Kaz stood silently, adjusting the cuffs of his pressed black dress shirt, the collar of his silver-trimmed jacket glinting under the moonlight. The Yazumèi estate buzzed with activity as the Sharks prepared for the biggest meeting of their lives. Every member was suited in sleek, custom-tailored attire, the symbol of the Sharks sewn subtly into their lapels. It wasn't just about looking good—tonight was about presence. Power.
Kaz turned toward his family. Jamie, in a dark crimson suit, rolled his neck with a scowl, his broad frame practically bursting with pent-up aggression. Vali smirked in a navy ensemble, tousling his hair before shooting finger-guns at his reflection. Kimara looked sharp in a storm-gray blazer with a raven-black tie, and Toma wore a sleek, all-black outfit with silver accents, her hair in a high bun and her eyes scanning every movement like a hawk.
Amy stood beside Kaz in a stunning ash-blue dress, her aura regal yet deadly. Her kinetic batons were hidden beneath a split jacket draped over her arms. Even the lieutenants—Riko, Daiji, and a few newer faces—were dressed to the nines. The family looked more like celebrities walking the red carpet than a syndicate on their way to a mob summit.
As the convoy of blacked-out SUVs rolled toward the remote mountain lodge, Kaz reflected on his father's legacy. He remembered Seamus bringing him here once—a freightyard turned summit point where blood once stained the rusted steel. It was here Kaz had fought his first life-or-death battle under Seamus's shadow. Tonight, he stepped into that shadow and claimed it.
The entrance to the summit was already lined with sleek cars. Mobsters, gang leaders, arms dealers, and political fixers smoked cigars and discussed markets in low, conspiratorial tones. At the main door, a sharply dressed man with peppered gray hair and sunglasses stepped forward.
"Kazunai Yazumèi," the man greeted, his voice rough but laced with familiarity. "You look just like your father."
"Alrick," Jamie said with a slight grin, giving the man a nod. "Didn't think we'd see you still standing after all these years."
"I always land on my feet. Just like you Yazumèis," Alrick chuckled.
Inside, chandeliers swung lazily above a massive circular table, its seats marked with golden nameplates. Toma's mother—tall, elegant, and ruthless in a white snakeskin coat—watched them with unreadable eyes. Dozens of influential mob bosses filled the room: some old friends of Seamus, others longtime rivals, and more than a few unknown variables.
Kaz moved slowly toward the chair bearing Seamus's nameplate. For a moment, no one spoke. Then, with deliberate calm, he pulled the chair out and sat.
A slow ripple moved through the room.
Kimara exhaled.
Amy smiled.
Jamie grinned. "The crown fits, little brother."
And then the doors slammed open.
In strode Grigorovich—tall, imposing, white fur coat brushing the floor. His every step was flanked by his infamous Bloodfang Trio, three elite killers who had earned their names through rivers of blood.
Kaz felt his heartbeat spike, but kept his face blank.
Jamie's jaw clenched.
Vali's fingers twitched over his belt.
Daiji's eyes narrowed.
Riko mouthed, not here.
It was the unspoken rule—no violence during the meeting.
Grigorovich sneered, meeting Kaz's gaze directly. "Didn't think the Sharks would crawl out of their den so soon after Seamus fell into a coma. Guess the boy's finally grown teeth."
Kaz rose slightly. "I brought a muzzle for you, Grigorovich. Pity the rulebook says I can't use it yet."
There was a beat of silence. A few chuckles. Then the Don seated across from them—an older gentleman known only as Paz, who controlled half the northern underworld—cleared his throat.
"Enough. Let's get to business. The underworld is shifting. We're not just dealing with petty smuggling anymore. The power plays are different now. Government watchmen, Radie-Beast smuggling, tech arms races. This meeting is to determine what role we each play in the chaos to come."
The room murmured. Paz continued, "And word is… the Sharks are back. Under new management. So the question is—are you with us? Or are you another fire that needs putting out?"
Kaz didn't flinch. He stood slowly. Looked across the room—at enemies, strangers, and distant allies.
Then at his family. His friends.
And finally, at the seat he now filled.
"I'm not Seamus," Kaz said, voice calm, but with fire beneath it. "But I'm his blood. His fire. His fury. I don't plan to join the game. I plan to change it. If any of you have a problem with that…" He raised his chin slightly. "You can step outside when the meeting ends."
A hush followed.
Then a slow, deliberate clap. From a figure in the back. A man no one had noticed enter—bald, eyes burning gold, muscles coiled beneath a matte suit. Known only as Marx the Spiral. A former general turned war criminal turned mob king. His ability: Kinetic Reversal—able to store any physical impact done to him and release it in devastating force.
"I like this one," Marx said, grin wild. "He's got his father's recklessness and his mother's wit. Maybe this next generation won't be so boring after all."
Toma's mother narrowed her eyes. Amy gently brushed Kaz's hand.
And Kaz… simply sat again, smiling.
Let the game begin.
Kaz's smile faded the moment he sat. His gaze locked forward, burning through the polished obsidian of the table as if he could see the web of lies, grudges, and power plays being woven all around him. The meeting had just begun, but the war had already started.
