Chapter 90

“Capo,” a strong man strode into the hospital room, his eyes glinting with concern.

“Sir is in critical condition. We don’t know what to do,” Elijah, the head of security for the German mafia, informed him, his voice heavy with worry. “He was beaten black and blue, and the hole in his voice made it difficult for him to talk. The doctor says it might take him forever to speak again. Rustom is dead, and most of our men are gone. The responsibility lies with you.”

The 13-year-old boy, Alex Knight, sat weeping in the room's corner, his shoulders shaking with grief. He may have been young, but he had a commanding presence and a ruthless stature that belied his age.

“Who did this?” he gritted his teeth, his voice trembling with anger.

“The French, we know that much,” Elijah replied, folding his hands solemnly.

Alex’s bloodshot eyes widened with fury, and his fists clenched tightly. “I swear I will get my vengeance, and when I do, they will beg for mercy.” Elijah nodded in agreement. “We’ll