two pistols emerged from behind the statue, unleashing multiple rounds.
The two men dropped instantly.
"Everyone push forward! Surround him!" Jamal thundered.
Ten gangsters formed a circle, slowly closing in. They were nervous—none had ever seen someone bold enough to storm their boss's personal villa, their NYC headquarters.
Based on the shots so far, they could tell the intruder was no amateur.
As they neared the statue, they raised their guns, ready to fill the space with bullets.
Bang bang bang—!
Suddenly, rapid shots pierced the night. The gangsters collapsed one by one, blood pooling beneath them.
Cao Yang had already circled behind them. From the best angle, he fired both pistols with terrifying efficiency—his rate of fire nearly matching an automatic rifle.
Jamal's eyes widened. He spun with his gun raised.
Bang!
The shot rang out. Cao Yang was unharmed.
But Jamal's hand was bleeding heavily, the gun knocked away.
"Not bad," Cao Yang said casually.
Chen Wei stepped out from behind the statue, gun barrel still smoking.
"What… who are you people?" Jamal demanded, forcing himself to stay calm. But he already knew.
That "not bad," combined with the recent clashes—there was no mistaking their identity.
The three formed a triangle around him.
Normally, Cao Yang would've finished it with a single shot and vanished.
But not tonight.
If he was going to do this, he wanted to squeeze out every bit of value Jamal had.
The man had ruled New York's underground for years, moved tons of product—he had to be loaded. Cao Yang intended to take everything, then give a portion to his brothers as settlement money.
"Bastards! You can't kill me!" Jamal barked. "The Bloods will never forgive you!"
Cao Yang smirked.
"Where's your money?"
"Hand over everything you have, and I'll spare your dog life."
Jamal froze, shocked.
So it was about money.
He pointed upstairs. "Third floor. Safe. Password is 36457."
Cao Yang nodded toward his men.
Chen Wei and Du Hao sprinted up.
Everything they earned was illegal—so everything was in cash.
Sure enough, the safe opened. But inside sat only a little over a million dollars.
Downstairs, Jamal kept his façade. He knew these men wouldn't let him live.
He just needed a moment—a single opportunity.
If he could grab the guy in front of him, take him hostage…
He might still survive.