From Bullets To Billions

Max had to admit that the name Donto Stern wasn’t one he was expecting to hear. He’d figured the whole situation back at the university had been resolved pretty easily. If Donto really had no connection to his father or whatever the other high-ranking Sterns were plotting in the shadows, then the entire matter should have ended right there on campus.

Maybe he’s just holding a petty grudge? Max thought, a cold calculation settling into his eyes. If his little circle of rich college friends couldn’t handle the fallout, and no street gang in Notting Hill was stupid enough to listen to his orders anymore, it makes sense that he’d resort to hiring muscle from completely outside the city limits.

While that train of thought was plausible and likely the exact case, it still left a massive, glaring question mark on the board. What was Donto’s connection to a ghost like Hercules?

"It couldn’t have been a random occurrence that Donto hired these out-of-towners and specifically told them to wait by the ruins of this cabin to ambush anyone who visited," Aron said, his boots crunching against the dirt trail as they neared the bottom of the mountain.

"You’re reading my mind, Aron," Max replied, his voice dropping into a dark, frustrated whisper. "But why would a spoiled kid like Donto even know Hercules exists in the first place? A titan like that isn’t part of his high-society world. Why go through all this trouble just to take him out? And even if Donto has the money to finance a hit, who the hell could he even find to actually fight a monster like Hercules? The elite mercenaries we hired to protect our borders last time were supposed to be the best of the best, and even they would have struggled."

Aron didn’t answer right away. A very specific, dangerous group of shadow operatives had just flashed through his mind—killers who could actually be bought if the price tag was high enough.

"Even if there is an elite syndicate out there that he managed to hire," Aron said, shaking his head, "why the hell would he send them after Hercules instead of directing them straight to you? None of this blueprint is making any sense."

Max had to agree, and he absolutely hated that so many strange, unaligned events were happening all at once. Leaving the rest of the broken gang groaning in the dirt behind them, the two continued their descent toward the car.

"I know one thing for certain," Max muttered, his fingers curling into tight fists. "I should have forced that damn kid’s hand and stripped him of every single penny he owned back at the school. If I had bled his bank accounts dry, I wouldn’t have to deal with him coming back to bite me a second time."

"Under normal circumstances, I would heavily discourage you from going up against the core Stern family so directly," Aron said, keeping his eyes on the path. "Mainly because we are still entirely unsure how your Grandfather would react to you breaking family lines. But in this case... I have to completely agree with you."

"Right," Max said, a lethal calm taking over his face as they reached the vehicle. "Don’t worry, Aron. I don’t make the same mistake twice. When I see him again, I’ll finish it."

Down at the docks, the Black Hounds were proving to be a massive success, running their underground business with absolute efficiency. For now, they were strictly sticking to a single secure venue—the massive luxury cruise ship anchored in neutral waters.

Darius and Jett were keeping a tight leash on the property, making sure they were physically present for every single event on the bracket. As they walked up to the glass observation deck on the very top floor and looked out over the VIP crowd, they stopped dead in their tracks. Both of them were completely surprised to see a very familiar, highly annoying face lounging out there in the open.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Darius asked, crossing his arms as he marched over.

"What, I’m suddenly not allowed to enjoy a premium show?" Chad countered, stretching his arms out lazily across the back of the leather sofa. "You two need to remember that we’re both technically part of the exact same organization now. You should take it easy with the threats, Darius."

"I’ve been fully briefed about your current financial position," Darius said, his eyes narrowing. "Which is why I’m even more surprised to see your face. Are you actually here to bet?"

"Hey, who says I can’t use my personal allowance however I want?" Chad snapped, sitting up with a defensive scowl. "If I want to throw down a high-stakes bet and increase my capital, that’s my legal right."

Darius just shook his head, a look of profound pity crossing his face. He knew for a fact that this idiot was never going to be in possession of a large amount of wealth ever again if he kept playing games.

"Just have one of our scouts keep an eye on him," Darius whispered to Jett, leaning in close as Chad turned back to the ring. "As annoying as he is, he doesn’t have the kind of money required to affect our lines anymore. But I’m still entirely unsure whether Max Stern treats him as a valuable asset for the Bloodline group or just an ordinary throwaway. We can’t risk him causing a scene."

Jett nodded in quick agreement, and the two of them walked over to take their designated owner’s seats as the first match was called. More high-profile VIP guests and wealthy tourists started to stream into the elite gallery, filling up the reserved tables.

Suddenly, a new arrival stepped through the double doors—and the second Chad saw his face, his jaw completely dropped. He jumped right out of his leather seat, his eyes wide with absolute shock.

"What the heck... am I literally imagining things right now?" Chad stammered, rubbing his eyes again and again as if he were trying to clear a hallucination. "No way. It really is you. What the hell are you doing on this ship... Donto?"

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