All Chapters of THE HIDDEN RIVAL: Chapter 91 - Chapter 95

Rival’s POVThe wood groaned under my boots as I stepped out from the crates.Thomas stayed at my shoulder, pistol loose in his hand, eyes sharp under the dim lamplight. We moved together—always together—two shadows peeling themselves free of the dark.Sicily didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. He just stood there on the pier like he’d been expecting this exact entrance, like we were late to his party. His lips curved in that same infuriating smirk, one hand tucked inside his tailored coat, the other holding a cigarette he never bothered to smoke.“Well, well,” he said, voice smooth as oil sliding over water. “The ghosts finally crawl out of the smoke.”Thomas muttered under his breath, “More like rats into a trap.”I cut him a quick glare, but Sicily’s men had already twitched at the sound. Fingers brushed triggers, shoulders stiffened. The air thickened with the kind of silence that only breaks in gunfire.I kept my knife low, blade catching the faint glow. My lungs burned with the salt-st

Rival’s POVThe city never slept, but it sure as hell twitched.Every corner, every shadow felt wired, like New York itself knew Sicily had promised to set the curtain on fire.Me and Thomas didn’t sleep either. Couldn’t. His words still burned in my skull—either kneel or drown. Screw that.By morning, we were already moving.We started at Pier 19. From a distance, daylight stripped the menace, made the place look almost normal—dockworkers hauling crates, forklifts whining, gulls picking at trash. But even in the sun, you could smell it. Sicily’s stink.I watched from across the street, hidden behind a busted delivery van. Thomas leaned on the hood, sunglasses on, chewing gum like he was on a beach vacation.“You know,” he muttered, eyes flicking to the dock, “daylight makes this all look boring. No guns, no theatrics. Just sweaty assholes in vests moving boxes.”“Look closer.”He did. Then whistled low. “Yeah. Not dockhands. Too smooth. Too… aware. And that guy’s holding the clipboar