London wore its night differently now. The darkness stretched wider, heavier, holding its breath like it was waiting for something to happen. Prince walked out of the gym alone, hands in his pockets, hood up, his body still warm from training but his mind running cold with the thought of Navarro's men watching from shadows. Traffic rolled by in slow waves, headlights cutting across the pavement, and Prince's own reflection appeared and vanished in every passing window. He hated how normal everything looked around him when nothing in his world felt normal anymore.
He kept walking, moving through streets that carried the pulse of the city beneath his feet. The wind carried a mix of fried food, petrol, and rain that hadn't even fallen yet. That smell London made right before a storm. His muscles were sore, but he welcomed it. Pain meant he was alive. Pain meant he wasn't backing down. But beneath the physical ache, there was a sharper tension curling inside him, because Navarro didn't send men to "invite" people to conversations. Navarro summoned. And men who didn't answer often didn't stay men for long.
Prince cut across a narrow side street where the shop shutters were already pulled down. Neon signs flickered above empty bus stops. A cat darted out from behind a bin, startling him for a moment, and then disappeared into an alley as if chased by something only it could see. Prince checked behind him out of instinct. A habit. Not paranoia experience. The shadows stayed still.
His phone vibrated once.
Unknown number.
He didn't stop walking. Didn't slow down. He just tapped the screen and brought it to his ear.
A voice he recognized immediately spoke before he could say anything smooth, authoritative, and patient in the way only dangerous men were patient.
"Prince."
He felt his jaw tighten. "Navarro."
"You walk like a man with too much on his mind," Navarro said. Prince didn't ask how he knew where he was or that he was walking. Navarro didn't need to be told anything. Navarro simply knew what he wanted to know. "Come see me," the man said.
Prince said nothing.
Navarro continued, slower this time. "I won't ask twice."
Prince stopped under a street lamp whose light struggled to stay alive. He stared at the wet pavement beneath him. "I'm not part of your world."
"You are the moment my enemies made you their project," Navarro replied. "And I don't leave pieces of my business lying around for others to pick up. You're being dragged into shadows you don't understand. You want out?" His tone sharpened. "Then come get out."
"Where?" Prince asked.
Navarro gave him an address. Prince recognized the street. Everyone who lived anywhere near London's smoke and bones recognized it. A quiet place where quiet things happened. A place where police cars rarely patrolled because no one wanted to answer the questions they'd find there.
The line dropped.
Prince kept staring at the phone even after the screen went black. His heartbeat picked up, not from fear but from the heavy awareness of what stepping into Navarro's world meant. Once you crossed the threshold, even by accident, you rarely got the chance to return unchanged. But avoiding the call wasn't safety it was suicide.
He pocketed his phone and kept walking. His steps were measured now, deliberate, as if he was matching pace with a fate that had been waiting for him.
A black Dodge Durango Hellcat rolled up to the curb ahead of him, engine rumbling like restrained thunder. Prince couldn't help the small lift of his brow. Navarro didn't play small, and neither did his taste in cars. The passenger door opened without anyone inside touching it.
Prince walked toward the SUV.
The driver leaned over, speaking through the half-lowered window. He was the same man who approached him outside the gym. His face unreadable. His voice flat. "Get in."
Prince studied him for a second, then climbed inside. The door shut with a heavy thud. The car pulled off immediately, as if the city itself was pushing them along.
The interior was silent except for the subtle hum of the supercharged engine. Prince looked straight ahead, watching London melt into darker and darker neighborhoods. He didn't fidget. Didn't ask questions. Didn't pretend to be calm. His breathing was steady, his eyes sharp, his mind cataloguing every turn, every streetlamp, every corner they passed.
The Durango turned into an industrial district lined with silent warehouses. They pulled up beside one that looked abandoned, its brick walls covered in graffiti, its windows boarded, its huge doors rusted and chained.
It was never the pretty buildings that held power. It was always the ones that pretended not to.
The driver finally spoke. "He's waiting."
Prince got out. The cold hit him instantly and cut through his clothes. The sound of the city felt far away here muted, distant, almost smothered. He walked toward a side door cracked open by a sliver. A faint light spilled out.
