Chapter 7
Alonzo
The black limousine rolled to a halt in front of the clinic on R.P. Road.
I glanced at my wristwatch. Half past one. Strange. The time on the board was 11 AM. My brows furrowed. A doctor shouldn’t be this late.
“Boss, it seemed the clinic hadn't opened since morning.”
“What if she moved to some big place?” Jasper said. “Some crowdest one, or opening her own hospital. After the money you gave her.” Elijah said.
“That makes sense.” I nodded.
But then my eyes shifted toward the garbage bin near the entrance. The money I left was still there, untouched.
My stare hardened, shadows darkening my face.
A few days ago, I was stabbed by Red Pigeon goons.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I thought was—enemy hands. The ceiling above me wasn’t mine, and the air smelled too clean, too sterile. I tried to push myself up, but a knife-edge pain ripped through my stomach.
I looked down. Surgical tape, neatly wrapped around my abdomen. Not the sloppy work of street thugs—this was precision.
I wasn’t in a prison cell. I was in a clinic.
My gaze drifted across the room. Everything looked untouched, fresh—like the place had just opened its doors. Whoever owned this clinic wasn’t running some back-alley joint. They’d dared to patch me up, right here, in enemy territory.
My jaw clenched.
That’s when I noticed it. A small note stuck to the corner table. I pulled it closer, eyes narrowing at the neat handwriting:
Please take this medicine. Rest for a week, or until the stitches are dry. Eat healthy. Don’t forget to change the dressing in three days.
At the bottom, a stupidly cheerful smiley face.
My lips curved into a dark smirk. Commanding me? Nobody commanded Alonzo. But this… this was bold. Almost amusing.
I folded the note and slid it into my pocket. Something told me I’d want to keep it.
The doctor was nowhere in sight. No face to the hands that had saved me. I didn’t have the time or patience to wait.
I pulled out my phone and growled, “Come pick me up.”
“Where, boss?” Elijah asked me.
“Dr. Genevieve Carter.” I stared at her nameplate.
Before walking out, I grabbed a notepad from the counter and scribbled my personal number on it. I also kept a bag full of money, as a reward to save my life.
I didn’t usually hand out lifelines—but she had saved me, and that meant something.
Of course, my kind of gratitude never came simple.
I waited for days for her call. Thinking she would call me, asking for more money. The money I left was enough to make her entire bloodline richest. Also noted she can call me for more money, but she didn’t call.
“That orphanage,” I said, my voice calm but heavy, “it’s on this same road, isn’t it?”
A thought resurfaced—unfinished business, six months old. The Red Pigeon League. Most of their dogs had abandoned their own children in that place, cutting ties so they could run dirtier, bloodier operations. I’d been waiting for the right moment to deal with it.
“Yes, Boss.” Jasper checked the map and nodded quickly.
A cold smirk tugged at my lips. The kind of smirk that never meant mercy. In my chest, rage pulsed like a volcano on the edge of eruption.
“Then it’s time to visit it.”
I leaned back against the leather seat, letting silence fall heavy.
“Drive,” I ordered.
The car pulled away, and with it, my patience burned to ash. Revenge had been waiting too long.
The wind slapped against my face as the open jeep tore down the cracked road. I liked riding exposed—kept my eyes sharp, kept the enemies guessing. And today, I wanted them to see me coming.
The orphanage loomed ahead, its dull walls hiding filth that everyone else pretended not to see. I pulled out my phone and dialed.
“Mars,” I said flatly, my voice slicing through the engine noise. “Are they still trying to mess with our ports?”
That port was mine—the largest artery for narcotics in the country. For days now, phantom attacks had crippled my ships mid-ocean. Nobody had the guts to touch Alonzo’s waters. Nobody—except the Red Pigeon League.
“No, boss,” Mars’s voice crackled. “Still in the waiting room. Haven’t met their men yet.”
I clicked my tongue against my teeth, my patience thinning. Waiting wasn’t my game. “Forget waiting,” I growled. “We don’t give the pigeons another chance to breathe. We end this now.”
I raised my hand, and my men understood without another word. The jeep skidded to a stop. My boots hit the dirt. The orphanage gates stared back at me like a challenge.
A deadly smirk curled on my lips. “Invade it.”