BURNING EMPIRE

Matteo slammed the door and dropped to the floor of the backseat, panting like a hunted animal. His fingers clutched the leather pouch like it was his last lifeline. Everything around him was silent now—too silent. The kind of silence that felt like a held breath before something exploded.He dared a peek through the tinted glass.Two dark figures sprinted past the alley’s opening.One of them cursed. “Where the hell did he go?!”Matteo grinned—small, smug, and completely exhausted. “Still got it.”He leaned back, pressing his head against the seat. The car smelled like money. Not just clean or new—but rich. The kind of scent you didn’t find in cars that were barely holding together with duct tape.Matteo glanced at the dashboard.The engine was on.His eyebrows shot up. “Ohhh, jackpot,” he whispered. “This day just keeps getting better.”He slid into the front seat, fingers itching for the wheel. “Okay, Matteo. You survived, you scored, and now you drive off into the sunset like a ba

The street Matteo lived on didn’t have a name on any fancy map. Locals just called it The Stretch — short for “Stretch of Nothing.” And that was the truth. The pavement was cracked like old bones, full of potholes that turned into muddy puddles whenever it rained. The streetlights flickered, or didn’t work at all. Most nights, the only light came from buzzing neon signs hanging over bars and broken shops selling everything from fake sneakers to half-dead cell phones. The buildings leaned like tired people — old brick walls with rusted fire escapes and windows patched up with tape and old newspapers. Through the thin walls, you could hear babies crying, couples shouting, and TVs playing loud from different apartments all at once. The air smelled like fried oil, rotting trash, and something else — a stinging smell you couldn’t quite name. Most people on The Stretch kept their heads down. You moved fast, kept quiet, and minded your own business. Kids like Matteo learned early — lie,

Matteo closed the door behind Jax and leaned against it, taking a deep breath. The room felt colder now, the silence louder. he sat back on the old couch, the weight of the leather pouch pressing against his chest like a heavy stone. The city’s noise buzzed outside — cars, distant voices, sirens — but inside, the room felt quiet, almost empty.He closed his eyes and memories flooded in.He was just 16 when his parents died. A reckless car crash on a rainy night — sudden, brutal, leaving him and little Leo alone in the world. They had no family to turn to, no safety net. Just each other.Matteo remembered holding Leo in his arms, so small and fragile, his breathing shallow and uneven. The hospital bills piled up faster than the money could come in, and the doctors warned that Leo’s heart wasn’t strong. The asthma only made things worse.From that day, Matteo’s childhood ended. He became a protector, a provider — though some days he barely felt like a kid himself. The streets were cold

---Matteo stepped onto the cracked sidewalk, the cold wind biting through his thin jacket. The street was rough—trash scattered everywhere, broken glass shining like tiny stars on the ground. Buildings leaned against each other, paint peeling and windows dark or broken.People moved fast, faces hard and tired. No one stopped to smile or say hello. This wasn’t a place for kindness — it was a place to survive.Matteo’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten much since yesterday. His hands itched for something to do, some way to make money to buy Leo’s medicine, to keep their apartment from falling apart.He walked past shuttered shops and dirty alleyways, eyes always watching. Every step was a risk—one wrong move, and he could end up in trouble.At the corner, a group of men huddled, smoking and talking low. Matteo kept his head down, knowing better than to get involved.He thought about Leo’s coughing last night, how scared he’d been. That scared him more than anything.“Gotta keep going,”

--- Matteo stood frozen. The photo. The flash drive. The phone. Dominic Pendragon’s face burned in his mind. The man who ruled the streets like a king. The man these people wanted to destroy. And somehow, they wanted him — a street kid with no last name — to be the one to start it. The tall man folded his arms. “So what’s it gonna be?” Matteo looked at Jax, who was pale, silent. The woman leaned in, her voice low. “You have a little brother, right? Sick. Heart problems, asthma. Doesn’t have much time.” Matteo’s breath caught. “How—” “We know everything,” she said calmly. “We know you’re not the kind of kid who steals for fun. You steal to survive.” The man from the car — the one who had once offered him a ride without a word — finally spoke. “You think this city will ever give you a way out?” he said. “This is your chance, Matteo. You work with us, you get paid, you get protection. You keep Leo alive.” Matteo’s jaw tightened. He looked again at the pouch’s