When he stepped inside, the warehouse swallowed him whole. The air was warm and thick with cigarette smoke and the metallic tang of machines. A dozen men were scattered around leaning against crates, sitting on stacked pallets, playing cards on overturned barrels. None of them reacted to him. That was the unnerving part. People who stared could be predicted. People who pretended you weren't there were the dangerous ones.
Navarro stood on a raised platform overlooking the space, hands behind his back. He wore a simple black coat, buttoned neatly, like a politician attending a funeral. His presence filled the room in a way that had nothing to do with size.
Prince climbed the steps until he stood across from the man.
Navarro turned to him. His face was calm, composed, eyes sharp as glass. "You handled yourself well outside the gym," he said. "Many men flinch when they see danger approach. You didn't."
"I'm not many men," Prince replied.
Navarro's lips curved slightly. "No. You're not."
He motioned for Prince to walk with him. They moved along the platform slowly, overlooking the warehouse below. Navarro continued in a measured tone, almost instructional. "Men like Ruiz fight in rings. Men like me fight in shadows. But the thing about shadows is… they are always connected to the light. Your rise has attracted attention from both sides."
Prince kept silent.
Navarro added, "The ones leaking footage of you, slandering your name, pushing narratives they're not your enemies. Not really. They're my enemies. They think using you, destabilizing you, embarrassing you, is a clever way to hurt me."
Prince blinked once. The pieces began clicking.
Navarro nodded. "Yes. They want me distracted. Vulnerable. Preoccupied. And nothing distracts a man like a potential asset slipping through his fingers."
Prince felt a heat rise in his chest. "I'm not your asset."
Navarro didn't argue. "Of course you're not." He turned his head slightly, assessing him with an expression that felt like x-rays. "But they don't care what you think. They care what I think. And if they believe that hurting you hurts me… they will keep hurting you."
Prince absorbed that in silence.
Navarro continued, "You want to stop the attacks, the leaks, the threats, the pressure? Then understand this: you are already in the war. I did not put you here. They did. You can either drown in the middle… or choose a side long enough to survive."
Prince took a slow breath. "I'm a fighter," he said. "Not a soldier."
Navarro stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Boxing is war. You think you have the luxury of staying clean? Ruiz's backers are funded by the same people who declared war on me. Your win would embarrass them. Your loss would empower them. You are not fighting Ruiz. You are fighting the people who decide whether men like Ruiz eat or starve."
Prince felt something cold slide down his spine.
The underworld wasn't circling him because he wanted to fight Ruiz.
The underworld was circling him because his victory shifted the balance.
Navarro watched Prince's realization settle. "Good," he murmured. "Now you understand the weight you carry. If you win, you disrupt their plans. If you lose…" Navarro's eyes hardened. "They will use your defeat as leverage. Against me. Against you. Against anyone who supports you."
Prince's jaw tightened. "So what do you want from me?"
Navarro clasped his hands behind his back again. "Nothing. Except for you to stay alive long enough to win your fight."
Prince frowned. "You're protecting me?"
Navarro chuckled softly. "No. I'm protecting my interests. You just happen to be one of them. Temporarily."
Prince stared at him, searching for a lie. But Navarro wasn't lying. That was the most unsettling part. With men like him, lies were unnecessary. The truth did more damage.
Navarro stepped back to the edge of the platform. "Go home. Rest. Train. Focus. And let me handle the shadows."
Prince didn't move. "And if I refuse?"
Navarro met his gaze steadily. "Then you'll walk out of this warehouse into a war you don't understand. And you won't last until fight night."
Silence stretched.
Long.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Prince finally exhaled. "I'll win," he said. Not as a promise to Navarro. Not as a pledge. But as a fact. Something written inside him.
Navarro nodded once. "Good."
Prince turned toward the door.
Navarro stopped him with a final, quiet line:
"You're a king rising, Prince. Just remember that every king has enemies eager to write his downfall."
Prince didn't turn around.
He simply walked out of the warehouse and into the cold night, where the shadows seemed to shift around him not as threats now, but as witnesses.
He wasn't naive anymore.
He wasn't protected.
He wasn't safe.
He was something else entirely.
A man walking toward a future built of violence, ambition, and consequences he could no longer outrun