Paz cleared his throat again. "Then it's settled. The Yazumèi Sharks are back at the table. But let's make something clear. This alliance isn't about old names or family legacies. It's about resources. It's about strategy. And it's about loyalty. The kind that doesn't waver when the bullets fly."
"Loyalty's not an issue," Kaz said. "But strategy? You might want to update yours. We're not playing Cold War chess anymore, Paz. We're playing scorched-earth dominoes. One wrong push and the whole system collapses."
Murmurs rippled through the room. Some nodded. Others scoffed. Grigorovich cracked his knuckles audibly, a dark grin etched across his face. Marx merely sipped from a glass of blackened bourbon, his eyes never leaving Kaz.
"You talk a big game for someone wearing your father's shoes," Grigorovich sneered.
Kaz leaned forward, elbows on the table. "I'm not wearing his shoes. I'm building a new path—with steel soles. And if you try to follow, you'll slice your feet to ribbons."
Jamie chuckled low. "That's poetry, little bro." Vali leaned back lazily, arms crossed, but his shadows slithered across the floor under the table, tracing the outlines of those seated closest.
Kimara's eyes flickered, watching the Bloodfang Trio across the room, cataloging their body language. She whispered to Amy beside her, "He's stalling. Waiting for something." Amy didn't answer. Her focus was split—watching Kaz, watching Grigorovich, and watching the ceiling-mounted security cams spinning subtly. Someone was watching them too closely.
Toma, seated directly across from her mother, remained eerily quiet. Their gazes had locked once, briefly. There had been a flicker of something there. Not hatred. Not warmth. Something like... acknowledgement. And then it was gone.
Paz stood. "If we're all done with dick-measuring, let's get back to the reason we're here. There's been chatter—new players moving in. Not gangs.
Not mobs. Something else. The ones who broadcasted that message across the national underground network two nights ago." Kaz nodded slowly. "We saw it. And we've already been warned." "Warned?" asked Alrick. "They don't want to join us. They want to replace us."
A low silence descended. Then a voice from the far corner, gravelly and slow: "The message said something about the 'Crownless Kings' rising."
Paz turned to face the speaker, a tattooed enforcer named Vance who ran the Southwest Quadrant. "What do you know about them?"
Vance shrugged. "Only what I hear. They ain't from around here. Word is—they don't use traditional means. No guns. No Radie-beast tech. They use powers we don't even understand. And they don't play by the same rules."
Grigorovich scoffed. "Another boogeyman fairy tale. I say we find them and put a bullet in whoever's leading the charge."
"Assuming you find them first," Kimara cut in. Her voice was calm but carried weight. "We've been tracking strange movement patterns on the east coast. Supply lines disappearing. Safehouses gone dark. We've lost two informants. And they left no trace."
Daiji added, "Even our black-market satellite feeds can't catch them. It's like they phase out of reality when they strike."
Riko, arms folded, finally spoke up. "They're organized. Deliberate. And they're escalating. If we don't unify, we're going to be taken apart one family at a time."
Paz nodded grimly. "Then let this summit be more than ceremony. We need to pool resources. Coordinate territories. And more importantly... trust each other. Because if this group is as dangerous as we fear, we may not survive the coming storm unless we stand together."
Marx laughed then, deep and resonating. "Trust? In a room full of liars and legacy criminals? Paz, you might as well ask sharks to share a meal with seals."
Kaz stood again, raising his voice above the low chuckles. "We don't have to like each other. We don't have to trust each other. But we do need to act. And the Yazumèi Sharks aren't sitting back. We're moving now. Tonight. Every lieutenant, every ally, every contact—we're locking down our quadrant and baiting this new threat into revealing themselves."
"You want to bait the wolves into the open?" asked Alrick.
"No," Kaz said. "I want to burn down their den."
The room fell quiet again. There was a strange, collective shift. Some feared the weight of his words. Others, like Marx and a few ambitious lieutenants, seemed energized by them.
"Then may the best predator survive," Paz muttered. "Meeting adjourned."
Chairs scraped. Tension leaked from the walls like gas, invisible but flammable.
Grigorovich passed Kaz on the way out, close enough that Kaz could smell the iron tang of blood clinging to his coat.
"We'll dance soon, little prince," Grigorovich whispered. "And when we do, I won't be pulling punches." Kaz didn't flinch. "You never have. That's why you always lose."
Grigorovich grinned and strode off. Outside, as the Sharks exited into the moonlight and the cold mountain wind swept across the paved stone, Kaz exhaled deeply.
Jamie clapped him on the shoulder. "You made it through your first summit. No one died. That's a win."
"Barely," Kaz muttered. Amy came up beside him. "You think they'll really agree to a united front?"
"No," Kaz said. "But we only need a few of them to. The rest? They'll fall in line... or fall apart."
Toma looked up at the stars. "The game changed tonight."
Kaz looked down at his hands, clenching them once. "No. The game ended. We're building something new now."
They all climbed into the convoy silently.
Far in the darkness beyond the summit lodge, a lone figure watched them through binoculars. A cracked porcelain mask covered his face, and long, thin strands of otherworldly energy danced around his fingers like marionette strings.
"They've declared themselves," the figure whispered. "Let the Crownless Kings begin their purge." And then he vanished into mist.